#broken glass. awesome.

[em1i2a3]

Journal of Ardency

Pairing: The Sentry/Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: It is your final week of recovery and rules are being bent and broken by you and Sentry (This is a continuation of ‘Sports Car’)

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Fluff, Smut, Mentions of Injuries (not much but y’know just thought I’d mention it), Unestablished Relationship (between Bob and reader)

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it before you tap it), Face Sitting, Reader is in control (or rather Sentry hands over the control to her), Sentry is just trying to be respectful lol, Praise/Worship Kink, References to Birth Control (and a breeding kink…DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT lol), References to past sexual encounters with Sentry, Aftercare cause Sentry is just one of those dudes y’know.

Author’s Note: Okay y’all. You’ve been asking for Sentry Smut. Here you go…And Oh boy was it a fun write! Having there be a bit of a standalone with him for this continuation was awesome. But we love all forms of Bob lol. I don’t pick faves 😂 (also Jesus Lord whoever made this gif TAKE THE ROSES 🌹)

Word Count: 9,150

Rules were, unfortunately, meant to be broken.

But you and Bob–ever creative, ever aching–had found a loophole.

The healing process came with restrictions. No sex. No exertion. Nothing that could set you back. But physical closeness? That wasn’t forbidden. And the two of you had stretched the limits of what closeness could mean until it thinned into something dangerous.

Bob was patient. Respectful. Gentle in the way only a man made of atomic fire could manage–like each touch was costing him something. And you could feel it. Every time your sessions turned from soft mutual relief to desperate, friction-heavy grinding, you could feel the restraint bleeding through his trembling hands. His palms would settle on your hips, squeeze once, and stop just short of yanking you down harder.

He was always holding back.

You’d feel it in the way his mouth would linger over yours, breathing you in like a man starved for oxygen, voice thick with warning. You knew what he was doing. You knew who he was keeping caged. You knew the Sentry was right there, blistering against the edges of his composure, begging to be let out.

Bob did his best to restrain him, and so did you–until tonight at least.

You weren’t supposed to push it.

There was only one more week. That’s all. One more checkup. One more green light. One more doctor’s nod before you were cleared.

But right now?

Right now, he was beneath you–shirtless, flushed, pupils blown wide–and your sleep shirt lay discarded on the floor. His sweatpants had joined yours at the edge of the bed in a haphazard tangle. You were both down to your underwear, and the way his chest was rising–quick, uneven–told you he was already fighting it.

His hands had guided you gently on top of him, thumbs pressing into your thighs as he helped you straddle his lap. Carefully, like you were something made of glass and divinity all at once. You settled across his hips, your soaked panties brushing the thick, twitching shape of his erection beneath the strained cotton of his boxers, aching for friction and relief.

You rolled your hips forward just enough to tease, and he groaned through gritted teeth–his eyes fluttering shut for one perfect second of torment.

You smiled. Slow nod wicked at his reaction, the way he slightly arched his hips up to chase the pressure. Your hand slid down between you and palmed him–firm, deliberate pressure through the fabric–and you felt him jump beneath your touch.

“Oh, Bob…” You murmured, voice dipped in velvet. “You’ve been holding back for so long…” His jaw clenched, breath stuttering.

“W-We…We shouldn’t…” He groaned.

“But you want to,” You whispered, eyes fixed on him like a flame. “You’ve always wanted to.”

His abs tensed as you spoke, and your gaze flicked downward.

God, he was beautiful.

Your palms slid slowly up his stomach–slowly, from the waistband of his boxers to just below his ribs–feeling every dip and contour of muscle beneath your fingertips. His abdomen was tight, hard as stone, but still trembled slightly beneath your touch. There was a line down the center of him, bisecting each carved ridge, and a faint trail of peach fuzz that disappeared below the waistband. You traced it with the tip of your finger and felt his stomach jump.

He hissed through his teeth. “Y/N–”

“Shh.” You leaned over him, letting your lips brush the side of his neck, your breasts barely grazing his chest. “You’re doing so well. You’re so good for me.”

You flattened your hands on his abs again–which flexed for you instinctively, muscles twitching beneath your touch like he couldn’t help it–and used the strength of your arms to slowly grind your hips down onto him,

The noise he made wasn’t fully human. A groan, a whimper, and something deeper, buried under the surface.

His erection dragged perfectly against you through the fabric–thick and hot, twitching with every roll of your hips. Your panties were soaked, practically clinging to you, and the friction made your breath catch as you circled your hips again, this time more deliberately.

His hands clutched at your thighs, tight, but still not pulling you closer. Still fighting it.

You looked down at him–his crown of light brown hair a mess against the pillow, chest flushed a blush red, eyes dark and burning–and gave a slow, teasing grind.

“You feel that, hm?” You asked teasingly, “You feel how hard you are for me?”

He let out a choked gasp. “God–I c-can’t–I’m not gonna–”

You dragged your nails lightly down his stomach, just above his navel. “You can. You’re doing so well. Just let me have this. Let me feel you.”

His mouth dropped open slightly. His eyes rolled back. And then–

A flicker.

Just a flicker. In the air. In him.

A change.

You felt the tension ripple through him like a seismic shift. His fingers spasmed on your skin. The scent of the room changed–faint at first, that impossible radiant scent of solar storms and molten honey. It swelled around you like incense…Like divinity.

Your body arched instinctively, like your skin recognized it before your mind did.

You knew what was coming.

And when his eyes finally opened again, his eyes weren’t blue anymore.

They were gold. Not the soft, hazy kind. Not sunshine or dandelions. No–this was liquid metal. Molten, glowing from within like a forge that had never cooled. His pupils had blown wide, nearly eclipsed by the sheer burn of that radiant gold, and the irises pulsed faintly with light, like the sun itself had been cracked and poured into his skull.

There was no doubt about who was looking up at you now, because Sentry had arrived, and he looked wrecked.

His lips parted like he couldn’t speak at first, chest rising fast and shallow under your palms as he stared up at you with that raw, unfiltered expression–equal parts awe, frustration, and starved hunger.

You smiled softly, sweet and unbothered, and leaned down to press the gentlest kiss to his lips.

“Hi,” You whispered, brushing your nose against his, feeling his body turn hotter than ever before.

His brow twitched.

“Hi?” He echoed, voice low and gravel-thick, incredulous. “That’s all you have for me?”

You didn’t answer–not right away. You shifted, rolling your hips slowly across his aching length again, and the moan that escaped him was near guttural. His hands flexed hard on your thighs, knuckles white with restraint.

“Do you have any idea what it’s been like?” He hissed, head tilting back against the pillow. “Four weeks. Four. I’ve been locked up, pushed down and kept out. I could hear you–feel you–and I couldn’t even breathe. He buried me alive every time you touched him.”

You nosed at his throat, lips dragging softly down to kiss the curve where his pulse thundered beneath golden skin.

“I know,” you murmured, voice sultry, sweet. “I could feel you, too.”

He groaned like it hurt.

Your mouth moved across his collarbone in slow, reverent kisses, and he was breathing like he’d just outrun the sun. His voice cracked when he tried again, desperate now.

“You’re not even listening to me,” He gritted, the words shaking with restraint. “My star, my divine girl, I’ve been–God, I’ve been burning for you–” You paused only long enough to glance up at him with a raised brow.

“I did summon you, did I not?” You teased smoothly, lips still brushing his throat, your fingers curling lightly against the ridges of his abdomen. “You should be thanking me.”

He choked on a laugh–one part disbelief, one part ruined–and his muscles twitched like he was about to sit up, like he needed you closer, like he was ready to grab you and devour you whole.

You shot your hands up and gave him a firm little look.

“Ah. No.”

His body froze under yours, breathing ragged, eyes wild.

“You need to be gentle with me,” You said softly, every syllable dripping in that teasing control he loved and hated. “That’s the deal here.”

Sentry stilled.

You watched it happen in real time–every muscle in his body twitching with tension, his glowing eyes squeezed shut, jaw locked, his erection throbbing beneath you as your hips pressed down just enough to make his restraint feel like torture.

He let out a long, broken exhale.

“Fuck,” He whispered. “You are…Cruel.” You smirked, slow and smug, as his chest rose sharply beneath you.

“Cruel?” You echoed sweetly. “I think I’ve been rather generous.”

His fingers twitched on your thighs, and the heat of him–God, the heat–was barely contained now. His palms burned where they touched you, not scalding, but molten, like he was barely keeping the sun behind his skin.

And then, slowly–deliberately–his thumbs dragged outward, and his nails followed. Not sharp. Just enough to make your breath hitch as they scraped down the delicate inside of your thighs, like he was carving invisible lines of worship into your skin.

“Sen,” You murmured, breath catching just a little as your eyes flicked down to him, “If you keep doing that, I’ll start thinking you’re not listening.”

His gaze snapped up to yours at the nickname you had given him–Sen.

The gold in his eyes darkened slightly, pupils blown wider, the tips of his fingers twitching again like he wanted to dig them into your skin and never let go.

“Don’t call me that when you’re sitting on top of me like this,” He growled. “You don’t know what that does to me.”

“Oh, I think I do,” You purred, rolling your hips just slightly, enough to make him gasp. “You like when I tease….You like when I play with my food…” You added, dropping your voice to a bare whisper.

“You are the food,” He said, voice low and feral.

You laughed–low, and breathless.

And then, quieter, rougher this time:

“So…What can we do?” His hands moved higher, slow, reverent, heat trailing behind his touch. “Tell me what I’m allowed, my star. Tell me what I can have.”

You leaned in and pressed your forehead to his, eyes burning with challenge and affection both.

“If you can manage to keep your cool,” You whispered, mouth brushing his, “You can do whatever you want.” His breath hitched, chest tightening beneath you as he exhaled a shuddering hum. His hands were still warm on your thighs, and the glow in his skin had deepened–like every inch of him was alive with solar current, barely contained beneath the surface.

His voice–when it came–was low and thoughtful, the words stretched like honey over a blade.

“What would Bob think,” He murmured, “If he found out you told me I could do…Whatever I wanted to you?” His fingers curled slightly, thumbs brushing slow, deliberate circles into your skin. His eyes gleamed up at you–devilish and divine, hunger wrapped in gold.

You smiled. Tilted your head just enough before playing along.

“I’m sure he’ll understand,” You drawled, sarcasm twining with affection in your voice. “You’ve had a rougher time than him, after all the terrible torture of not having me.”

He huffed out a breath–a sharp, almost comical noise–and then groaned, tossing his head back into the pillow with mock suffering.

“Oh God,” He groaned dramatically, dragging the words out like an actor in a Shakespearean tragedy. “It was horrible. Endless days. Ceaseless nights. Hearing every sound you made…Feeling every twitch of your hips… Knowing your fingers were on him and not me…” You snorted through your nose, biting back a laugh as he continued with a deep, theatrical sigh.

“Truly,” He said, lifting one hand in the air as if testifying, “A torment unlike any other. A punishment so cruel, so unjust… I nearly perished.”

“You’re so dramatic,” You said, laughing now, leaning down to nip at his jaw.

“And you love it,” He whispered, suddenly real again, his voice rasping just beside your ear.

You sobered slightly. Not serious, but grounded–because it was true. You did. You loved this version of him just as much as you loved Bob, only this was the version with teeth and heat and too much devotion in his hands.

Your fingers brushed back through his hair, nails skimming his scalp. He closed his eyes, savoring it. Like even that–even the smallest touch–was a gift.

“So,” You murmured, voice softer now, breath against his cheek. “What do you want?” His golden eyes softened as they roamed your face, lingering on your mouth like it had been centuries since he’d tasted it. Then–slowly–he tilted his head and brushed his lips to yours.

It wasn’t rushed, It wasn’t demanding.

It was savoring.

A kiss that said I remember you. A kiss that trembled with every day he hadn’t been able to reach you. A kiss that carried every sound you’d made while straddling Bob’s lap, every moan he wasn’t allowed to echo, every ache he’d swallowed in silence.

He kissed you like he needed the shape of your mouth to remember who he was.

When he pulled back, his voice came low and molten, all reverence and ruin.

“I want to taste you,” He whispered against your lips. “I’ve missed your sweetness…” You could feel your teeth chew slightly at the inner part of your cheek.

“I dreamt of it,” He continued, thumbing your skin with the barest pressure. “Of your thighs cushioning my head. Of your body trembling against my mouth. I’ve imagined the way you’d sound when I make you fall apart. I’ve thought of nothing else.”

You shivered.

He looked up at you, gaze steady, lips parted like he was already praying.

“And I’ll be considerate of your recovery,” He said softly, almost chiding, like he was already reigning in the wildfire underneath. “You won’t have to move much. Just…” His fingers slid gently under your thighs again, thumbs grazing along the crease where hip met leg, “Shift up–just a little. Let me have your weight. You’ll have the headboard to hold onto for balance.”

You arched a brow, heart pounding.

“You want me to sit on your face?”

His answer came instantly.

“I want to drown in you.”

The words were low. Velvet-wrapped steel. And yet somehow…Unbearably soft.

“I want to taste everything I’ve missed,” he went on, like it was a vow. “I want to feel your thighs shake around my head. I want your hands in my hair, your hips grinding down when you can’t help it. I want you to come undone above me, knowing I won’t stop until you do.”

The heat in your body pooled lower, hotter. You could feel your cheeks flush, your breath catch.

You whispered, barely audible–“Okay.”

His pupils constricted slightly, as a slow molten gleam overtook his irises.

Then his voice–rougher now, tinged with something that made your toes curl.

“Can I rip these off?” His hands skimmed the waistband of your panties, the damp fabric clinging to you. “I don’t want you getting off me anytime soon, and these are in the way.” You rolled your eyes, breathless and already trembling.

“So needy,” You muttered. Then your gaze softened, daring. “Go ahead.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. With one clean, controlled motion, the fabric split–softly, the tearing almost reverent. He didn’t yank or tear like a beast. He unraveled them like something sacred. Like he had earned the right to destroy and would worship what was revealed.

The moment your ruined panties fell away, his breath hitched–visibly. Tangibly. His chest rose sharp, and his hands froze mid-motion, as if the sight of you soaked, bare, and above him had silenced the divine.

“Fuck,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “You’re… You’re so…Mmm.”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

You watched his eyes trail between your thighs like he was watching a solar flare ripple through the atmosphere, and then his hands slid up again, curling beneath you.

“Come here,” He said hoarsely, voice cracking from want.

You braced your palms against the headboard, breath shallow, and shifted your weight as he gently guided you up his chest. The movement felt slow, charged, deliberate–like a dance you’d rehearsed a thousand times in dreams.

His mouth parted when you hovered just above him.

“God this is like the gates of heaven…” He whispered, like he wasn’t even aware he was speaking. “I’ve missed this. Missed you.” The breath that ghosted up from his parted mouth was scorching.

It kissed over your core like a promise–warm and humid and unbearably teasing. Your thighs trembled where they framed his head, and you swore you could feel his pulse in the air itself. His hands shifted, firm and possessive, fingers sliding around the swell of your ass, gripping gently at first–then with more pressure, his thumbs digging into the softness like he needed to memorize the shape of you.

He tilted his head, slowly, and pressed a kiss to the inside of your left thigh.

It was soft. Barely a whisper of a touch.

Then another. And another.

He moved with such care, kissing a slow, open-mouthed trail toward your heat, his lips parting slightly, tongue tasting the salt and sweetness of your skin like it was holy. Your whole body vibrated with tension as his mouth reached the top of your thigh–so close it made you gasp.

“S-Sen,” You breathed. He moaned, low and wrecked.

The sound vibrated against your skin.

Then–his eyes flicked up to you, glowing molten gold and dark with hunger. His mouth parted, his voice like velvet caught on flame.

“Don’t run from me…” And he pulled you down.

Your gasp caught in your throat the moment his mouth met you–his lips sealing over your clit, his tongue diving between your folds without hesitation. He groaned into you, and the vibration shot straight through your spine like a live wire.

“Oh, my God–” You choked, head tilting back, hand flying from the headboard to tangle in his hair.

And he grunted, like the feel of your fingers threading into his light brown waves turned something over in him.

He licked you like he’d been dying.

Like this was air, and you were the only thing keeping him from collapsing. His tongue was strong, wide, and everywhere–slow at first, savoring the taste of you, dragging up through your folds, dipping into your entrance and circling your clit in a rhythm so controlled it felt like torture.

Your thighs began to shake.

His hands roamed freely now–one sliding up your back, trailing heat over your spine, the other squeezing your ass with reverent possessiveness before sliding between your thighs to hold you open.

And still–his mouth never left you.

He lapped at you with wet, insistent strokes, each one met with a groan so needy it echoed from his chest like thunder. You were panting, gasping now, unable to hold still, your hips starting to roll forward of their own accord–and he let you.

Encouraged you actually.

His hands adjusted, strong and steady, helping you grind against his mouth with a controlled pace. Like he wanted to let you take what you needed, while still owning every second of it.

When you moaned his name again, breathless and broken, he growled into your core–and the sensation made you cry out, legs trembling where they bracketed his face.

He looked up at you through hooded eyes, hair wild between your fingers, lips slick with you, and he spoke with his mouth still on you.

“Look at you,” he groaned, voice thick and worshipful, “Trembling for me already.” Your whole body jerked.

He flattened his tongue and dragged it slow and firm over your clit—and when you arched, moaning, he wrapped his arms around your hips and held you down against him.

You let out a breathless, shattered sob.

“Sen–fuck–Sen, I–”

He didn’t let you finish.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, moaning around it, and when your hips jolted in response, he groaned louder, mouth moving faster, his tongue working you with frantic, open-mouthed kisses between firm, relentless strokes.

Your legs shook.

You barely realized you were panting his name until he was grinding his face up into you like he could live there. One hand left your hip just long enough to drag up your side, across your ribs, and cradle your breast, thumb brushing your nipple as his mouth worked you like he was trying to memorize how you came apart.

“Let go for me,” he rasped between strokes. “Come on, my star…Fall for me.”

And you did.

Your thighs locked around his head as your orgasm crashed through you–violent, hot, your cry strangled in your throat as your hips stuttered against his mouth. He held you there, anchored you, mouth never stopping, tongue working you through it with such relentless, reverent need it nearly tipped you into another climax right on the heels of the first.

Your entire body sagged forward, forehead pressed to the headboard, chest heaving.

But his arms didn’t loosen.

His mouth didn’t stop.

And when your trembling hand gave his hair a tug, desperate and overstimulated, he moaned into you again–like he could keep doing this for hours.

“Sen–” you gasped, your voice hitching at the end. “*Sentry, I…I feel like I’m gonna explode, I–I can’t–I can’t take another one, please–”

The desperation in your voice cracked something in him.

His arms, which had been locked tightly around your hips, finally loosened. One hand smoothed gently along the curve of your thigh, coaxing, comforting, helping you lift yourself just slightly from his mouth as you trembled above him, breath ragged.

He exhaled hard-–ruined–and let his head fall back against the pillow.

“I’m sorry,” He murmured, dazed and high on your arousal, his lips still shining with you. “It’s just–fuck–you’re too addicting.”

You huffed out a breathless laugh, still trembling as you balanced one hand on the headboard and the other against his chest, steadying yourself. His skin was hot to the touch, flushed, glowing, the heat of his body almost overwhelming.

“I almost blacked out,” you whispered, laughing weakly.

“I’d take that as a compliment,” He said, grinning up at you, golden eyes soft and shimmering, “If you weren’t about to melt off my face.”

“You’re insane,” You muttered, breath catching when he leaned in to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh again–then another.

And then, suddenly–he nipped the skin gently.

You gasped and swatted him, laughing harder now. “Stop! I’m gonna fall over.”

He chuckled, not even pretending to be sorry, as you shifted your weight carefully down him–your palm still braced against his chest, while the other slipped from your headboard. He let you move, hands warm and guiding, eyes soft like the sunrise as you slid along the length of him until your chest pressed to his.

Your noses brushed.

And then you kissed him.

His mouth opened beneath yours, still slick with the taste of you, and you inhaled sharply–gasping into the contact as he deepened the kiss without hesitation. His hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you closer, and the heat of it seeped into your spine, invading the nerves there.

You moaned against his tongue.

He kissed you like he needed to be filled with you–like this was the only way to survive. Tongue stroking yours, breath catching, lips parting wider–his hips rolled just once beneath you, and you felt it.

Felt him.

Still hard. Still aching.

Still desperately ready.

You broke the kiss with a shaky inhale, foreheads touching, voice low and still buzzing from overstimulation.

“I want to have sex with you.” He blinked slowly, his brows raising–not in surprise, but in playful disbelief.

“Is there going to be a condition for that too?” He asked, voice rough and amused. You nodded solemnly.

“Yeah. We’re gonna have to do it on the floor.” His eyebrows raised almost in disbelief.

”The floor?” You gave him a deadpan look.

”Yes. The floor Sen. Last time we had sex you broke my damn bed frame and I’m really not in the mood to buy and have Bob assemble one all over again.” There was a beat of silence–then he burst out laughing.

“You’re having sex with an all-powerful being,” He teased between huffs, his arms curling tighter around you. “There will be casualties sometimes.”

“Yeah, well,” You murmured, dragging your fingers across his sweat glistened chest, “It seems like it’s always the furniture that takes the brunt of it.” He grinned lazily at the comment.

”Better than the person that I orbit.” That stopped you. The warmth that pooled in your chest had nothing to do with arousal. You swallowed hard, suddenly breathless in an entirely different way. But before you could speak, his fingers tilted your chin, eyes burning golden beneath furrowed brows.

“And speaking of which…” He added, voice dipping into something deeper, more dangerous. “Have I ever asked what it feels like?”

You blinked. “What-What feels like?” He smiled. It was sly. Devoted. Mocking in the way only a god could pull off.

“To have a god wrapped around your fingers,” He whispered. “To be in control of something so powerful and mighty…Who will drop everything just to please you.”

Your stomach fluttered and your thighs clenched. He didn’t move right away. Just stared at you–eyes burning with something ancient and tender, something that ached to kneel and dominate all at once.

And you smiled, the corners of your lips curving into something smooth and slow, despite the thunder in your chest.

“No,” You breathed. “You’ve never asked.”

He tilted his head slightly, golden hair mussed, lips parted like a prayer waiting to be answered. You leaned down, your voice velvet-wrapped and shameless, laced with that daring softness he craved.

“But I can tell you…” You let your fingers drag lightly along his jaw. “It’s quite mighty.” A pause. “And incredibly sexy.” The groan that escaped him was nearly a growl.

His mouth was on yours before you could say another word.

His kiss was molten gold–wet, needy, too much and never enough. It devoured you with gratitude, his hand tangling into your hair like he was anchoring himself to the only thing in the universe that made sense.

When he pulled back, breathless, his voice cracked with amusement.

“I guess we’ll move to the floor then.” He said with a mock surrender, causing the both of you to laugh together. he helped you off him, his large hands gentle as he guided your legs from his waist. You staggered slightly, still trembling from the aftermath of your orgasm, and he caught you against his chest before leading you down to the floor beside the bed.

Together, you tugged the comforter down, gathering pillows and arranging them hastily. He crouched with you, golden skin glowing faintly in the soft light of the room.

Then–

“Are you still on the pill?” He asked suddenly, his voice lower. Cautious, but hopeful. You blinked, eyebrows rising at the question. You paused. The lightness of the moment didn’t vanish exactly–but it shifted. Grounded. Rooted. And when you turned your head to look at him, there was something older in his eyes. Something that hummed with memory.

You knew what he was thinking about.

That night, weeks ago, after the first round of sex. When you were tangled together in the dark, bodies still trembling with shared breath, and he had whispered–without hesitation–that he wanted you to have his child. It hadn’t been a demand. Not even a request. Just…A truth. A need that had burrowed so deep into him, it came out as gentle as possible.

You had stilled in his arms, heart aching and flattered and terrified all at once. He had told you he wanted it since the day he laid eyes on you, and how you would be perfect to carry his child, you had told him it sounded beautiful–because it was and still is–but she needed to talk to Bob about it. You hadn’t spoken much about it after. You’d thought maybe he forgot. Apparently not.

You pushed to your feet slowly, still a little shaky, and grabbed an extra pillow from the bed.

“Of course I’m still on it,” You said over your shoulder. Not cold. Just…Firm. Practical. When you turned back around, he was kneeling on the comforter you’d pulled down, staring up at you with something tender and disappointed curling at the edges of his expression. You softened a little and stepped toward him, your hand gently settling over his chest. The heat of him bled into your palm.

“You do know Bob’s the main driver of this body of yours, hmm?” You said gently. “And he and I both agreed that’s not something that can happen anytime soon.” He blinked once. Gold eyes flicking between yours like he was trying to bite back the ache in his chest.

“We’re not even serious like that,” You added, voice soft. “You know that.”He sighed. Ran a hand through his mussed hair and shook his head like he was trying to keep from saying too much. Then:

“Well…Hurry up and get serious. I’m starting to get frustrated with him not moving forward and doing what he needs to do.”You huffed a laugh, despite yourself.

“Yes, yes, let’s blame Bob, huh?” You responded, throwing the pillow down beside him “Not like I don’t have a choice or anything.” Sentry’s gaze softened again. And then he shook his head slowly, deliberately, like he was preparing to say something important.

“My star,” He said, voice low, “I already know you’d take the plunge to get serious. You’re the only person I want anyway… So he truly doesn’t have much of a choice.” You stared at him for a moment. Your heart did that soft, traitorous thing–tipping a little, aching a little, opening in ways you weren’t entirely ready for.

Then he leaned forward, and with such gentle grace, pressed a kiss to your stomach.

“I guess I’ll just have to be patient,” He murmured against your skin, “As usual.” Your fingers threaded instinctively into his soft, light brown locks. You sighed, a small smile brushing your lips.

“You’re really good at it,” You whispered, brushing your thumb along his cheek. “So it shouldn’t be hard.”

He glanced up at you, smirking faintly. “You’re lucky.”

“I know.” You leaned down, kissed him once–slow, deep, grateful for him. He sighed against your mouth, a low, sound that vibrated through your chest. His hands slipped lower, sliding beneath your thighs, and with that impossible, gentle strength, he guided you down onto his lap–slowly, gently, like placing something holy onto an altar.

Your legs draped across his hips, knees sinking into the plush comforter. His heat wrapped around you instantly, like sunlight after a storm. Your chest pressed to his again, your heartbeat stammering against the steady thrum of his. You pulled back slightly, your lips still brushing his.

“I’m gonna have to be on top, by the way,” You mentioned, your voice low, but sure. “Gotta have at least some control…Especially after how much I’ve riled you up.”

His eyes burned gold beneath his lashes. A slow smile broke across his mouth, soft and dangerous, nodding.

“Okay,” He whispered. Then again, firmer, rougher, like the word meant more than just consent. Like it meant surrender. “Okay.” You took your weight off him with care, shifting slightly on your knees so he could move. Sentry’s arm stayed wrapped around your waist, steady and possessive, even as he tilted his hips and used his free hand to slide his boxers down.

The fabric eased over the rigid swell of his erection, and you felt your breath catch in your throat.

Every time you saw him like this–hot, aching, thick and flushed red with need–it hit you like a wave. It didn’t matter how many times you’d touched him, tasted him, coaxed those helpless moans from his lips. It still undid you. Your mouth practically watered, and he noticed.

His golden eyes–dark now, rimmed with heat–flicked up to yours, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

“You always look at me like that,” He murmured. “Like you’re starving.”

You leaned in and kissed him hard for that.

No teasing, no playing. Just the truth of it–mouths open and breathing each other in like salvation. His hand stayed tight on your waist, grounding you as your chest brushed his. He was warm all over, sun-hot and trembling beneath your fingers, and the kiss deepened with a soft groan from his throat.

Then, with a breathless sigh, he pulled back, and let himself lie back on the comforter.

You followed.

You shifted your knees slightly, climbing higher, hovering above him. The way his eyes roamed your body made your skin flush–lit like gold in the low light, desperate to be closer. You leaned down again, mouths meeting for another kiss, slower this time, your lips moving languidly over his, your body grinding down.

The length of him–bare now, flushed and velvet-soft steel–pressed between your folds, dragging slick and hot along your center. The friction made you gasp, hips rolling once, twice, slow and deliberate. He moaned into your mouth, fingers twitching where they held your waist.

“Fuck–” He hissed, voice already frayed. “You’re gonna kill me.” You smiled against his mouth, then you sat back slightly.

Your knees pressed into the comforter, one hand resting on his chest, as the other reached between your bodies–slow and sure. You wrapped your fingers gently around the base of him, guiding him forward, watching his expression shift the moment he felt your slick warmth brush the head of his erection. You paused for a breath, before slowly sinking down.

The stretch of him pulled a soft gasp from your lips. Every inch was deliberate. You liked it like this. Liked feeling him fill you, liked savoring the slow push, the way your body had to open for him–adjust around him. He was so thick, so hot, and the way he twitched in your hand as you eased him inside was sinful.

He let out a long, guttural moan–his head tipping back, golden eyes fluttering closed, as his fingers tightened into the soft flesh of your hips.

“Oh…My star…” He gasped, voice cracked with devotion, his chest rising slightly. “You were made for me.”

You reached for one of his wrists, fingers curling tight around it like a lifeline. His arm flexed beneath your grip, molten and strong, but he didn’t move–he let you take your time, let you hold on. Your head tipped back slightly as your hips rocked lower, easing him in with slow, careful control. The stretch burned in that perfect way, your breath catching in your throat, back arching as you took him deeper.

His eyes fluttered open, barely golden slivers beneath his lashes. He stared up at you like you were the sun itself.

“You feel…Divine,” He whispered, like the words were being torn from him. “Holy. Like the sky split open just to give me this.” Your hips rolled again–so slow, so full–and you whimpered, the sensation threading through your nerves like lightning. And then–finally–you seated yourself fully, your thighs pressing to his hips, his cock buried to the hilt inside you.

A long, broken moan escaped you.

His breath stuttered in response. His lips parted, trembling with restraint and awe as he looked up at you–eyes wide, worshipful.

“There you are,” He breathed, like he was seeing you for the first time. “You are…Breathtaking. My universe…Sitting on me like this…Wrapped around me like you were born for it.” His thumb stroked your hip, slow and reverent, and then he smiled–soft, tender, devastating. “So strong… So beautiful…” You leaned forward slightly, bracing one hand against his chest, and began to move–slow, aching rocks of your hips, grinding into him like you were drawing the moment out for eternity.

His mouth dropped open.

“Oh fuck–” He groaned, deep and rasping, his voice crumbling with worship. “Yes, just like that. Keep going. Take your time–I want to feel all of it.” Your breath shuddered at the praise. Your thighs trembled where they bracketed his hips, each motion sending sparks through your body. He filled you so completely. The drag of him along your walls with each tilt of your hips made you feel split open and whole at once.

Then–his free hand rose slowly.

You felt it before you saw it, the heat of his palm brushing up your side, ghosting over your ribs. And then–he cupped your breast, thumb ghosting over your nipple. You gasped, hips stuttering.

”Sentry…” His thumb brushed lightly over your nipple again, and the sensation made you shiver. The touch was so warm, almost unbearably so, and when he gave a slow, deliberate roll of his hand, the heel of his palm pressing into the swell of your breast, your hips rocked harder in response. You let out a soft gasp, and his lips curved at the sound.

“There you go…” He murmured, voice molten, reverent. “Take what you need.” You leaned forward again, bracing your hands on his chest, your breasts brushing against his fingers as he massaged you gently, rhythm matching the roll of your hips. The stretch of him inside you remained relentless–thick, deep, perfect–and every time your body dropped down to meet his, your breath caught in your throat.

And still–his eyes never left yours.

Golden. Blazing. Lit from within like a dying star had taken root behind his gaze.

“You feel so good,” you whispered, hips rocking slow and steady. His breath caught on a groan, jaw twitching as he struggled to hold still beneath you.

“You’re perfect like this,” he rasped, his other hand trailing along the back of your thigh. “Every time you move…Every time you clench around me–I feel like I’m going to unravel.” You smiled, lips parted, your thighs trembling with the effort of keeping the pace.

“Then don’t hold back,” You whispered, letting your voice drip with sweetness and challenge. “Tilt your hips. Meet me.” The second he did–oh, God.

A sharp, controlled thrust met your downward grind, and the sound you made wasn’t human. A shattered moan cracked from your throat as his cock drove deeper, grinding against that perfect spot inside you. His lips parted, breath hissing out through clenched teeth.

“That’s it,” He growled, hands tightening on your hips. “Use me. Ride me. I want to feel all of it–I want to feel you fall apart on me.”

You gasped, rocked harder, hands splaying on his glowing chest for balance. Your fingers slid in the slick sheen of sweat, and he met each movement of your hips with a soft upward thrust–slow, controlled, but full of restrained desperation.

The room was full of heat and tension and breathless praise.

“You’re so strong,” You whispered, your nails lightly grazing his pecs. “But you’re mine like this, aren’t you?”

His head tipped back, a low groan rumbling from his chest.

“Yours,” He gasped, voice strained. “Always yours.”

Your pace shifted–slower now, but deeper. You sank down until your thighs met his, rotating your hips in tight, grinding circles. The pressure made you whimper, and his hands trailed up your back to cradle your spine. His touch was reverent. Unshakable.

His eyes bore into you.

And when you clenched around him again–tight, deliberate–his whole body trembled.

“F-Fuck–” He choked, hips snapping up harder, “I can’t–I’m close, I’m so fucking close–” You didn’t stop. You rocked harder, faster, meeting his thrusts with purpose, each one grinding against the perfect place inside you. He was panting now, golden skin flushed with exertion, his entire body trembling beneath your hands. And still–his eyes. Never leaving yours.

“Let me,” He gasped suddenly, voice cracking with urgency. “Let me hold you.”

Before you could speak, his arms wrapped around you–strong, grounding–pulling you tight to his chest as he sat up. The shift drove him even deeper inside you, and you cried out, your nails digging into his back as he began to thrust upward.

Slow. Deep. Devastating.

You clung to him, arms wrapped around his neck as he rocked into you, his breath hot and ragged in your ear.

“I want to come inside you,” He groaned, voice wrecked. “Even if I can’t make you mine that way–God, I want to.”

You gasped, legs shaking around his waist.

“I want to fill you up,” He whispered, his voice dripping with longing and something unholy. “I want you to feel it for hours. I want to give you everything I have.”

His thrusts grew more desperate, more intense, his hands splayed across your back, holding you flush against him.

“You’d take it so well,” He said raggedly, “You’d look so beautiful carrying my light…” You whimpered–God, your body was close again, everything tightening, building fast.

“I want you to glow with me inside you,” He rasped, “And I want it so bad…It fucking hurts.” Your breath hitched–high and sharp–and then softened into something near reverence. You reached up, cupping his jaw with both hands, grounding him even as he moved inside you, each thrust coaxing a tremble from your thighs.

“I wish I could give that to you,” You whispered, voice breaking, “God, I wish I could. I want it too–I want everything with you.” Your forehead pressed to his, “You've made me glow long before this though…” His lips parted in wonder, in awe, as if the words cracked something open inside him.

And then you tilted your head back.

Your body arched, spine curving with surrender, your throat exposed and shimmering in the low light–and he lost it.

He surged forward, lips pressing hotly to the base of your neck, kissing a desperate line up your throat. His teeth grazed the skin there, tongue sweeping over your pulse as he continued to thrust into you–deep, steady, aching with devotion and heat.

“You’re mine,” He groaned, voice unraveling. “Made for me. I can feel it–God, I feel you everywhere–”

Your nails scraped up his back, your hips meeting his with desperate rhythm, chasing the edge. You were close again. Too close. The way he was hitting so deep, so perfectly, every breath a cry tangled in your throat–

“Sen–Sen, I’m–”

“I’ve got you,” He growled, arms tightening around you, lifting slightly with each deep, rolling thrust. “Come for me again. Show me how perfect you are like this. My light–my love–my star–”

And you shattered.

The climax slammed into you, white-hot and blinding. Your entire body tensed and convulsed in his arms, a strangled sob wrenched from your lips as your nails carved down his back in a desperate, overwhelmed arc. You slumped forward with a gasp, burying your face against his neck, your entire body trembling.

“Sen–fuck–oh my God–”

He kissed your shoulder once. Twice. Then his mouth claimed yours in a breathless, open kiss as he thrust upward a few more times–hard, slow, deep.

And then he came.

With a broken gasp of your name, he pulled you down against him fully–thrusting one last time as deep as he could, holding you there, letting you feel every pulse of him as he spilled inside you. His arms locked around you like a shield, like a prayer, and he groaned into your hair as he emptied himself completely.

You felt it.

The heat. The fullness. The way his entire body trembled under yours as he rode the edge of euphoria and collapse.

You dragged your nails down the length of his back again, drawing out a small sigh from him at the sensation, feeling his hips twitch once more with the aftershock of his orgasm.

Slowly, you melted into him, body trembling, your mouth pressing a soft kiss to the slope of his shoulder. Your breath came in shallow gasps, syncing slowly with the rise and fall of his chest. Still–his arms didn’t loosen.

His hand slid down your spine, palm splaying against the small of your back, his fingers moving in soft, lazy strokes. Like he was memorizing the curve of you. Like he didn’t know where he ended and you began.

“So amazing, Y/N…” He whispered. It was breathless. Ruined. Honest.

You hummed softly, nuzzling into his skin, your lips brushing his throat.

“I could say the same,” You whispered.

His hand cupped the back of your head, his other still gently rubbing your lower back as if he needed you calm and grounded in his arms–like you hadn’t just turned him into a mess of molten light and desperate devotion. The world was hazy now–smeared gold and breathless stillness.

You lay sprawled across him like a second skin, your cheek pressed to the curve of his shoulder, limbs heavy and trembling. The air between your bodies was thick with heat and the scent of salt and skin and something sweeter beneath it al-lsomething solar and heady. Like sunlight laced with honey. Like the remnants of a dying star had bloomed between your thighs and lit both of you from within.

His chest rose and fell in slow, steady waves beneath you. Every breath was deep but shaky, like his body was still coming down from orbit, trying to land again after being held aloft by you.

Your fingers, curled lightly along his side, shifted.

Just a little.

You didn’t want to move. Neither of you did. But you needed to see him. To kiss him. To feel his mouth against yours and drink in the closeness now that the worst of the hunger had passed.

So you lifted your head slowl–yyour muscles resisting at first, sore and sated and still buzzing from the afterglow. Your palm pressed flat to his chest, and you felt the slow thunder of his heartbeat beneath your hand.

Sentry’s golden eyes opened to meet yours. Soft. Languid. Still gleaming with the aftershocks. Like twin suns slowly setting after the storm.

You leaned in.

The kiss you gave him was slo-wlanguorous and warm. Not desperate. Not wild. Just… deep.

It was a kiss born from reverence, from shared breath and quiet belonging. A kiss that said thank you, and I see you, and I’m still here.

His mouth opened beneath yours with a sigh, arms tightening just slightly around your waist. The heat of him was still radiant, but not blistering. Contained now. Comforting. His tongue brushed yours in a soft stroke, slow and unhurried, like he didn’t want the moment to end.

When you pulled back, your noses brushed. His eyes stayed closed for a moment longer, like he was chasing the shape of your mouth in the air.

Then he spoke.

Quiet. Rough-edged. Tinged with affection and something teasing beneath it.

“…We should run a bath,” He murmured, his voice worn velvet, still rasped and frayed with pleasure. “Just before I let Bob come back.”

You blinked once, then let a smile stretch slow across your lips.

“Just before?” You echoed with a quiet laugh.

He huffed, clearly trying not to smile. “Well. I’m still…Savoring.”

You leaned down again and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, humming as his lips twitched beneath yours. “We can do whatever you want.”

He opened his eyes again then–fully this time–and you saw it.

The weight of his love. The gratitude. The aching tenderness barely veiled beneath his godlike beauty. You kissed him once more, slower now, before shifting your weight carefully and sliding off his lap.

His hands helped you move, gentle and reverent. He guided your hips like you were glass–still trembling, still full of him. When you rose to your knees beside him, his gaze flicked downward, and the flicker of possessive awe in his expression made your skin flush all over again.

His release was already starting to slip from you.

The sight made him groan–low and reverent–as he sat up and cupped the backs of your thighs in both hands, fingers pressing lightly as his mouth brushed your hip.

“I’m never going to get used to that,” He said softly. You nudged his shoulder, blushing despite the intimacy you’d just shared.

“C’mon, Sun God. Let’s not fall asleep in a puddle of afterglow and ruined underwear.”

Sentry chuckled at that–warm and deep–before rising fluidly to his feet, helping you up alongside him with the grace only a God could possess. You wobbled a little on unsteady legs, and he caught you instantly, hands cradling your hips with silent care. His mouth brushed your temple.

“Lean on me,” He whispered.

You did.

Together, you walked to the bathroom–his arm wrapped around your waist, your fingers clutching his, your bare skin glowing faintly in the low light of the hallway like you were still tethered to the stars.

When he reached the tub, he flicked the faucet on with a flick of his wrist, testing the water with one finger before adjusting the temperature until it was just right–hot but not scalding, perfect for sinking into. Steam began to curl up around the basin, fogging the mirror slightly, wrapping around your bodies like a veil.

He turned back toward you, still glowing faintly.

His eyes softened when he saw you there, standing naked in the doorway–hair mussed, skin kissed pink from friction and heat, thighs still trembling slightly. He stepped toward you and dropped to one knee, his hands trailing up the backs of your thighs again before pressing a kiss to the inside of your hip.

“May I?” He asked softly, nodding toward the cloth tucked beside the tub.

You nodded.

And so he cleaned you first.

He was so gentle–one hand holding you steady while the other carefully wiped between your thighs, his fingers barely brushing your tender skin. The washcloth was warm, damp, and slow as he moved, and your breath caught in your throat as he murmured soft apologies into your belly each time you flinched from the sensitivity.

He kissed you once more before rising, then guided you into the tub, lowering you like something sacred.

You sank into the water with a sigh, the heat wrapping around your sore muscles, the steam curling up to kiss your face. You watched as he stepped in after you–fluid, calm, that faint glow still humming along his shoulders–and settled behind you, pulling you gently between his legs.

His arms wrapped around your waist.

His chin settled on your shoulder.

And for a moment–there was nothing.

Just the sound of water sloshing softly as he held you, your spine pressed to his chest, the furnace of his body easing the ache of every muscle he had worshipped.

“You alright?” He asked quietly, lips brushing your ear.

You nodded slowly. Hummed. “Perfect.”

His lips pressed to your jaw.

“Good,” He whispered, then after a beat of silence his mouth brushed against your ear again.

”Although…I do think I deserve an award for restraint. Maybe a sash? Something tasteful for ‘Behaved Atomic Entity.” You laughed–soft and surprised–your shoulders shaking lightly against his chest.

“Mm, that’s what you want?” You teased, tilting your head slightly to meet his eyes. “Not praise or thanks or head scratches? Just…a sash?”

“Okay…Maybe I’ll take a commemorative mug,” He responded, lips brushing your temple now. “Something with ‘World’s Most Contained Supernova’ printed in bold, that sounds much better than ‘Atomic Entity’.”

That made you snort, leaning back further into him, your fingers drifting lazily into the water, then along his forearm where it wrapped around your waist. You traced soft, aimless lines over the golden skin there, admiring the faint glow that still clung to him like sunlight refusing to leave.

“Fine,” You murmured. “I’ll make you a mug. But only if you admit I was right to take control tonight.”

He hummed dramatically, pretending to think.

“…You were beautiful,” He said, voice hushed with reverence. “Powerful and Completely devastating. So yes. You were very, very right.”

You turned your head just enough to catch the look in his eyes. Mischievous, but molten. Soaked in affection. And something else, too–something deep. Something that still hadn’t faded, even after all that intensity. You leaned down and kissed the inside of his wrist, then let your hand drift lower across his forearm, down toward where his hand rested at your stomach–his fingers unconsciously splayed protectively across your lower abdomen.

He shifted them slightly then.

Trailing softly across your skin.

His touch skimmed the scar along your stomach–it was jagged, but still a little sensitive from the healing process.

“It healed up pretty well…” He commented. You gave him a small nod, leaning back against him as the steam curled gently around your face.

“Yeah, surprisingly,” You said, eyes slipping shut. “It’s just my ribs we’re waiting on at this point. Another few days, maybe less.”He hummed, the sound rumbling through his chest and into your spine.

“Hopefully I was gentle enough that I didn’t set you back.” That made you laugh–quiet, breathy, the kind of sound that filled the warm, wet air like a blessing.

“No, you were definitely more gentle than any of the other times we’ve had sex…” You said with a grin, tilting your head to the side so your temple brushed his. “Nothing broke. And shockingly, we didn’t fall through the floor.”

Sentry let out a low, amused huff, the kind that puffed against your ear and made your skin prickle with affection.

“Might have to put that on my list of things to destroy during sex next,” He muttered, mock-solemn. “Alongside bed frames, door hinges, and the basic laws of physics.”

You snorted and gave his thigh a light swat under the water. He just smiled against your skin, his arms tightening around you again, chest rising slowly behind your back like he could hold this moment forever.

[pomegranatelifethis]

Family day

Her hands trembled as she carefully placed the cake in the center of the table. A chocolate masterpiece, adorned with delicate frosting that spelled out "Family Day" in her neatest handwriting. She’d spent hours in the Wayne Manor kitchen—flour dusted her fingers, sweat beaded on her forehead, and her heart raced with a fragile hope. This was her chance to prove something. To show Dick she was worth his bright smiles, to earn Jason’s gruff but protective glances, to hear Tim’s sleepy gratitude, and maybe even coax a rare nod of approval from Damian.Today was supposed to be “Family Day.” Dick had mentioned it offhandedly weeks ago: “One day a week, we all get together, you know, like a real family.” That word—“family”—had pierced her like a shard of glass, but it had also sparked something in her. So she baked the cake. She waited for them.Hours ticked by. The sprawling manor was silent except for the faint rustle of Alfred dusting somewhere far off. She checked her phone obsessively—no messages, no calls. Maybe they’re on patrol, she told herself. Maybe there’s an emergency. But a small, broken voice inside whispered the truth: They forgot you.It was nearly midnight when the front door finally creaked open. Laughter spilled into the halls, familiar voices overlapping. Dick was cracking a joke, Jason firing back with a sarcastic quip, Tim muttering something incoherent, and Damian letting out a disdainful “tt.” Her heart leapt. She glanced at the cake, then took a hesitant step toward the door. But no one came to the kitchen. The sounds drifted to the living room—they’d turned on a movie, sprawled across the couches. They didn’t call for her. They didn’t even see her.She stared at the cake. The chocolate frosting had started to melt, the words “Family Day” smudging into an illegible mess. A weight settled in her chest, suffocating her. Her hands shook as she grabbed the cake, and in a surge of raw, blinding anger, she hurled it to the floor. The plate shattered, chocolate splattered against the walls, and glass shards scattered everywhere. The crash echoed through the silent manor, but no one came. No one cared.She sank to her knees, heedless of the broken glass. A jagged piece sliced into her hand, blood trickling down in a thin, crimson line, but she barely felt it. Rage, disappointment, and loneliness churned inside her, spilling out in silent tears. She clenched her fist, driving the glass deeper. “Why don’t they want me?” she whispered, her voice fragile and lost. Blood dripped onto the floor, mixing with the ruins of her cake, as the realization hit her again: She wasn’t their family. She was just… extra.From the living room, Dick’s voice floated through the air: “Man, tonight was awesome, huh?” Jason chuckled. “Yeah, a real family night.”

But she wasn’t part of it.

Tag:@jscrawls @Welpthisisboring @lilyalone @itsberrydreemurstuff

[luveline]

hellooo I have a request for Spencer x bombshell! reader (I'm not sure if you've done this before and if you have I apologise!!) but like they're on a case and one of them gets pretty badly hurt somehow & then the other is really worried about them & stuff and then I'm not sure (I think this could be good but not the way that I have spoken about it and so I'm very very sorry!!)

u r so awesome don’t worry!!

cw canon typical violence and injury

Everything is crisp and quiet at the precipice of the stakeout. You adjust your gun where it’s poised over the roof of an SUV away from a moving officer’s body. The negotiator adjusts the megaphone at their thigh nervously, waiting for Hotch’s go ahead. You’re all waiting for it. A hand raised, sending you in, hostage recovered, a long case coming to a short close. 

“Don’t forget your leg,” Spencer says to you under his breath. 

“Trust me, babe, I can’t forget it,” you say back, glancing quickly at him to your left. He’s facing forward, trained on the window where you’d last seen the unsub. The distance between you both and the danger is small, less than three feet of space. You and Spencer don’t have a clear shot, the agent’s behind you better equipped and better trained, but you can make do in a pinch. 

“Hurting?” he whispers. 

“Half as bad as it was yesterday.” 

“I have a bad feeling.” 

“Yeah?” You follow Hotch’s hand. The negotiation begins. You and Spencer don’t talk again. 

The unsub is sour, the victim terrified. When the screaming inside begins in earnest, the FBI rolls inside, confident in taking down the unsub, if a little worried about the victims wellbeing. You and Spencer sweep in less than ten inches away from each other, unafraid, and you don’t see the sledgehammer until it’s hitting you in the jaw, spraying blood like dark ink over Spencer’s pale cheek. 

—

“I don’t care if that’s what you recommend.” A drag of a soft touch somewhere on your skin. “Sincerely. I want a second opinion.” 

“It’s a mandibular fracture, we have a suitable follow up procedure.” 

“I understand, but I’m doing what she’d want me to do. When she wakes up, she’ll say the same thing, and so there’s no point in starting the paperwork for a procedure she won’t agree to.” 

“I doubt her cosmetic preferences will outweigh functionality.” 

It’s Spencer’s voice, Spencer’s hand on your leg. He’s reaching back to hold you as he defends you. “Respectfully, you don’t know her. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. She needs peace and quiet.” 

The doctor harrumphs but leaves. Quiet is restored, and for a while you doze, the only thing at your attention Spencer’s hand where it climbs. He takes your hand. You know his fingers well where they twine between yours. 

A few hours pass by in sluggish slee, the bed elevated to an uncomfortable sitting position. 

“Hey?” he asks, fingertips to the hill of your shoulder. “Are you waking up?” 

You can’t make your mouth form words. Your eyes flash open in shock.

“Hey, don’t panic. I’m sorry, I’m going to explain, but please don’t panic.” 

You wait. 

Spencer stands in a rumpled shirt, hair in his eyes, glasses slipping down his nose. “Your jaw is broken, fractured, actually, pretty badly. You’ve had so much pain relief over the last few hours I’m surprised you can even open your eyes, and it’s good you’re struggling to move your mouth because it would only hurt anyways.” He claps your arm gently. “I’m sorry. I’m not going anywhere though, okay? I’m right here.” 

That’s not what scares you; you know Spencer’s gonna stay. It’s not a question. 

Your hand strays up to your face. 

“It’s not bad,” he swears, and perhaps lies. 

“Spence,” you manage, a croak that aches and lisps at once. 

“It’s okay,” he says, leaning down. ��Please don’t get upset.” 

You blink tearfully. You don’t remember what happened, just the flash of pain and now Spencer looking down at you like you’re wounded. He sits carefully on the side of your bed and grabs you by the waist, two hands on your sides and arms resting on your stomach, like a hug that hasn’t crept forward. 

“You won’t like the bruise,” he says apologetically. 

“Bad?” you whisper. 

“It’s all the way up to your eye. He also chipped two of your teeth… I’m so sorry, angel. It was my fault.” He thumbs your ribs. “I’ll fix everything. I already talked to your dentist, and tonight they’re coming back to talk about your plastics because the blow split your skin, okay? But you're mostly fixed already.” 

“‘M I… still pretty?” you ask. 

“Still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he says, not half as shyly as he’d usually would. 

You cry panicked, dribbly tears. He rubs shapes into your sides and swears again that it’ll all be okay, and it’s not that you don’t believe him, it’s just that it’s really starting to hurt. 

“Had a bad feeling,” he says, wiping your tears as gently as he can before they can wet the bandaging on your jaw.

“Did you get him for me?” you ask. 

Morgan clears his throat from the doorway to announce his arrival, a coffee cup in hand, pastry bag hanging between his pinky and marriage finger. He sounds like he’s about to laugh, “Did you, lover boy?” He beams at you. “I’ve never seen him pistol whip someone before. You would’ve loved it.”

You groan in agony. Missing out on seeing that is almost as bad as breaking your jaw. 

“I’ll recreate it for you,” Spencer promises. 

“And now it’s time for him to eat,” Morgan says, putting the pastry bag on the bed, “and get some sleep. He hasn’t slept in the two days you’ve been in here.”

“I had important stuff to take care of,” he says, rubbing your side. “While you couldn’t do it yourself.”

“Sleep,” you insist through your achy mouth.

Spencer’s eyes go soft and sad. “I will.”

[aardvaark]

leverage rewatch: s1e1 "the nigerian job"

i love that nate’s very first line is threatening to punch this guy in the throat, said while day drinking alone in a bar. really sets the stage for how broken up he is at this moment.

on the opposite end, hardisons first line is insulting the tech for this heist lol. immediately clear this team is gonna be a problem (affectionate) for nate.

eliot’s first line is said to somehow both commend and mock hardison ("you’re not as useless as you look") and that is a pretty good look into their dynamic for the whole series lol.

hardison and parker’s very first on-screen interaction is hardison being enamored with her (and eliot teasing him about it) <3

hardison telling eliot "i don’t even know what you do" is a fun little line because it starts to show how much the team actually know about each other before this heist. like, nate knows a decent amount about all of them, and they know a bit about nate. but hardison knows nothing about eliot, and eliot’s (previously mentioned) first line also implies that if he does know anything about hardison, it’s probably not much either. im gonna elaborate on this in a separate post before i get off track lol.

parker’s first *mention* comes before she’s actually on screen, when nate is looking through the files of the team he’s gonna work with and says that "parker is insane". people have pointed this out a bunch of times before but this is a really perfect first mention of her because we will spend most of her arc throughout the series showing that this isn’t really true! by season five, she’ll get to finally "respond" to that introduction of hers - "they said i was crazy, but i never was. i never was". and it’s really interesting to see nate go from being the person who calls her insane to fully trusting her with leading the team when he’s gone.

i still think about the giant sheet of glass that parker lets fall to the ground in the first heist lol. are the people on the street okay

also love the "why the f-" [cut off] line that parker gets. i think that's the closest we get to one of the main characters saying fuck?

nate calling them children in the first episode. ironic for a guy who did NOT set out to be a father figure to these weird criminals who are gonna follow him around for the next five years.

parker being the one to introduce the chess metaphor my beloved <3 shes very perceptive! and she also just knows that "crime is fun" and nate's bound to enjoy it lol.

hospital scene from the extended pilot <3 how come eliot's chained to a chair instead of a bed like the rest of them? anyway, i wish more people watched the extended pilot because in the season 1 finale when eliot shoves the hard hat on hardison's head, you should know that he's getting petty revenge for when hardison shoved eliot's head into the roof of the cop car in this scene.

nate saying there's "payback, and if it goes right, a lot of money" for eliot and "a lot of money, and if it goes right, payback" for parker, he's got their (current) motivations nailed already.

parker and hardison being like "yeah sure lets go get whatever a 'sophie' is" vs eliot asking lol. but he also evidently follows regardless. yeah thats pretty much how nate's gonna be, sorry eliot, you'll get used to this.

i find nate and sophie's first scenes so sweet. he watches her terrible acting but from his expression you'd think she was gonna win an oscar. and when she sees him in that alley, she's trying to continue being the cool and mysterious femme fatale but she's clearly so happy underneath - he came and found her! he sought her out! he's playing her side now, and that changes everything! (and one day soon she'll realise - oh shit, this changes everything. but tonight she's just over the moon). i know they're very much not the fan favourites, but u gotta admit that their interactions in the pilot... chefs kiss!!

in the next scene at hardison's apartment, (btw, rip hardison's awesome pilot apartment which we never see again), sophie is dressed down and intently listening and taking notes which is fairly unusual for her. but not out of character necessarily - when she mentors parker in grifting later, she encourages parker to take handwritten notes.

"that's an odd thing for you to know" "that's an odd place for you to be" (eliot and sophie's lines). he picks up on her suspicious knowledge and she challenges him right back. and he immediately knows to only trust sophie about as far as he can throw her.

i wish we got to see a little of sophie meeting the others! but there's no time and it would be an unnecessary scene. i like that their introduction to sophie was her awful acting though, because that will always be their first impression - not of an incredible grifter, but of a much sillier and more genuine version of sophie than we otherwise see for most of season one.

parker laughing at hardison's joke is also adorable.

no comments on the eliot + nate pool table scene, because @laser-tripwires has already written an incredible analysis of that interaction here. :) !!

actually the only thing i will mention is eliot saying that they all know about nate's kid dying - that's very important. nate wouldn't want them to know his vulnerabilities. even if they just pity him... well to him, that might be worse.

eliot saying "incoming" about sophie walking over is also really funny to me. referring to her like she's something dangerous, and he's joking but he's not wrong!

okay where did sophie get the "black king, white knight" line from? she was not there when parker said that. maybe everyone speaks in chess metaphors in the leverage Crime World.

[beejwatch]

Hawktrap scene from 3.19 aid station also no laugh track youre welcome. This and the margaret monologue are literally back to back this is SUCH a good episode. written by larry gelbart and simon muntner. anyway (1) 'while im gone promise me youll go out with other doctors' (2) the way their usual jokes feel kind of stifled because theres a real FEAR in the air and the way neither of them look at each other for such a long time.. hawk talks to trappers back and trapper only turns around from the still when hawks got his eyes on his bag. weeehh... (3) i love that you see hawk like prepare himself to bring up the will AND we see trapper like take in and process what hes saying.. 'its my will' '..... right.' GUYS. (4) and they finally look at each other and the tensions broken a little.. i do love the way they love (5) ish kabibble (6) throwing their glasses over their shoulders and they smash everywhere (thumbs up emoji) so awesome (7) hawk doing his twinkly wave on the way out and then hold on trapper as his smile drops away and its like oh my goddd they really think he might DIE you guys this is so so serious. and this is how they leave it a handshake and a twinkly wave. im so depressed. i love mash.

[loves-n-kisses]

so happy to see that you’re back :p

can you do a katsuki x reader fic where Denki broke something of significance to Katsuki so he begged the reader to take the fall for him.

so Katsuki comes into the common room where they’re all hanging out and asks who broke it and when reader takes the blame, he’s really upset and kinda cold about it.

which makes the reader cries but he immediately stops caring about the object to comfort her whilst the rest of bakusquad are confessed

Sorry this took long! Ive had it in my notes for a while, ive had a few hectic days at my job, lol. Awesome request, btw. I hope i did it justice!

Katsuki x Reader - If It Aint Broke, Don't Fix It

A story where Denki breaks something of Bakugou's and Reader takes the fall. But....Bakugou...forgives her? What's up with him?

TW: slight angst, fluff and comfort at the end, Denki being an adorable idiot.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The U.A. dorm common room hummed with the Bakusquad’s usual energy. Kirishima and Sero were debating hero rankings, Mina was painting her nails a bright pink, and Denki paced nervously beside you on the couch. You shot him a wary glance, your stomach churning from the mess he’d dragged you into.

Earlier, Denki had rushed to you, panic in his eyes, holding the shattered remains of a framed photo—Katsuki’s prized possession, a rare picture of him and his mom, Mitsuki, both grinning after he’d won a junior hero contest in middle school. Denki had been fiddling with a charged-up prank, and the frame had taken the hit, glass cracking and the photo bending.

“(Y/N), please!” Denki had begged, hands clasped. “Bakugou’s gonna turn me into a lightning rod! Take the blame, just this once! I’ll do your chores for a month!” His desperation won, and you’d hesitantly agreed.

Now, the door slammed open, and Katsuki stormed in, crimson eyes blazing, the broken frame clutched in his fist. The room fell silent, Mina’s nail polish brush freezing mid-stroke, Kirishima and Sero pausing their debate.

“Which one of you idiots broke this?!” Katsuki roared, holding up the shattered frame, glass glinting ominously. His voice was sharp, cold, and furious. “Fess up, now!”

Your pulse raced. Denki’s pleading eyes locked on you, and you swallowed hard, standing. “It… it was me, Katsuki,” you said, voice shaky. “I’m sorry. It was an accident.”

Katsuki’s gaze snapped to you, his expression icy and piercing. He stepped closer, the frame still in hand. “You? You broke this?” His tone cut deep, frigid and biting. “This ain’t some random trash, (Y/N)! You know what this meant to me, and you just smashed it? Real careless, huh?”

His cold words stung, and tears pricked your eyes. The guilt of lying, his anger, and the fear you’d ruined things overwhelmed you. Tears spilled over, and you turned away, a quiet sob escaping as you hid your face.

Katsuki’s fury faltered, eyes widening. He dropped the frame onto the table with a clatter and crossed to you in seconds, hands gently grabbing your shoulders. “Hey, oi, stop crying,” he said, voice softer, almost frantic. “It’s just a dumb frame, alright? I don’t care that much. Just… don’t cry, (Y/N).” He pulled you into his chest, one hand awkwardly rubbing your back, the other on your head as you sniffled.

The Bakusquad stared, utterly confused. Mina’s jaw dropped, nail polish forgotten. Sero leaned to Kirishima, whispering, “Since when does Bakugou chill out like that?” Kirishima blinked, shrugging. “No clue, man. I thought he’d blow up the dorm over that photo.”

Denki, pale and sweating, finally broke. “W-Wait, Katsuki, it wasn’t her!” he blurted, stumbling forward. “I broke the frame! I was messing with my quirk, and it got wrecked, and I begged (Y/N) to cover for me ‘cause I was scared! I’m sorry, dude!”

Mina gaped, turning to Denki. “You let her take the blame? What?!” Sero shook his head, baffled, while Kirishima frowned, muttering, “Not manly, bro. Why’d you drag (Y/N) into this?”

Katsuki’s head turned, dangerous eyes narrowing at Denki, who flinched and hid behind Sero. “You damn sparky idiot,” he growled, but his grip on you stayed firm. He looked down, scowl softening. “You okay, dumbass? Why’d you cover for that moron?”

You wiped your eyes, voice trembling. “I didn’t want you to hate Denki… or me. I thought I could fix it. I’m sorry, Katsuki.”

He sighed, exasperation mixed with gentleness. “I ain’t mad at you, got it? Don’t do that again.” He glared at Denki, who yelped. “You’re fixing this, sparky, or you’re dead.”

Katsuki guided you to the couch, sitting close, arm still around you. “Forget the frame,” he muttered. “You’re worth more than that junk.” You managed a small smile, and he gruffly wiped a tear from your cheek, ignoring the Bakusquad’s baffled stares as Mina whispered, “Okay, what is happening right now?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------note: should we thank Denki? for, like, bringing them closer together?

my mailbox is open! send in requests, questions, or even statements! I love talking to yall, lol.

-made with loves n' kisses! 💋✨

[r0-boat]

For last night's stream we streamed a cute little dating sin called "I JUST WANT TO BE SINGLE!!"

It was a game cast of mostly girls even the MC and it was very cute.

As you may not or may already know I have a challenge where every after stream I do I make a drabble or headcanons or any writing based on the game I've played! And since the dating sim was very generic at school transfer student I thought I would do the same with WHB!

So enjoy being the human transfer student at an all demon school.

What in hell is bad? Seven Kings X transfer student

Whb high school AU

Mammon's Dad is alive, Solomon is your father these devils are younger than in the Canon games. Strictly an AU for fun silly purposes. All people are adults I don't specify if it's a high school or a college, but if it helps you sleep at night it's college. Solomon is one of those cool teachers that every student loves, Solomon isn't the best father but he is trying.

Cw: very silly, sfw but suggestive, cliche, some mention of sex because of you know who.

Intro:

What the fuck???

Three words screamed into your mind as you look on at the building that was supposedly your school It looked less like a school building and more like a castle. It's even look like the universities all your friends got accepted in. It looked more than that. Like how we would picture a top college like Yale or Harvard would look like if you've never seen or even heard of it before.

You knew that mysterious all expenses paid scholarship was a bad idea. But it wasn't a prank fine print was fine print. And the icing on the cake. Your father Solomon I would never home because of work was the one who sent you the letter.

Whatever they saw in you must be damn good to be able to get a fucking scholarship and a school that looks like this. The courtyard was utterly deserted signaling that everyone was probably already in their classes. You sigh as you walk over to the huge gated fence slowly and struggling to push the giant iron Gates open enough for you to squeeze by. Seriously who the hell are these gates designed for prisoners?!

But as soon as you stepped through the door this school was a different place entirely. It looked so orderly and clean on the outside but on the inside... It looks like a war zone. Cracks and holes in the floor boarded up windows with broken glass scattered about. The place wreaked of cigarettes and weed and alcohol. Just what kind of school was this??

You would soon get your answer when you stepped into your classroom. Handsome yet dangerous looking men stared at you sharp teeth sharp eyes and even sharper horns that adorned their head.

Devils?!

As the teacher also a devil with a tail that fully moved in such a way that you ruled out the possibility of it being fake introduced you.

"This will be our first human transfer student in a long time! And from then on... You're peaceful school life would never be the same.

Satan

Captain of devil's football (cavalry as they call it), His seating is at the back of the room, and it just so happened that next to him was the only open seat. He stared at you intensely with a scary look, with those red eyes piercing into your very soul. Your heart is pounding as you turn over with a timid smile. "H-hey..." But the devil said nothing as he continued the stair. It was like this for a while until he finally said, "yer a human right?" The word stumbled out of you immediately: "Yes!" The devil studies you for a second but a smile widens as he points "I know you! Your Mr Solomon's kid!" Hearing your dad's name you whip your head around "What? Solomon? You know him??" Satan's toothy grin goes wider "fuck yeah I do He's awesome! I never knew you had a kid though! I wonder why...." You didn't know what else to say if your dad was here you natural you had an urge to go see him when he turned to certain age to be on your own he showed up less and less so it was really hard to get into stay in one place. But Satan's energetic words cuts off your train of thought "You're definitely not going to survive here!" You must choked on your own spit. Yeah no shit Sherlock You kind of known from the moment you walked in but still it was just a shocking to hear it from someone else. "Oh yeah especially since your Solomon's child! Everyone's going to be drooling over you. Nah fuck that I'm going to protect you." He grinded his teeth at the mere mentioned And he just decided this instantly no rhyme or reason not that you think anyway. And he was true to his word a lot more than you thought because they were way too many devils that Satan had to show away That being said he didn't even like his own teammates getting too close It kind of sucked if you wanted to make new friends but I guess having scary dog privileges does help if you want to avoid not so nice people. In your short time of knowing Satan you've learned few things One of them being he had a short temper and once he blew his top he exploded like a volcano. Out of sheer anger he picked up a desk and hurdled it at a devil smashing the wall in process. Now you can see why your classmates called him "Lord of Wrath."

Mammon

You met him when he saw a crowd in the schoolyard. You've had extra free time to kill since Satan's desk-throwing stunt blew a hole into the wall of the classroom, which means an hour of free time. The group of devils gathered Drew your curiosity for you to come closer. When you pushed through the crowd you saw a man sitting on a bench He was sculpted like a rugged a mountain His muscular arms folded His legs crossed with a smirk on his face You finally were able to focus on the words they were saying "Lord of Greed something I want to buy but I can't afford-" , "say no more... Say the amount and you may have it"

"Lord of Greed those rings look so gorgeous where did you get them?!"

"Oh these cheap things? Meh the solid gold can't remember how many carrots off the top of my head but if you want it knock yourself out... They're not the best in my collection and honestly been wanting to get rid of them for a while." He looked so casual just taking off a gold ring and tossing it to the devil who asked as if these rings were worth mere pennies to him. That's when his eyes fell upon mine. His smile widened as he scooted to the right opening a seat for me "Oh? You're that human. Come sit with me." As all eyes were on you in an instant peer pressure crushed under your weight like a styrofoam cup as you shuffle toward him as if he was a god and you were a mere peasant.

As soon as you sat down his He leaned back and forth his eyes sculpting you just like a certain devil this morning before saying. "Hm... I like you, You're mine now."

"Excuse me... " You didn't realize you said it out loud until the devil chuckles "I said I like you and I own things that I like... I think humans call it 'relationship' I'm not really familiar with human courting. But you are mine now and I guess That means I am yours too." The group of devils around you too eyes widen like saucers. You had no idea what's going on as the devil's around you whisper material wealth, money,richest person in the world, jealousy This was all going so fast your head was spinning This was the second devil today that just decided that they liked you for no reason at all.

"say... What are your plans for lunch today?" You didn't even get a chance to open your mouth before he talked over you "whatever they are cancel them. You will be having lunch with me a five course meal made fresh by my father's personal chefs." You wanted to talk to say something You didn't even get a word out of your mouth when arms wrap around you and suddenly your transported in other place entirely.

Leviathan

An empty classroom with nothing but desks the same cracked walls a bottle of what you assume is alcohol have has really thrown on the floor and sitting on the desk staring at the window a man with a princely pretty looking face hair with a pearly white color that was mesmerizing to your eyes. But when you turn to look at you that color was all but mesmerizing as he looked at you with pure disgust. "You..." He snarled as he got it from his chair. Making strides toward you You were terrified but you stood your ground Even as he grabbed your face that made you flinch forcing your head left and right. Your eyes squeaks shut before putting your hands on him and pushing him away. He clicked his tongue and snarled. "Weak and annoying pitiful humans and you dare to be related to Solomon."

That struck a nerve. All day you've hadn't said a single word and this devil insulting you was the final straw.

"at least I don't have the personality of a raccoon with rabies your breath smells worse than the garbage you ate this morning."You snapped back at that moment you regarded little for your safety of what this devil could do to you No one talks to you or your family like that. Especially not assholes like him. The devil's eyes went wide for a second only to scrunch back up and click his tongue. "Just watch your back human..." He hissed storming up the classroom. First day and you made an enemy Great.... You definitely can't wait to get bullied by demons.

Beelzebub

You met him on the way to one of your classes getting chewed out by a teacher. You couldn't know but watch as the man with a single horn just nonchalantly leaned against the wall as the teacher went off on him: "You're the future Lord of Abyssos... You have to take this seriously! You're missing a lot of classes....!!!" But to the Lord of Gluttony, all this information went in one ear and out the other. When the teacher finally stormed off that's when he realized you had eavesdropped way more than you should have. When your eyes met, He smiled and pulled you into the room.

"hey haven't seen you before...hmm... You're Solomon's kid right?" He said his arm wrapped around your shoulder as he leans near your face. " Um yeah. " You just accepted that probably every person in the school knows now.

"Hell ya." Please smile before something seemingly distracted him That's when he held the back of your head and leaned your head in burying his nose and your hair. Instinctually you pulled back. " Sorry sorry It's just, wondering where that smell was coming from so I thought I'd take a sample from you." with his arms still around your waist He got up from leaning against the desk walking out of the classroom dieting you God knows where. "One thing about devils. Is that if we like something we like to get 'intimate' with that thing. " He smirked and the way the word intimate rolled off the tongue major eyebrows furrow. You're not quite sure what he meant by that and honestly part of you is too scared to ask. " Where are you taking me?" You said half wanting to change the subject. "Cafeteria where else?"

"But it's not lunch?"

"pft so?" Beelzebub chuckled as if you were worried about skipping class as a mere funny joke. "You worry too much. You're Solomon's kid. The teachers won't do anything, trust." Even though You are the kid of someone who apparently was extremely popular in this school and left a bad taste in your mouth to know you were getting special treatment. And you were practically being yanked along by this random devil, so you couldn't really do anything well, not if you worried about your safety. You still remember Satan hurdling the desk like it was nothing.

Lucifer

Remember Leviathan well unlucky for you he remembered you. When Beelzebub was taking way too long to get simple drinks to bring back to you to the empty pafeteria You decided to say fuck it and just walk back to class. And does he walk through the empty hallway you stopped and that's when you saw him. His scowling face made your heart drop.

Here is a fun fact about devils you learned when you just tried to turn around and walk away. They know magic as a tendril coming up from seemingly nowhere wrapped around your neck and yanked you backward toward him when his hands grabbed your shoulders. He yanked you and slammed you against the lockers, pinning you, his face hovering over yours. "I saw you hanging out with those other dimwits... "You're not sure why, but you know exactly who he was talking about. " Someone like you shouldn't be around people like them. He hissed as you felt his fingers dig into your shoulders as he pinned you harder and harder against the lockers. When you tried to lift your arms to push him, those tendrils returned, wrapping around your arms and slamming them against the locker. His hand slid from your shoulders to your waist. And now you're confused... "You're just a weak human remember that." He got close to your face grinding his teeth before using his limbs to throw you to the side.

It wasn't until he was gone that you noticed The pain in your wrist and blood dripping from the cut. You sigh as you decide to take a trip to the nurse's office if the devil's even had one.

They compared this school's other rooms to those in the disaster state. This one seems clean, untouched... Dare you say professional? The only one working was a baby blonde-haired man sitting at a desk, spinning around a pen between his nimble fingers. When he looked up he noticed the blood dripping from your wrist he shot up before you could even say anything He gently takes your hand. "Your hurt. come with me." Wrapping a hand around your waist guiding you to one of the beds in the nurse's office as if your cut was more dire than it was when he sat you down he immediately grabbed the bandages and started to wrap you up.

"You're the transfer student aren't you?" He asked which you only nodded. "Nice to meet you, I'm Lucifer I believe we share one class together?" Wow an actual introduction, All day you've gotten no introductions all their names you learned by word of mouth or other devils introducing them for you.

"Oh." Slipped from your mouth with more surprise than you wanted to, and Lucifer's Stern face curled up slightly. "Thought I was a teacher?" You just nodded your head. "I get that a lot. Not many students come here since they're all devils, so I got this place for myself. I don't even think we have a nurse; I'd hate to see anyone get hurt. " Huh That's sweet. From what you had been witnessing all day something like this was definitely a rarity. When he was finished wrapping your wrist he saw you out as quickly as you came in.

Belphegor

It wasn't even the end of the day yet and you were being yanked in every direction by everyone in the school devil's flocked to you looking at you with curiosity or hunger (You're not sure which one it was)

So you escape to the only place you know, where you constantly come up when you know you can be away from people. The rooftop. As you walked closer to one of the benches to sit down and eat, you failed to realize someone already held that spot who was sleeping soundly until he woke up with a yawn and a stretch. "Hrm?" He hummed, rubbing his tired eyes and looking at you as you just stood there frozen in place with enough awkwardness to kill a man. He pointed at you. "You c'mere." He said his voice low and husky. He made the motion with his finger. From your experience with being dragged around all day, You probably shouldn't accept this man's request as, knowing your luck, you would just get dragged into more drama or trouble. But you did interrupt his nap, and all things considered, he didn't look like he was in too much trouble. So you stepped closer. He left the bench next to him, and since there was nowhere to sit, It was your only option. As soon as you sat down, he laid back down, his head resting on your lap. Turning from his back to his side, he muttered, "You're comfortable. Stay like this fo'me, Would ya? " He asked you to fall asleep instantly. You don't know why, but this touched your heart, kinda a moment of tranquility as you place you eat your lunch, gazing at the world below. You were surprised to know how fast he went to sleep. Knowing your luck he was probably another Lord, And you could guess he must be the Lord of sloth. You know you shouldn't, but you couldn't help it. It's not like he would wake up to you running your fingers through his hair, reveling in how unexpectedly soft his locks were. Out of the hellish day you dealt with this, it was nice.

And it only got worse once lunch break actually rolled around as that's when Beelzebub Mammon and Satan saw each other and realized that they were after you as well to spend their lunch together.

Fun fact that you learned about devils when you had the displeasure of seeing your two classmates making out in the hallway while every student ignored them. Devils have no sense of shame or a lack thereof. They just do whatever they want when they want, which explains why the school rules about alcohol, weed, and other miscellaneous drug substances you have found throughout the day were so Lax. And another fun fact you learned about devils... It is that they are very territorial, apparently. You saw it first hand, as when Beelzebub wrapped an arm around you, Satan puffed up and hissed like a cat as he ripped him off you. You were lucky you escaped the scene, as when Mammon made a comment about How short Satan was, He exploded and tried to lunge at him.

Asmodeus

Was it too late to drop out??? You thought it was the end of the day, and you were beyond exhausted. And these lords did not stop either. You thought you could meet up with your dad if the bell rang. You wish you could call him, but sadly, that was off the table since your dear father had little to no interest in Mobile technology. The only one he ever had was a flip phone just to get a phone number. You swore a phone call with him was like torture as you had to listen to more static than his voice. Other devils told you and confirmed that he had his own personal office somewhere. If it wasn't for the big ass school, you would have been okay with trying to find his office, but sadly, you were already wandering around the school to stop now. When you walked by, you noticed the janitor's slightly open call. When you got closer, you snuck into the closet, and your eyes widened. A devil, no two devils... No three?? It's getting a little hot and under the collar in there. Grinding and bugging their hips against each other when you accidentally made a noise, the black-haired devil who was sandwiched between the other two noticed your presence. Your soul jumped out of your skin as you ran as fast as you could in the other direction. If he was another Lord, he was 100% the Lord of Lust, and you wanted nothing to do with him. But it seemed like he wanted everything to do with you as you kept wandering around the school, trying to purge that memory from your mind. You felt arms wrap around you. You shrieked and jumped backward turning to notice a familiar face. His smirk and disheveled clothes and hair shivered up your spine as your trembling voice fell from your lips. "Oh, it's you... What do you want?" Asmodeus giggled. "My, aren't you cute? I've never seen someone look at me with such frightened disgust."

He was practically undressing you with his eyes. Eye molesting... Whatever it was you didn't like how he looked at you. "Never in my thousands of years has someone looked at me with such... Such a 'curious expression.' You're Solomon's spawn? " At this point, so many devils have asked You throughout the day you just nod your head now in acceptance.

"I knew it. You even have his gorgeous eyes. And his sexier features that I've always admired from afar. "

What the fuck, please don't fuck my dad!? You screamed in your head. But since he was talking to you maybe he could tell you where he was since it looked like he would know a little too much "Do you-Do you know where he is?"

Their smirk only widened as he pulled you close against him. His body pressed against yours. You ground your teeth to stop from screaming as he whispered into your ear. "I do but what's my payment? You don't seem to have any on you..." He said his hands rubbing up and down the sides of your body. Before you could do anything else, you probably beat the shit out of him like you used to do with kidnappers when you were a kid. He pulls away and laughs like what he did was the funniest thing in the world.

"I'm just kidding sweetheart, You just look so cute I couldn't help but tease you. Yeah his office is on the next floor It has a purple rug can't miss it."

It's like the stress left your body as you sighed. You gave him a smile before leaving, but when you turned around, you swear to God you heard him say, " I think I'm in love..."

Bonus

You have to fight off tears when he mutters your name in a broken string of sentences, dreaming of the past when you were in diapers. You took his coat hanging from the chair and draped it over him before leaving his office

When you finally saw his office and walked inside, it looked like an old antique shop as all kinds of knick-knacks and antiques decorated the old wood shelves, and on his desk were stacks of paper, and your beloved father was caged between all those papers. Now you understand why he's always so busy as he was passed out on the desk. You are upset that you didn't get to talk to him, but you would probably get the chance tonight as you are living with him now, you understand. You never knew your mother, and to take care of you, He had to move out of the house and into an apartment, working his ass off day and night just to keep a roof over your head.

[pineconepie]

I got many requests for this as soon as I released the Hugo writing, so consider this technically part 1 XD this shows your backstory with Hugo, and everything leading up to the first writing!

TW: Parental yandere, drugging without your knowledge, forced infantilization, mentioned murder, implied stalking

When you first started your job as a barista at the local cafe, you thought Hugo was nice. Funny, charming, charismatic... easygoing and someone who could be relied on to teach the ropes.

He had a lot of (endearingly) cheesy dad jokes prepared, got along with basically everyone, and was very open-minded in general. You felt like you could always go to him for things, judgment-free.

For a while, you felt lucky to have such a kind boss.

It started getting strange on your first month of working there.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" you gasp. Beneath your feet, were broken glass pieces of the once-whole coffee mug. Thankfully, there wasn't anyone in the shop but you and Hugo, for closing time. You drop to your knees to pick everything up, too frantic to recall safety protocols.

You slice yourself on one of the larger fragments.

"Ow..." you mumble.

"Hey, hey! Let me see." Before you realize it, Hugo is kneeling beside you and clasping your hand. The cut bleeds and drips from your fingertip. "Ah, yeah, that's pretty nasty. We better patch this up." He pulls you to your feet, guiding you to the break room. "We'll fix the glass in a second, 'kay? I don't want you freaking out over it. You know how many times I've broken plates or cups in this place?" He shows off a few small, but noticeable scars on his hands.

"Okay," you relent. "Sorry again, though..."

"I said not to worry about it!" Hugo sits you down. "Sit tight, I'll be right back." He heads towards the supply closet and digs through until he pulls out a first aid kit. "See? All will be well in no time."

While you aren't upset about breaking the glass, you are a bit embarrassed by him having to tend to your wound, despite the kindness behind the gesture. It's really jut a small cut, and even though there's a decent amount of blood and it's painful, it's not like you're in critical condition.

"This is nothing," you joke nervously.

"Any injury is still something," he counters. He patches it up, making an almost soothing shushing noise whenever you hiss or whine in pain. He finishes it off with a gray bandaid, with little cartoon characters from a show you remember from your childhood. He chuckles at your confused stare. "Out of normal bandaids. Hope that doesn't offend your 'big-kid' status."

He sounds like he's joking. Something you've noticed, is he usually is.

"So I won't need any amputations, doc?" you try to play along with him.

"No, but I prescribe lots and lots of rest, and no more being around glass cups for a few days," he says sagely. "Doctor's orders."

"Glad the prognosis is looking favorable."

"It sure is! Now go home, I'll take care of everything. See you tomorrow."

Sometimes he strikes you as a bit odd, but you don't really think much of the interaction.

...

Just a few weeks later, your friend, Weston, comes to visit. His dad is a friend of Hugo's, and they've known each other since grade school.

Something you've noticed, is whenever he comes to make conversation, or even just order something, Hugo is somewhat... passive-aggressive, towards him.

Kind, yes, but oddly curt, as well. The complete opposite to what he's like with most other people, especially you. It makes you wonder why the older man seems so snippy towards someone who hasn't caused problems at all.

You take your break, sitting across from Weston. "How's it going?"

Weston smiles. "Pretty well, I got a bonus off my paycheck, which was pretty awesome." He glances over at the counter, where Hugo is serving another customer, but keeps gazing your way. His eyes narrow whenever they fall onto Weston. "Isn't Hugo kind of... weird?"

"Weird?" you echo. "In what way?"

"I dunno..." His face scrunches up slightly. "He just doesn't like me. Before, he didn't really have an issue with me. Even gave me discounts on things. But then when I mentioned that you're fun to hang around, suddenly he's... just kind of an asshole. I swear he even overcharges me sometimes."

"I'm sure it's all a misunderstanding," you say, frowning. "Hugo likes everyone, I don't know why he wouldn't like you."

Weston snorts. "Yeah? What a saint, that guy." He rolls his eyes. "There's something off about him. That's just what my instincts are telling me. I don't know, maybe they're wrong."

"I'm sure they are. Are you sure it isn't because he's also super tall, covered in scars and tattoos, has big muscles and kind of a deep voice? Honestly, if he wasn't so sweet, he'd probably intimidate me," you laugh.

"I'm not old fashioned like that, it takes a lot more than that to intimidate me..." Weston crosses his arms over his chest. "Just keep an eye out for yourself, alright?"

"I'm sure there's nothing to keep an eye out on."

How ironic that turned out to be.

...

"(Y/n)," Hugo says one morning. You look up from where you're cleaning the tables. He smiles, but it looks a little forced, like he's trying to find his words carefully. "I think you should reconsider hanging out with that Weston kid. I know his father, and I know how much trouble he can be."

You try to hide your shock. "I've known him for a year, he's never been any trouble before."

"Yes, but this is different," he tries to reason. "I can't go into detail, but he's a much worse person than he lets on. You shouldn't hang out with him."

"Why not?" you counter defensively. "If I shouldn't hang out with my friend, I'd like to know why."

Hugo purses his lips, but decides against whatever he initially wanted to say. "Just trust me, okay? Please?"

You hesitate. You don't see why Weston is such a bad influence on you. You barely even see him outside work! Does he know something you don't? "Alright," you end up saying. "I'll try not to interact with him."

He breathes out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, bud." His hand reaches out and pats your head. "I know I may just be your boss, but you're still precious to me. I just want to protect you, okay?" It's supposed to reassure you. And for now, it does. You want to believe it.

"Thanks. I care about you too, Hugo."

As you say the words, however, you catch the split second where something flashes in his eyes. Something unreadable and indecipherable. But just as soon as it comes, it disappears without a trace. "After you're done wiping those tables, you can call it quits and head home for the day."

The moment passes, and you return to cleaning the table, forgetting the unease within moments.

...

It's been a full three months since you started working at the cafe, now.

Even though Hugo still acts a little protective (bordering on possessive) for a boss, you can tell how much he genuinely cares, and therefore overlook it.

You'd like to believe it's his way of showing he sees you like family. And in truth, the company is great. He cracks jokes constantly, can converse on just about any topic, and always has advice, somehow.

Today, however, you're struggling to keep up the charade. You ended up getting a cold, and feel so groggy you nearly overslept through the alarm.

Still, the last thing you'd want to do is burden others. So, you show up regardless of how crappy you feel physically.

"(Y/n)? Are you sick?" Hugo asks, stopping mid-pour to get a closer look at you.

You're wheezing and coughing so badly you can hardly breathe. Your skin feels hot, and sweat beads down your neck. "No," you argue half-heartedly. "I just feel under the weather." Your loses color when you try to suppress a much-needed cough, only to have it wrack your entire frame violently. "It's nothing contagious, don't worry."

He looks unamused, pausing his pouring to walk up to you, placing hand on your forehead. You hadn't realized how much your head throbs until now, but the pressure eases slightly with the contact.

Hugo sighs deeply, pulling his hand away. "Okay. You're going home."

"But—"

"Nah-uh-uh!" His finger boops your nose. "I'll call someone to take our shifts."

"Our?" you ask incredulously.

"Yes, ours, you muffinhead," he grins. "I gotta take care of my favorite employee, don't I?"

You blink. "I thought I was your only employee?"

"I have other employees, for your information!"

"I never see them..."

"Well, that's because—" He pauses. "Wait! No distracting me!" You giggle. He rolls his eyes in good nature, helping you pull on your coat. "Let's hurry before that fever of yours worsens."

And that's how you find yourself curled up on his couch, while he makes soup in the kitchen. His place is quaint, but nice. The walls are beige, with wooden floors, a fireplace crackling off to the side.

Everything here is tidy. Cozy. Reminds you a bit of his personality. A dog-eared book lays on his coffee table, along with a newspaper and some coasters.

Somehow, you feel at peace here.

The door opens, revealing the taller man carrying a tray with him. On it, there's a steaming bowl, and a cup of your favorite blend of tea.

"Ah, you're awake," he notes, sounding pleased. "I wanted to make you something nice and homemade, but I don't have ingredients for the few dishes I'm good at. So, this totally-not-canned-soup will have to do." He winks, placing it beside you, then places his hand against your cheek. "Wow... after this, maybe a lukewarm bath will do."

"What do I gotta do to convince you that I'm fine?" you wheeze out.

Hugo gives you a deadpan look. "I'm so sorry for assuming you're sick judging by the obvious fever, constant coughing, and the fact you look like a zombie straight out of The Walking Dead. My greatest apologies!"

You snort, playfully swatting at him. "Jerk."

"Hmmm..." His thumb strokes against your forehead. "Yes. I'm absolutely a jerk for wanting you to get better. Absolutely, I'm one hundred percent an awful, horrible jerk." He helps you sit upright. "Now, drink the broth of the soup, and I'll draw up the water." Without waiting, he heads towards the bathroom.

Your stomach rumbles, so you listen and begin to sip at the soup. For some canned soup, it tastes really delicious. Although, admittedly, you're so starved, anything would taste phenomenal.

Slowly, you chow down on the meal, which consists of vegetables and noodles, but you're still too nauseous to properly stomach it, so you opt for mostly sipping the broth.

Hugo returns to your already devoured-soup. "Good job, you finished it. I'm so proud."

At first you think he's teasing you again, but when you look at his face, he's actually genuine. Huh. Weird. "Thank you," you say slowly, still wrapping your head around it.

He helps you upstairs and leaves you to it once inside the bathroom.

When you finish, there's a pair of pastel green pajamas left for you, exactly your size.

It's a little weird that he'd have this on him, but you're too exhausted to question it now. Putting it on, you immediately enjoy how soft the material is.

"How are we feeling now, champ?" he asks when you enter the living room again. It seems like he's already cleaned your dishes up. Oh well. He sits on the sofa reading, but puts his book aside when he spots you.

"Much better," you admit. There's a beat of silence before you decide to add, "thank you, by the way."

Hugo's eyebrows raise slightly. "Aw... you're welcome. I'm glad to help. Your work uniform is in the washing machine, by the way. Since you wore it when sick, I thought it was a good idea to clean it." He pats the spot next to him.

"Why are you doing this? I know I said I'm not contagious earlier, but there's still a chance I could be." You awkwardly sit next to him.

"I have a pretty solid immune system, thankfully, so I highly doubt I'll get anything from you," Hugo reassures. His arm wraps around you snugly. "And besides, my heart just couldn't handle imagining you being alone at home. I'm just nice like that."

"Doubtful," you tease. "I'm pretty sure you just enjoy bossing me around outside of work."

"You're still on the clock technically, buttercup, so I think you shouldn't sass your employer like that," he muses, reaching over for the remote. "TV time now. How does Looney Tunes sound? I loved that stuff as a kid. Do kids still watch that?"

"How old do you think I am?"

Hugo pretends to think about it. "Six?"

You stare blankly at him. "Are we really gonna act like you don't know my exact age and birth date?"

"I'm kidding, obviously. Goofball." He squeezes you a bit, kissing the crown of your head. "Cartoons, yes or no? Because if no to cartoons, I'm just going to choose an animal documentary."

Well, it's not like you have to pay for any streaming subscriptions or anything here... might as well abuse it. "Cartoons are fine."

"Thought so."

By now, the medicine he gave you is kicking in. The effects of the fever and illness are making you sluggish and lethargic, but definitely less than before.

Somehow, Hugo picks up on it and adjusts himself so you're both cuddled up under blankets together. One episode goes by. Then two, then three.

And soon enough, you're asleep again.

...

Not long after, when you're feeling well again, work turns back to the way it was earlier. Hugo is somehow slightly more overbearing, but not necessarily in an obnoxious way. Still, it's definitely more noticeable compared to before.

Weston still stops by the cafe regularly, but you're slightly more curt to him. You're not sure if you even believe Hugo, but you like your job, and would like to keep it.

You still hang out with Weston outside of work, since Hugo wouldn't know, but somehow, the next morning when you show up at your job, Hugo is glaring daggers at you.

"What?"

The tall man leans against the counter, arms crossed. "Did you hang out with Weston again?"

You frown. "No... but even if I did, how would you know?" Maybe lying isn't your strong-suit, at least not with the look Hugo is giving you. You've never seen him look truly angry.

So angry that there's actual fear pooling in your gut.

Hugo runs a hand through his messy hair. "You just never know when to stop, do you? How many times have I asked you not to hang out with him?"

"Hugo, come on, you can't dictate who I hang out with. I can handle myself just fine. Now please, let me just do my job. People are staring."

"Keep up with this attitude, (Y/n), and we'll have problems."

"If you're going to fire me, might as well do so. I'm close to quitting myself." You don't actually mean those words, but the way Hugo stiffens up tells you that he believes them without a shred of doubt. Suddenly, all his anger evaporates, replaced by hurt. "I'm... sorry. I didn't mean that. Let's just... get back to work. I'll make the cake batter for tomorrow, okay?"

You've never been great at smoothing things over between others, nor resolving conflict, and you suppose this time is no different. While you feel somewhat bad, you also don't like him having complete control of who you associate with.

Hell, you're still wondering how he even knew about Weston; there's no possible way for him to know unless he's following you...

You shiver at the thought.

...

Slowly but surely, your life starts tumbling downhill, outside of Hugo being passive-aggressive on the occasion.

Your power keeps going out randomly, sometimes several times a day. You keep getting sick, sometimes what feels like a small cold, other times much more, to which Hugo is always insistent on taking care of you, just as he did a few weeks ago.

One day, however, when you arrive home, you walk inside to the sound of water overflowing onto your floor.

Then, come to find out, repairing it will cost a fortune, and that's on top of needing another place to crash. You tried asking Weston, but given how strict his parents are, who he is currently living with, that isn't an option.

Which means the only option is...

"(Y/n)? Hi, kiddo, what's going on?"

You suck in a breath. "Hi, Hugo, do you have a minute?" When he confirms, you continue. "This is embarrassing to say, but recently I've had some issues with my plumbing at home. If I give you money, can I temporarily crash with you? Just until it's fixed up?"

"Well, duh! You don't need to pay me anything. You know what? How about you pack your things? We can move it all in one trip using my truck. Then I'll set up everything else for you and order us dinner."

It's strange how willing he is to take care of you like this. But at this point, you have no options.

"That sounds fantastic, thank you."

"No problem. Anything for you." He hangs up.

You exhale after putting the phone down. Something about his tone of voice sounds almost smug, but you shake it off. Still, it doesn't explain why you can't shake off the sinking feeling growing inside you.

...

Hugo sets you up with your own guest room. "If you need anything, ask me," he says. "This can be a fun experience! Don't worry about your apartment. Once we get it all fixed, you'll be able to go back to living there! But, uh... no rush on moving out," he jokes.

Except it doesn't land as a joke. There's some serious intent behind that request. That pleads with you to stay forever. It chills you to the core. Hugo, oblivious to it, keeps speaking.

"—feel free to use my shower or anything. Any food I have, you can help yourself. Make yourself at home."

"Will do. Thanks, Hugo."

"Don't sweat it."

It's almost unnerving how happy he is to have you staying with him. It reminds you of how ecstatic he was about you staying over when you got sick. He seemed genuinely saddened by you leaving to return to your place.

If you were paranoid, you'd wonder if somehow, he orchestrated these things... but that'd be insane, right? There's no possible way that he would purposely sabotage your home in hopes you'd come live with him.

That's crazy. That would never happen. It couldn't possibly happen.

There's nothing to worry about. Or so you desperately hope.

...

You feel like you're going insane. At this point, it has been over a month since you've stayed with Hugo.

And yet, none of the plumbers Hugo suggests can seem to fix the issue. Each time, it results in some excuse about not having the proper materials, or being short-staffed, or simply ghosting you altogether. None of them can seem to pinpoint the root of the problem.

"Any luck?" Hugo asks when you put your phone away. He's in the kitchen cooking while you're relaxing on his couch, watching TV.

"No. Gosh, I'm sorry, it feels like I'm intruding forever," you apologize. "I'm tempted to just look for a new place, and cut my losses..." Admittedly, the longer you've stayed, the harder it's become to live here. It's gotten worse than it was at work. Constantly keeping tabs on you, controlling who you hang out with, when you go out...

It feels so claustrophobic, like you're trapped by him. At work you can clock out, but living with him... you're literally trapped at home.

"If you want..." Hugo sets down the spoon he was cooking with, walking over to you. "You could always stay here permanently."

You stare at him.

"It's... it's not a big deal," he assures. "Think about it. You pay rent for somewhere to stay, bills, etcetera, and it adds up fast. Here? I wouldn't charge you a single thing."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "As tempting as it is... I think I'll pass. I can take care of myself, I think it'd be a little weird..."

Hugo deflates slightly, but bounces back to his normal cheerful self. "Okay! Well, whatever you want, kiddo."

But something tells you it won't be that easy to escape from him.

...

After that conversation, the sickness starts again. Except, this time, Hugo acts far stranger.

At first it's nothing concerning; taking your temperature and bringing you medicine.

It's all standard stuff. But as time progresses, and the fever refuses to leave, he insists on hand-feeding you, which makes you extremely uncomfortable, especially since he treats it all like you're some toddler incapable of doing things themselves.

Then comes the clothes.

They're all pastel colors, mainly baby blue and beige. All covered in sheep and teddy bear patterns. He's decorated your "room" without asking for your input, and once again, it's all in childish patterns and designs.

Like something a five year old would prefer. You tried telling him as much, only for him to laugh it off and keep adding more of the things.

You try not to think about it too hard, chalking it up to him having poor taste or a lack of awareness, but there's an odd suspicion lurking in the back of your mind that something is seriously wrong here.

That thought stays with you, until the next day, when you wake up early. You trudge into the kitchen, to see him hunched over, back facing you, pulling something out of the cabinet and into one of the sippy cups he insists on giving to you ("you're sick, I don't want you spilling anything!").

Something is very, very wrong.

"Hugo?"

His shoulders stiffen. Then he slowly turns around to face you. He flashes a smile. "Hey, buddy, what are you doing up so early?" He discreetly pushes the cup behind him.

You walk closer. "What are you doing?" He moves his arm to block access behind him.

"What do you mean? It's early, kiddo, you might still have a bit of a fever." He tries to rest a palm against your forehead, but you jerk away.

"Don't," you snap. "I'm not a child. Why are you acting so strange?"

A flash of irritation crosses his face, gone in seconds. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm making your breakfast! Aren't you hungry?" Again, he reaches out towards you, and when you pull away again, the irritation returns.

"What did you put in there?" you demand. "Are you poisoning me?" As soon as you speak the question, you immediately feel guilty for it.

This is Hugo. Your boss, but someone who has protected you and kept you safe and content since you started working with him years ago. There's no way he'd poison you, right? He loves you.

He loves you so much, he wouldn't hurt you, right?

"You're sick, sweetheart, still delusional from the fever, maybe." He rests the back of his palm on your forehead this time, humming contemplatively. "I can get you some ibuprofen and a cool washcloth."

"I don't want anything from you!"

He drops all the niceties, snapping at you with a scowl on his face. "You will shut up, go back upstairs, and get your ungrateful butt back into bed."

You do so, only because his clenched fists are quivering at his side.

For hours, you can't sleep. Your mind is racing too quickly, anxiety prickling along every corner of your body. The thought that Hugo is drugging you — somehow — sends nauseous waves through you.

When you can't take it any longer, you grab your backpack. It's almost sunrise when you creep down the stairs, careful to miss the ones that creak.

It's stupid, but you need to confirm your earlier suspicions. You take a hesitant detour to the kitchen cabinets, the same ones he was pulling things from earlier this morning.

Flicking on the flashlight on your phone, you wince from the bright light in comparison to the dim room.

When your eyes adjust to the glare, you shift aside boxes and containers. You find nothing concerning, except...

Your breath hitches, pulling out a small orange bottle.

Acepromazine? You pocket it, intent to search it up later, but for now you just need to get out of here.

You expect him to stop you at any second, but by some miracle, you find the front door key where he always keeps it, and slip out the door.

Never have you felt eager to pay for a hotel room.

...

The next day, your phone blows up with texts and calls from Hugo. You ignore every last one of them. But guilt begins to worm its way into your gut as you listen to the voicemail messages left from him.

"(Y/n)... where did you go? Buddy, I don't know what I did to drive you away from me, but I can promise it will never happen again. Just tell me why you ran off like that, did I scare you?"

"Hey. (Y/n), call me back, okay?"

"I know you're mad at me... I'm so sorry for scaring you earlier. Please, please come back, okay?"

"Was it because I raised my voice? I know how sensitive you are... I really shouldn't have scared you like that..."

You know you need to go back to work, tell him you're quitting, and leave it at that. You want to just ignore him altogether, but the fear he might be able to take legal action against you looms over your head.

You thought the contract was stupid, saying you had to give a two weeks notice before quitting, but you thought he just did that for practical purposes.

Did he have this entire thing planned out?

No. Maybe you're jumping to conclusions. Still, that nagging doubt doesn't fade.

You haven't even looked up what the medicine is yet. Part of you is hopeful that maybe you were just making things up in your head, and perhaps they belonged to him, and just happened to be in there... people sometimes kept their medicine in the kitchen, right?

Yet you can't deny what you saw.

He even knows where you live. He knows you first and last name, and a bunch of personal information that he could definitely use against you.

...

You give it a week of no communication. He calls and texts you too many times to count daily.

Despite your instinct to avoid Hugo, the intense fear he inspires in you makes you drag yourself back to the coffee shop. It once had cozy, warm vibes, but now it's the equivalent of hell for you.

The jingle from the bell above the door catches Hugo's attention from where he's wiping the countertop. When he notices you, he brightens.

"(Y/n)! Where have you been?" The words tumble from him. He wraps you up in a tight hug, one that used to be comforting. You can't find yourself to reciprocate, not anymore. "I've been worried sick!"

You swallow down a snide comment. It would do nothing but escalate the tension that already hangs thick in the air. "Look, I—"

"I know, you're probably still upset about that morning, huh? No worries, I got so caught up in the heat of the moment. I can be an old dummy, can't I?" He's smiling, but you can tell he's on the verge of hysteria, trying so desperately to hide it behind his grins and friendly act. "Thank God you're okay. You're okay, right? No one hurt you?" He anxiously looks you over. "Let me get you something to drink! How does—"

"No!" you cry out. Thank goodness there's no customers right now. You clear your throat at his obvious worry. "I mean... no, thank you. I came to give this to you." You hand him a sheet of paper.

Hugo laughs, not taking it. "Why don't we sit down? Most employers wouldn't allow their employees to take a whole week off. Please, just—"

"Most employers also wouldn't try to drug their employee!" you cry. Your heart is thumping rapidly within your chest.

"(Y/n), don't raise your voice at me. Can we just talk about this? This was a big misunderstanding."

"No! I know what I saw! What was even your goal?! Were you trying to kill me?!"

He freezes, hand halfway from reaching toward you again. "Kill you?" He laughs humorlessly. "Oh, baby, no. Is that what you've been thinking? No... no, no..." He shakes his head. "No wonder you were terrified! You should have communicated that to me instead of hiding away all week..."

The pet name causes your skin to crawl. "What else could you be drugging me for, then?" you whisper hoarsely. Tears are pricking the corners of your eyes.

"(Y/n), honey, please don't cry. I swear it was not my intention to hurt you," Hugo coaxes. "Just to help you."

"Is that so?" You pull out the bottle of pills. He tries to grab them from you, but you take a step back and pull out your phone, searching it in. Your worst fears are realized when the page loads and shows what it actually is. "This is for animals... you have no pets, so you can't even lie your way out of this!"

A flash of fury burns in his eyes. His shoulders square up, and he narrows his eyes. "Okay, yes. Yes. You got me there. But it's not what it looks like, I promise."

"You were dosing me! Why? Why would you do that to someone? You're sick. You need help!" you scream at him. Hot tears sting your cheeks now. This is worse than you ever imagined. "It's an animal tranquilizer! No amount of explaining could do this! Screw my two weeks notice, I don't care anymore!"

"Don't walk out this door!" Hugo shouts. "You just cannot accept the fact someone loves you, can you?! I am so sick of this back and forth, this tug-of-war you keep dragging us through. I only want what's best for you, I have given you so much, and you repay me by running away, shutting me out, screaming at me! And after all my efforts... I'd even resorted to drugging you just to spend more time with you!"

"Oh, wow, what a sweet thing of you to do!" you say sarcastically. You turn your back to him and open the door. His hand slams the door closed. "I will call the police on you if you don't move."

Hugo grits his teeth, frown deepening. He releases his grip on the door handle, and steps away.

For a moment, you hesitate. The way he's staring at you fills you with a deep sense of dread. Like maybe you're making a horrible mistake. He took you in, gave you a home to stay in when you had nowhere to go. Gave you money and necessities. Protected you from harm.

You shake away those thoughts and open the door. Before you even step one foot out, you feel something sharp plunge into your neck. Gasping, you stagger backwards, almost falling to the ground, if not for Hugo.

"I had a feeling you'd show back up," Hugo mutters. He wipes hair away from your sweaty forehead, shushing you gently as you start to panic. "No need to be scared, kiddo."

"Wh...What...?" You try to focus on his face, but your vision starts to swim in and out. Your eyelids feel heavy.

"There we go, nice and easy..." His hand cups your cheek. "You're going to feel a bit sleepy, okay?" He takes a moment to put the cap back on the needle, then pockets it, along with the syringe. He coos at your eyes fluttering shut. "I know. It's scary, but I'd never hurt you. You're just confused." He hoists you up with a grunt, carrying you outside.

"Why...?" Your throat feels dry and raw. Sleep has almost taken over.

"I love you. I love you so, so much, but sometimes you can't let people take care of you. Let people protect you." He helps you in the backseat, pausing to smile at you, pushing some bangs away from your sweaty forehead. "I know you act like you hate me, but surely deep down, you realize you need me. Why else would you willingly come back?"

"It wasn't like... that..."

"Shhhh... enough. Close your eyes now. I'll wake you up when you're safe and sound back home..."

...

When you wake up, you're still in the car, but pulled up to his house. Panic sets in, making you tug on the straps of the seatbelt, trying to undo the buckle.

"Whoa! Hold on, bud, what are you doing?" Hugo turns around in his seat, expression stricken with surprise. "You weren't supposed to wake up yet. Damnit." He tries to grab something out of his pocket, but you manage to unbuckle yourself from the seat, scrambling to the other side of the vehicle, away from him.

You reach out to the opposite door and unlock it.

Right before you can swing it open, however, it suddenly clicks and refuses to open. Child safety lock. "No... no..."

Hugo sighs and shakes his head. "You're really stressing your Papa out, you know that?" He doesn't wait for an answer as he gets out of the car and walks around to your side, opening it up. He reaches in towards you, but you flail backwards. "Easy, easy... you'll hurt yourself moving around like that. Please, listen to me."

"Why are you doing this?!" you cry. Your fingers clutch at the cushions desperately. "P...Please, Hugo, let me go... we can forget about all this and pretend like nothing happened. Please..." Sobs shake your body, and you curl into yourself pathetically. "I want to go home!"

"We are home, honey. And even then, I wanted to do this the normal way. But you didn't want that," he soothes.

"Drugging me is not the normal way!" you snap, your fear turning into fury.

He sighs, this time not bothering to reply. You scream in shock when he tries lunging for you, a new needle prepared, but you manage to slip out from the other side, ignoring the way you collapse upon landing. It doesn't matter. Getting away from Hugo does.

You scramble to your feet and begin booking it. Behind you, you can hear him calling after you.

He doesn't live close to any civilization, but you still hope that maybe someone, anyone, will come to your aid.

"Help!" you cry. Your vision swims. Everything hurts. You push through, knowing stopping means you'll be doomed forever. "Please help!"

A few more seconds of running makes you nearly faint, leaning against a tree. The bark cuts into your palms painfully. Your stomach is doing flips inside of you, twisting into painful knots.

"(Y/n)! Get back here this instant!" Hugo yells.

You force yourself to keep going. Everything seems like its closing in around you. Each inhale makes your lungs burn with effort. Where are you going?

Does it really matter? Nothing matters besides escaping this madman.

You run out onto a dirt road, not paying attention to your surroundings, not until the loud noise of an engine makes you look up.

The last thing you see is the glimpse of headlights before everything goes black.

[juneofdoom]

What up, whump fam?!

June of Doom 2024 Prompts!

We've brought back some old favorites/ popular prompts from last year with a healthy dash of new!

Please feel free to participate with original or fan works of any kind (writing, photos, gifs, mood boards, videos, songs, whatever creative medium your heart desires!). You can do one or all of the prompts on any given day, and if none are to your liking, check out the alternate prompts!

Two rules this year!

As with last year, tag your stuff with appropriate warnings, plzkthnx.

AI-created content is highly discouraged and frowned upon. I have no way of "checking", but I respect the time and effort people put into their crafts and encourage everyone to do the same. This isn't a contest for best written or prettiest art — it's a challenge, so challenge yourself.

[AO3 Collection] - "JUNEOFDOOM2024"

Text list below the cut for easier crossings-off. And don't forget to tag @juneofdoom so I can reblog your awesome here! Have fun!

“Help me.”                                        | Failed Escape | On the Run | Fetal Position |

“It didn’t have to be this way.”             | Scream | Double Cross | Made to Watch |

“Well, well, well…”                            | Hiding | Ambushed | Stalking |

“Does that hurt?”                               | Impalement | Fracture | Punishment |

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”                 | Bite | Swelling | Disfiguration |

“They don’t care about you.”               | Flinch | Broken Promise | Abandoned |

“What happened?”                            | Nightmare | Isolation | Stumbling |

“This is your last chance.”                    | Drowning | Chair | Prisoner Trade |

“I made a mistake.”                            | Accident | Acceptance | Blame |

“Can you hear me?”                           | Fear | Smoke | Phone Call |

“We’re out of time.”                           | Bleeding Out | Collapse | Flatline |

“I can’t stand seeing you like this.”        | Dehydration | Grief | Coma |

“Wait!”                                             | Sacrifice | Adrenaline | Cornered |

“What were you thinking?”                  | Surrender | Human Shield | Outmatched |

“Get me out of here!”                         | Rescue | Chainsaw | Presumed Dead |

“At least it can’t get any worse.”           | Secret | Stranded | Setback |

“You don’t want to do that.”                | Struggle | Blackmail | Desperate Measures |

“I’m fine.”                                         | Self-defense | Allergies | Headache |

“This can’t be happening!”                  | Sobbing | Straitjacket | Dissociation |

“I can handle it.”                                | Scrape | Panic Attack | Neglect |

“Let’s play a game. “                           | Stairs | Pressure Points | Trap Door |

“What’s the bad news?”                      | Poison | Bedridden | Cauterization |

“You’re doing great.”                         | Trembling | Gaslighting | Rules |

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”                  | Blankets | Stitches | Bandages |

“I should have listened to you.”           | Guilt | Backseat | Failure |

“Don’t lie to me.”                               | Rage | Choke | Paranoia |

“Or what?”                                       | Defiance | Display | Last Resort |

“Say something.”                               | Numb | Cold Shoulder | Gag |

“I’m so cold.”                                    | Delirium | Fever | Exposure |

“Breathe, damn you!”                         | Shock | Asphyxiation | Emergency Room |

ALTERNATE PROMPTS

“Who did this to you?”

“Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m not okay.”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“You poor thing.”

Attending Your Own Funeral

Broken Glass

Mask

Whip

Obedience

[hedwig221b]

Do you have recommendations for Jock Stiles fics? 🥵

Here you go💕

Hotsky to Trotsky by paintedrecs

Derek had his future mapped out: there'd be graduation, followed by college, followed by (he hoped) a good grad school, then a career as a professor whose students didn't spend their time flicking paper footballs at each other and obsessing over their dating lives. He had good friends, a good family, and no time to focus on distractions like high school gossip or relationships. He hadn't factored Stiles Stilinski - lacrosse player, class clown, part of the popular crowd, currently spending his entire day staring at Derek and smiling - into his plans.

read the signs by bleep0bleep

Sure, Derek isn’t how they became a thing really, he doesn’t really know why awesome lacrosse player, popular and funny Stiles Stilinski even likes awkward, nerdy, Derek, but he does. Which is why Derek takes it personally when Cora laughs at him and says, “Dude, there’s no way you are dating Stiles Stilinski.”

Of Glasses And Lacrosse Sticks by charlesdk

"Okay, how 'bout this? One date, just one date, and if you still don't believe I'm genuinely interested in you, then I'll leave you alone for good. How does that sound?” Derek hesitated for another moment, before he sighed and said, “Fine. One date.”

The Athlete & The Criminal by damnfancyscotch

"What’re you doing here, Stilinski? Did you only score half the winning points at the last lacrosse game instead of all of them?” Stiles snorts and says, “I thought you were locked up, Hale.” Derek huffs a laugh and drawls, “Not quite yet.” or A Breakfast Club AU

Wanna Dance? by one-fandom-became-all-fandoms (Sara36913)

Stiles hates it when Derek picks on him. Derek hates it when Stiles rejects him. Eventually, the two work out their frustrations.

Your Voice is My Favorite Sound by army_of_angels

Derek has had a crush on Stiles since Freshman Year. It's Junior Year and suddenly Stiles is paying attention to him but it's probably some sort of prank, right?

I'll Be Yours, If You're Mine by mercury_caduceus

Derek has been pining over Stiles Stilinski for three years but he knows nothing will ever happen. Derek is the nerdy kid that nobody really talks to and Stiles is one of the most popular kids in school. Stiles barely even knows he exists. Right?

Frat Flirt by LadyDrace

Stiles keeps inviting Derek to things. It's very suspicious.

Grey Rainbow by PencilTrash

"Stiles?” Derek glanced at Stiles’ sleeping form. He didn’t even twitch. Derek continued. “If we…” his lips curved in a fond smile, fingers moving to smooth the creases of Stiles’ eyebrows, his voice coming as whisper. “… as in, you and me - If we get a chance someday… any day, to be together, y’know? I wouldn't mind you wooing me with flowers and all that cliched romantic shit. And you can even flirt with me. I approve.” He gazed at Stiles’ calm face for a long while before drifting off into quiet slumber with the sound of Stiles’ soft snoring in the background. [aka, after pinning for his best friend for four years, Derek learns his teenage crush is easy, but his life isn’t]

Chance Encounters by haletostilinski

Derek is studying on the grass on his college campus when he gets hit with a football out of nowhere, and the jock who comes to retrieve the ball and apologize to Derek takes his breath away. It really sucks that he'll most likely never see him again.

The Lawn Ranger by Snowjob

In which Derek is an adolescent werewolf with a penchant for chocolate bunnies, and instead of the dream summer of lazing around the house playing video games and nibbling on his hoarded supply of easter candy his mother makes him get a job. In which Stiles is a showoff jock with a broken arm and an embarrassing crush who can no longer push the lawn mower around the yard.

[masterlist link]

[otsalezu]

College Cat AU Sneak Peak

This is just chapter one! These chapters are gonna be shorter than the Crashing Down ones, as this is mostly a fun side fic based off of @dark-lord-of-awesomeness Cat Stan AU! Okay chapter below the cut cuz its pretty long

Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, who was raised a proper Christian boy, knew all sorts of things about demons. He grew up hearing stories and urban legends about them and being taught to never trust anything that seemed like one. He wasn’t, however, told that they would come in the form of his college campus’ honorary mascot.

It had all started during the first few weeks of his and Ford’s second year at Backupsmore. Fiddleford had been heading towards his engineering class when, with a start, he realized he’d forgotten his thermos of coffee. He’d cursed a bit, checking his watch and deciding that it was worth the risk of being a little late. The professor, a fellow Southerner with a similar passion for the subject, loved him enough to excuse the odd tardiness. He hadn’t thought much of the rustling that came from the dorm, thinking that Ford had simply also forgotten something. When he neared the door, he’d thought his first prediction was correct. The man going through his desk had Ford’s face and curls. However, that was where the resemblance ended. Stubble lined his worn face, and glasses didn’t rest upon his crooked and obviously previously broken nose. His hair was long and matted, splayed around his shoulders in a greasy mullet. The clothes that hung off of him were too casual and threadbare to be from Ford’s closet. And the final discovery, the one that hammered home the wrongness for Fiddleford, were the man’s hands. Five fingers each, he noted with horror, as the man picked up his driver’s license and snorted.

“Heh. Diddlefuck Hard-on McSuckit.”

Despite the situation, Fiddleford made an offended noise. Jokes about his name were nothing new, but hearing a stranger who’d broken into his dorm make them must have been the final straw. The figure turned towards him, cursed loudly, and then…disappeared? No, he hadn’t disappeared. He’d simply changed. Where the man had once stood was now Nikola, the campus cat. In its mouth was the driver’s license, which dropped to the floor as the cat made a run for the door. Fiddleford quickly scooped him up, before remembering the situation and dropping him again like a hot coal.

“You! Just what in the hell are you?!”

“It’s a cat, F. Are you feeling alright?”

Ford pushed past him, and the cat quickly escaped as he did. The two men were left alone in the room to survey the mess on the desk.

“Moses, did a bomb go off in here?”

“I–the cat–you were–”

“Really? The cat? You’re telling me Nikola opened these drawers and took out all the papers?”

“He was a man!”

Ford gave him a cautious side-eye,

“Are you…?”

“God dammit Ford, I’m not high!”

“...Whatever you say. Don’t you have a class?”

“Don’t you?”

“The professor was sick, and I heard yelling. Which was apparently you terrorizing Nikola. What’s your excuse?”

“I’m…”

Fiddleford rubbed his head. Had he really just hallucinated the whole thing? The mess on the desk could have been a prank, and sleep had been scarce lately. It was more likely he was seeing things than the campus cat being a shapeshifting Ford look-alike.

“I’m not feelin’ too good.”

“Clearly. Do you need anything?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Probably just a migraine.”

“Alright. I’m headed off to the library.”

And that had been the end of that, or so he’d thought. Seeing “Nikola” around campus—especially their dorm—became a common occurrence for him. Going through their things, eating unattended leftovers in the cafeteria, lurking around the local cafes. The man would grin at him and wave, before being replaced by that familiar shaggy brown cat. This was frustrating enough. He was never able to get a camera out fast enough to take a picture, and the man always seemed to stay far from Ford. In human form, that was. Ford adored the hellspawn in cat form, often letting the cat sit on his shoulders or lap during study sessions. Sure, Nikola may have been the campus cat, but most people thought he belonged to Ford. It was a fair assumption, the way the cat always made a beeline for him.

Now, about four months into the year, Fiddleford was running out of ideas. Nikola and Ford seemed to only get more fond of each other, which was making Fiddleford’s job of subtly protecting Ford from the demon harder than ever. He’d started by keeping around a rosary…which disappeared from his nightstand the next day and appeared around the neck of the man. He’d laughed—laughed!—and mouthed a smug “thanks”, before turning back into the cat. He doubted he’d be able to catch the cat for an exorcism, not that he wanted to touch it at all. Any indication he gave to Ford that the cat may be dangerous was met with incredulity and a lighthearted jab about the first day Fiddleford had seen it shift. He was really, truly, at the end of his rope. He had begun absentmindedly sketching the design for a holy water spraying robot when Ford burst in, grinning.

“Fidds, what do you know about anomalies?”

[luveline]

Hi jade!! I saw ur looking for some Steve or Eddie requests, I was thinking either of them seeing reader a little tipsy leaving a party with a guy she obviously doesn’t want to go with and they kinda step in and save her:) ily

ty for requesting! fem, 1.2k

“What’s up with you?” 

Eddie shakes his head. “What do you mean?” 

Jamison, taller than Eddie, rests on the opposite side of the same door frame. They’re blocking the hallway, Eddie in the kitchen doorway and Jamison the living room’s, but neither care nor mind. Being conscientious isn’t Jamison’s style, and Eddie’s too heartbroken to care. 

“What, is it Y/N?” Jamison asks. 

Eddie nods in your direction, past Jamison’s shoulder. He turns. 

You’re sitting amongst a crowd of people on a coffee table, a guy standing between your legs. He’s holding your face, a hand especially possessive at the side of your neck.

“I didn’t even know she was talking to somebody,” Eddie says. 

“That’s not a lot of talking,” Jamison says. “She looks wasted.” 

You do seem pretty tipsy, your eyes heavy, head lolling into the guy’s hand. He laughs at you and bends to touch you, his hands going under your arms, and Eddie has to look away. 

Jamison gives him a shove. “Eddie.”

“I can’t look. My heart is broken.” 

“Eddie, does that seem weird to you?” 

Eddie joins Jamison in the doorway and glares at the people glaring at them both to move, before he finds you again. The guy you’re with is trying to pull you into a standing position, but you’re moving backward, attempting to lay on the coffee table despite a mound of decorative books and candles. 

“Sweetheart,” the guy says softly, “come on, let’s get you home.” 

“No, thanks.” 

Eddie shrugs. “I don’t know. Just seems like she’s drunk.” 

Still, his feelings set aside, there’s something off about it. You’re squirming away from his touch —he grabs your hip and you groan like you’re in pain. The guy's smile twitches and Eddie thinks, Oh. 

He forces Jamison to take his drink and plunges forward. 

“I don’t want to go with you,” you say, slurring but for sure a rejection. 

“Y/N,” Eddie says, before your mystery guy can get another word in, his hand suspiciously tight on your elbow, “you okay?” 

“She’s fine.” 

“Awesome,” he says, giving the guy a smile and turning his attention right back to you. Your expression fills with familiarity, your shoulders sagging in relief. “You okay?” 

“I just said she’s fine.” 

“And both times I wasn’t asking you,” Eddie says, looking at your jerk with wild incredulity. “Dude.” 

“Eddie, I’m okay,” you say. 

“Yeah? Wanna come and get a glass of water?” 

“Munson, I fucking have her, man. She’s fine, she literally asked me to take her home.” 

This guy isn’t an out and proud skeeze ball, he’s undercover. Eddie can’t tell instantly if he’s lying, nor could he have spotted him a mile off, but the more he watches how he’s acting, the more Eddie doesn’t care either way; boyfriend or not, he can’t just grab you and pull at you. 

“Maybe stop fucking dragging her around,” Eddie snaps.

“I’m trying to help her up! It’s none of your business.” 

Eddie can’t fight. He sizes the guy up anyways and decides his best bet is a swift attack, Eddie’s probably gonna need the first punch. He curls his hand into a fist at his side to give it one last shot. 

“Listen,” Eddie says, “I’m gonna ask her if she wants to go with you, and no matter what she says I’m not gonna let her, anyway. One of the girls can take her home.” 

“You fucking loser,” the guy says, with enough vitriol for Eddie to know he’s about to get punched. 

You save the day. You finally manage to stand, and you rag your arm out of the weird guy’s grip. Your other hand sews through Eddie’s arm, your drunken weight pressing into his side. “I don’t wanna go anywhere with him,” you say to Eddie, looking into his face with urgency. “I don’t even know who he is.” 

“You fucking creep,” Eddie says to the guy. “‘Cos she’s drunk you’re gonna force her into the car? Go be a ‘white knight’ somewhere else, Jesus.” 

“Leave me alone!” you pipe up. 

“You’re both fucking losers,” the guy says, stalking off through the door and into the hallway. 

Eddie wishes he could say that he can’t believe how creepy people are. He can’t imagine what the guy would’ve done to you if he’d managed to get you back to his car. 

“You okay?” he asks you again. 

You sit down hard on the coffee table. With music thumping from the kitchen and tens of eyes on you, you’re looking overwhelmed, and queasy if your constant swallowing is any indication. 

Eddie sits down next to you. “You don’t know that guy?” 

“No. Name is Connor something, I think.” 

Connor the Creep, Eddie thinks. Fitting. “Your arm okay? He was grabbing you pretty tightly.” 

“I thought he was gonna take me to his car,” you say, letting your face hang forward. 

“I wasn’t gonna let him.” Eddie pats your leg amicably. “Seriously. I thought he was your new boyfriend at first, but you made it clear you didn’t wanna go with him. Good job.” 

You shake your head. “I’m so stupid.” 

“If you’re stupid, I’m dire.” 

“I can’t believe how drunk I am,” you say, turning to him, stressed and humoured at once. You giggle strangely. It’s pretty cute, but Eddie’s wondering if he should be pulling you in for a hug or something, you look that unsettled. 

“It’s a party! That’s what people do at them. You’re fine.” 

“Not fine. What if he felt me up?” you ask. 

Eddie nods. “Right. I’m sorry I didn’t swoop in sooner, I would’ve– I’m just dumb as a bag of rocks. I couldn’t tell he was being a creep until I got a good look at you.” 

“Don’t be sorry, you got him to leave me alone.” 

“…Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks. 

His eyebrows pinch. Yours follow, like a funny mirror, and you hold your hands out on wobbly arms, waiting for him to put something against your chest. He shakes his head in confusion. 

“Can you hug me?” you ask. 

His eyebrows rise, his lips press together in surprise, and he hides it by quickly taking your arms and pressing them against his sides. He wraps his own around the tops of your arms and your shoulders, his hair pulled as he smushes your heads together. 

“You don’t have to go home with anybody you don’t want to,” he promises, scared that you’re scared. 

“I wanna go home with you,” you say, feeling along one side of his waist nicely. 

He holds back a shiver. “I’m gonna get Macy to take you, babe. Don’t worry.” 

“Okie dokie. Thank you, Eddie, you saved me.” 

“It was a team effort.”

You speak into his shoulder, “Go team.”

[thefreakandthehair]

grow where you're planted

written for ‘stuff’ | wc: 483 | rated: teen & up | tags: modern AU, no upside down, landscaper steve harrington, homeowner eddie munson, eddie munson & gareth friendship, confident!steve harrington, flirting, different first meeting @steddiemicrofic

“What is all that stuff?” Eddie mutters under his breath.

He’s alone in his shiny new shotgun house with no one around to hear his question but he asks it anyway because seriously— what is all that stuff? How much mulch does one Indianapolis front yard need?

A lot, apparently.

He keeps watching through the glass window in the front door as they slice open bags and pull plants gently from their pots. One of the landscapers, a lean guy who’s worked up a sweat with toned shoulders and moles that cascade from the side of his neck, runs his fingers through his hair. Dirt sticks to his temple as he bends down to plant something with yellow flowers beside the mailbox and Eddie wants to lick him clean.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers to himself, yanking his phone from his back pocket.

Eddie: landscaper is too hot help Gareth: you brought this on yourself Eddie: there’s a guy in the shortest basketball shorts i’ve ever seen. like, 80s pin-up short. i’m in over my head Gareth: then go talk to him? Eddie: good idea, lets get all the bad ideas out now Gareth: i’m serious! Eddie: i pre-paid online for a reason, i can’t even look him in the fucking eye

Eddie looks up from his phone, intent to watch Shorts Guy from a distance only to find himself face to face with Shorts Guy through the offending glass window.

“Fuck!” He blurts, dropping his phone in the process. Please don’t be broken, he thinks as he tries to discreetly slide it aside with his foot and opens the door.

“Hey! Sorry to scare you. We’re all set,” Shorts Guy says with a smirk as he glances up and down from Eddie’s phone to his warm, flushed cheeks.

“Cool! Awesome!” His voice is about an octave too high– he clears his throat. “Looks great!”

“Thanks! If you’re satisfied with the work, leave us a good review. Goes a long way. And uh…” Shorts Guy does that thing with his hair again and Eddie might actually be sweating more than him now. “Maybe you can give me a call if you’re extra satisfied? And if your phone’s not broken.”

Shorts Guy nods to Eddie's discarded phone and what the fuck is happening right now? Eddie blinks and then shakes his head, grabbing his phone to find it blissfully still intact.

“All in one piece,” he says, turning the phone around toward Shorts Guy as if he needed to prove it. “I’d– yeah! Totally. I’d love to. Y’know, since it’s not broken and all that.”

Shorts Guy takes Eddie’s phone from his outstretched hand and saves his number as Steve. He texts Steve immediately, exchanging numbers and names before Steve’s even left the driveway.

Eddie: hey, it’s Eddie. extra satisfied. free this Saturday?

Gareth is never going to let him hear the end of this.

doubling up with a microfic and a gift for @starrystevie! happy birthday, bee!! here's some confident, sweaty landscaper!steve harrington for you! <3 I've been thinking about it for days and couldn't stop myself. love you!! have the best day!!

[covenofagatha]

I Could Be A Better Boyfriend Than Him

Ann Perkins x April Ludgate

Ann and April are sent on an errand by Leslie and they bond over their bad experiences with Andy. (Set loosely during season three)

Word count: 4k

Warnings: sex with men (not very descriptive), car sex, fingering, enemies to lovers (not really lovers though), cheating

A/N: I've been rewatching Parks and Rec and couldn't get this out of my head

It’s hard for April to look at Andy in the morning. 

He, of course, doesn’t realize anything is off. He pours cheerios into a bowl—the one bowl he owns—before dumping way too much milk into it so cereal falls to the floor. 

“Hey, babe, look at this!” he exclaims excitedly before slurping at the milk. April tries to look interested, fakes a smile and a thumbs up, and Andy begins lapping up the cheerios like a cat. 

April walks around the kitchen to try to find something to eat herself, not really feeling like cereal, only the only thing Andy has is stale bread in the pantry and a six-pack of beer in the fridge. 

“So, uh,” Andy starts and April turns around to face him. He’s finished his cheerios in an alarmingly short amount of time and there’s a rim of milk around his lips. He moves closer to her and she raises an eyebrow. “Want a repeat of last night before we go to work?” 

April cringes on the inside. Last night was the first time they had sex. 

Andy had taken her out for a romantic date at the Paunch Burger and then serenaded her with his guitar when they got back to his place, singing an original song he’d written for Mouse Rat called “I Just Wanna Have Sex With You” until she’d tossed the guitar aside and climbed into his lap and started making out with him. 

Possibly more to stop the singing than anything else, but the message had been clear. 

He’d picked her up to take her to his room and she’d squealed, a sound she does not normally make, and she was actually excited. Andy was the first person she actually liked and he liked her back and they were going to have super hot sex and she was going to wear his marks on her like badges of honor to the office tomorrow, where she could rub it into Ann Perkin’s stupid face that Andy chose her and April was happier than Ann was, so take that. 

April had fumbled with the one belt Andy owned and then unzipped his khaki shorts and she had hiked up her skirt, the one Leslie called, “Professional, but not too professional,” and reached down between them to give Andy’s now-free cock a quick stroke. He grabbed a condom out of the drawer and gave it to her to rip open with her teeth and then roll it on him.

He had hissed and she had sunk down on him because she was wet already, because he drove her crazy and she had been waiting for this, and then Andy’s face seized up like he was about to sneeze and April’s eyes had flared—surely he couldn’t. 

He sure could. 

Andy twitched inside her and let out a groan and that was it. 

Not even five seconds. 

He lifted her off him and she flopped on the bed next to him, a look of disbelief on her face. Andy pulled the condom off, tied it up, and then shot it like a basketball at the wastebasket in the corner of his room. 

It missed and hit the carpeted floor, thankfully not exploding open. 

And then he turned to her, a look of joy on his face. “That was awesome!” He laughed and April knew he was being genuine, but a doubt crossed her mind—what was she doing here?

Andy fell asleep quickly after that, holding her against his chest, but April stayed awake, staring at the four Mouse Rat posters he had posted on the wall by the closet. 

It was just their first time. They’d get better at it. 

But the fact that Andy hadn’t even seemed concerned that he came immediately after getting inside of her? 

Whatever, she thought and rolled her eyes. 

The next time, it would go better. 

Being presented with the option of a next time, right now in the harsh bright light of day streaming in through Andy’s sliding glass that’s broken, April suddenly couldn’t bring herself to want anything less. 

“Sorry, babe, I promised Leslie I would do, like, some stupid thing for her. I have to go in early,” she says, rolling her eyes like usual at her boss’s antics, however real or imagined, and Andy shrugs. 

Leslie will probably have something stupid for her to do and she’ll procrastinate by seeing how many paper-clips she can throw at Jerry before he notices.

“Well, get ready for tonight, pretty lady, because you are all mine,” Andy says and pecks her on the mouth and she can taste the milk that’s a bit too sour. She wrinkles her nose in disgust but doesn’t say anything. 

The worst thing about the whole incident is that April was actually turned on and she didn’t get any semblance of satisfaction and now there’s still molten heat in her core. 

Not that it matters now. 

April just has to accept that this is what a relationship with Andy might look like. She might need to invest in a vibrator—can she somehow snoop through Donna’s phone? Donna definitely would have good advice, except April refuses to ask for any at all, because she definitely doesn’t actually care about anyone in the office and doesn’t need them knowing anything about her personal life. 

People are the worst. 

“I’ll see you later. Have a good day at work,” April says before grabbing her keys and bag. Andy gives her another kiss and grabs her ass and there’s a spark in her cunt but she pushes him away, not able to deal with more disappointment. 

Work is awful, as usual. 

With the Harvest Festival coming up, Leslie is in even more of a hypomanic mood than usual and when she’s not fawning over Ben or drowning Ann with compliments that make April’s skin burn just listening to them, she’s ordering everyone around and giving them inane tasks that make April want to poke her eyes out with a pencil, slowly, just to show her boss what her insanity has driven her to. 

Even Ron is no fun and April is still pretending to be a little mad at him for telling Andy that she was in the hospital with the flu a few weeks ago, even if it led to a reconciliation. 

Look where that got me, April thinks to herself bitterly. Unsatisfied sex for the rest of my life. 

“Hey, April!” Ann says, stopping in front of her desk. She’s carrying three full binders; surely some errand for Leslie. 

April rolls her eyes. “What?” 

Ann falters. “I was just wondering—” 

“No,” April cuts her off and Ann frowns. 

Leslie steps out of her office and catches sight of them with a loud gasp and April burrows down into her chair, knowing what’s coming next. 

“My two favorite women in the whole world!” Leslie gushes, walking over with her arms held out. April makes a face and Ann beams. “April, you intelligent little mouse.” 

“Ew,” April deadpans.

“And Ann, you beautiful, talented, brilliant, powerful musk ox,” Leslie sighs and Ann tilts her head in bemusement. “I need you two to do something for me.” 

“Absolutely not,” April exclaims immediately. “I’m not going anywhere with that she-devil. Send Tom, or Jerry. Maybe Ann can make out with them, too.” 

Ann exhales slowly. “For the last time, April, I said I was sorry for kissing Andy. It meant nothing and it will never happen again.” 

April wonders if the sex for them was bad, too. 

Leslie purses her lips and looks back and forth between her coworkers. “April, could I see you in my office for a second?” 

April groans but stands up and follows her. Leslie shuts the door behind her and April can see Ann looking a little dejected. 

Good. 

“I didn’t want to say anything—”

“Then don’t. Okay, thanks,” April interrupts and reaches for the door handle but Leslie calls her name. April begrudgingly turns around. 

Leslie softens and bounces on her feet. She looks very much like a child in a gray pantsuit right now. “Look, Ann and Chris broke up and she didn’t realize that he broke up with her and it was very uncomfortable and now she’s devastated—” Leslie shoots a pointed glare at the wicked smirk spreading on April’s face, “—so she really needs some girl-time to get her mind off the whole thing.” 

April’s head drops back with a sound almost like a whimper. “Why can’t you do it? Or Donna? Or anyone but me?” 

“I have three town hall meetings to run and I still have to finalize the list of vendors and Donna is…not here. She called me and told me she’d be late.” 

April wants to stomp her foot and refuse but Leslie’s eyes widen and she looks so desperate that April can’t help but agree. “Fine. But if Ann so much as tries to make conversation, I’m calling the police and telling them she kidnapped me.” 

Leslie looks happier than she does when she gets waffles. “Thank you so much! I need you to go to the store and get a projector, a screen, and a DVD, something family-friendly. I’m thinking that on the last night of the Festival, we do a giant movie in the park for everyone, something that brings the whole thing to a close.” 

April hums. “Okay, got it. Get the scariest R-rated horror movie ever. How's…’The Texas Chainsaw Massacre’? It was my favorite movie as a kid.”

Leslie looks at her for a moment, unable to tell if she’s joking or not, before nodding to herself. “I’ll tell Ann.” 

April follows her back out into the main space of the Parks department room where Leslie repeats everything she just said to Ann, who claps her hands joyfully. April rolls her eyes. 

“I think that’s a great idea, Leslie,” Ann says and April has the urge to mock her. Annoyance is gnawing at April that Ann just got broken up with and this is how she looks, perfectly wavy hair, poreless skin, and a silk red blouse tucked into black pants. 

April doesn’t even look that nice when she tries. 

And now she can’t get the thought of Andy and Ann having sex out of her head and her brows furrow in anger as she tries to push that image out, thinking about anything else. 

Luckily, Jerry walks in, carrying two cups of coffee, and, in likely Jerry-fashion, slips comically on a piece of paper on the floor. Jerry stumbles but puts his hands on the table to catch himself, forgetting that he was carrying two cups of coffee. 

The table is now covered in liquid and it drips onto the floor and Jerry sheepishly pushes himself up. “Aw, geez.” 

“Come on, Jerry!” Leslie criticizes while Tom cackles from somewhere in the background. April can’t help the grin growing on her face. “Clean this up and get back to work.” 

Jerry shuffles his hands and shakes his head at himself. “I’m sorry, guys. Right away, Leslie.” 

“Well, April, shall we?” Ann asks, shifting her weight from one foot to another. 

April makes a big show of sighing and rolling her eyes. “If we must. Better go now so you have more time to make out with everyone.” 

Ann looks at Leslie but decides that it’s not worth it. April leads Ann out of the building into the parking lot, where April realizes she doesn’t know what kind of car Ann drives. 

“This way,” Ann mutters, guiding her over to a light blue MINI Cooper. 

There’s still an uncomfortable wetness in April’s underwear that’s seemed to have gotten worse. She can feel it with every step she takes. 

April slides into the passenger seat and groans quietly because of course Ann’s car smells like a tropical island. Meanwhile, April’s smells like Paunch Burger from her date with Andy last night. 

There must be some sort of unresolved jealousy that April feels toward Ann, probably over Andy. Is she afraid that she doesn’t measure up? Insecure that Andy still likes Ann better? 

That must be it, she decides, and scowls out the window. 

“So,” Ann says eventually, after they’ve been driving for two minutes. April knows because she’s been counting in her head and is going to make Leslie reimburse her for all the time spent with Ann. “How are things with Andy?” 

“Why?” April snaps, and she really needs to learn to let things go sometimes. “Going to sink your claws into him now that you’re not with Chris anymore?” 

Something flashes across Ann’s face and April feels something she normally doesn’t feel, especially around this woman—regret. 

April sinks into her seat and wraps her yellow cardigan around her, as if protecting herself. “Things are fine.” 

Ann reaches over and pats her on the thigh. Her touch is covered by the purple leggings April has on, but April can still feel the warmth of her fingertips. The heat in her stomach grows hotter and April shifts uncomfortably. 

“I am very happy for you both,” Ann says honestly and this time, April squirms. “Andy is a great guy and you are an amazing young woman and you make a good pair.” 

The question climbs up April’s throat and throws itself out before she has a chance to stop it. “How was the sex when you were together?” Her eyes widen, horrified, and Ann looks over at her. 

“Um…why?” Ann chuckles nervously and April wants to roll her eyes. 

“He and I had sex for the first time last night and he—” April cuts herself off, pulling the sleeves of her cardigan over her hands because maybe she can just disappear. 

Ann nods. “Yeah. It was always kind of like that. And then you’re stuck in a state of horniness and after a while, it stops becoming fun to take care of yourself because he should be able to.” 

The thought of Ann taking care of herself isn’t one April hates as much as she should. 

“I don’t know what to do,” April says, admitting it for the first time out loud and to herself. She looks down at her fingers. “I’m sorry about Chris.” 

Ann actually looks surprised at the sympathy and April silently begs her not to make a big deal out of it. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s for the best. He wanted me to be so healthy and run all the time? Ugh.” She shudders and April can’t help but laugh. 

A moment of silence lapses over them, but it’s not as uncomfortable as it was before. April isn’t sure what’s happening to her. 

Just last night, Andy devoured three Paunch burgers in her car and then chugged Sprite so he’d burp really loudly. And April had thought it was the funniest thing ever. 

Now, having an actual conversation with Ann, whom she had always hated, was making April not want to go back to the person she was last night. 

“If there’s anything I can do to help,” Ann offers with a quick glance and reaches over to pat April’s leg again, “just let me know.” 

Her hand doesn’t leave April’s leg and April hates how she can feel the heat seeping into her veins. There’s a tug in her gut and it’s like she felt last night, when she and Andy were finally going to have sex. 

But April doesn’t think Ann would let her down like he did. 

“What are you offering?” April asks with none of her usual bite, sure she’s just imagining things. 

Ann shrugs casually, fingers tapping against the inside of April’s thigh. “I know how hard it can be to date him. I’m just saying, if you want some…relief.” 

April swallows roughly but doesn’t push her hand away. “I hate you. Why would you do this?” 

“Because you deserve better than someone who can barely make it inside you. You deserve to feel good, too, April. It took me a long time to learn that and I don’t want you to go that long without knowing it.” 

Ann’s hand creeps higher and April uncrosses her arms so the yellow cardigan isn’t blocking the hem of her leggings from Ann’s fingers. April’s breathing labors as Ann slips inside her pants and April shifts in her seat to give her better access. 

“This doesn't change anything, you know,” April spits out and gasps when Ann cups her over her underwear. 

“You’re wet,” Ann says quietly, ignoring April’s hostility. April can feel it, the stickiness against her cunt, and her own fingers dig into the door. 

Ann probes at her entrance through her panties and April bites the inside of her cheek to stifle a moan. Ann is still driving and they’re almost to the store and April cannot believe that her mortal enemy has her hand down her pants. 

At the red light, Ann carefully watches April’s face as she peels her underwear to the side and touches her bare cunt for the first time. 

It’s a struggle for April to remain unfazed. Ann’s hand is warm and soft and April is soaked and needy and it’s so frustrating. 

“I want to hear you,” Ann whispers but April shakes her head firmly—she won’t give her that satisfaction. But Ann’s deft fingers slip through her folds and April thinks can hear her wetness and her cheeks burn and a small gasp slips out from her lips when Ann circles around her clit. 

Circling, but never touching. 

April lets out a frustrated grunt and bucks her hips. 

“Say, ‘please, Ann’,” Ann drawls and April thinks she actually hates her more when she’s being vindictive. 

April refuses for another minute—she knows because she’s counting to compare it to sex with Andy—but Ann teases even more, gliding down to press at April’s entrance, not pushing in, and then slicking back up to rub around her clit. 

Eventually, April rolls her eyes and fights to keep her voice as level and sarcastic as possible. “Please, Ann.” 

Ann smirks but follows through and the first touch to April’s clit makes her bite her lip hard. Pleasure already sparks in her core and April rocks back and forth to get more. 

“You really like this,” Ann remarks in awe and just before April retorts, Ann pushes a finger into her. 

April’s mouth drops open and her walls clench around the intrusion. It’s already so much better than Andy, she’s already so much closer. 

But Ann is smug and April needs to knock her down. “You’re still the worst. This doesn’t change anything,” she repeats but Ann just tuts and curls her finger. 

The angle is weird and awkward and Ann is still driving, albeit under the speed limit and sometimes the car swerves dangerously, but nevertheless, she fucks another finger into April. The burn is exactly what April needs and her walls grip around her digits, trying to draw her further in.

Ann is practiced and clinical and her wrist is bent in a weird way but the palm of her hand bumps against April’s clit and her fingertips hit the special spot inside her each thrust and it’s getting April further than anyone else ever has. 

A stupid song is playing on the radio and Ann effortlessly turns into the parking lot with one hand on the steering wheel and April is panting and she can feel the redness in her face. She thinks that she will need to quit her job and move away from Pawnee because she can’t ever walk into City Hall again. 

What if it gets out? What if it gets out that Ann fucked April in her MINI Cooper on the way to the grocery store because they were talking about their disappointing shared ex and current boyfriend. 

Leslie would probably love it. She would throw a party and make them a binder and loudly announce she was coming into rooms they were in. Donna would be cool, April thinks, except for the offhand joke every now and then. Tom would be annoying. Ron wouldn’t care. That’s why April likes him the best. 

And Andy…what would he say? 

Ann parks the car far away from the other cars and April unbuckles her seatbelt and her fingers twist roughly and her palm harshly smacks April’s clit. 

April yelps. 

Her legs are cramping from the awkward position and her lower back starts to ache but sparks are tingling up her spine and her moans are gradually growing more unrestrained. 

April can clearly hear her wetness now and it’s embarrassing and she’ll kill Ann if Ann ever dares mention this again or to anyone else. 

As much as she hates to admit it, April is getting closer, her cunt is throbbing and her clit is pulsing, and she knows that Ann knows, too. 

“Tell me you like this,” Ann demands and April could strangle her and she bites her lip so the words don’t accidentally slip out. 

Ann scissors her fingers and then curls them sharply and her nails scrape against April’s walls and April lets out a noise. 

She slows her thrusts down because she is intent on torturing April. April’s eyes prick with tears and she shakes her head furiously. 

“I’ll stop,” Ann warns and April thinks that they might be more alike than she realized. 

Her fingers are barely moving now and the desperation has fogged up April’s brain and she doesn’t really have a choice, does she? 

“I like this…Ann.” She adds her name as an afterthought because if Ann made her say it, it might cause her to shrivel up and die. 

Ann smiles triumphantly, finally having the cold and mean April Ludgate wrapped around her fingers. 

Literally and figuratively. 

“I still hate you though,” April chokes out to regain some hint of power. 

It’s unconvincing to both of them. 

She’s about to come, her orgasm is building in her muscles, and she’s determined to let it wash quietly over her. 

But she should’ve known Ann wouldn’t have let that happen. 

“Ask for it,” Ann says and April grits her teeth. 

“Let me come,” April demands in a gruff voice and the audibility of her desire shocks her. 

Ann clucks her tongue and curls her fingers again and April is so close. 

“Can I please come, Ann?” April reluctantly mumbles, trying to sound sickly sweet and venomous so Ann knows she doesn’t mean it. 

But Ann apparently doesn’t care if April is faking it because she thrusts fast and hard without moving her palm off April’s clit. “Come for me, April.” 

April’s orgasm washes over her, finally getting the relief she’s been waiting for since last night, and it’s so much better than anything she thinks she’ll ever get from Andy. 

And it’s fucking annoying. 

Ann pulls her hand out of April’s leggings before wiping her glistening fingers on her black pants and April swipes her hair behind her ears and quickly gets out of the car. 

Ann looks as composed as ever while April can feel how much of a mess she’s become. “This doesn’t change anything,” she repeats, because maybe the third time is the charm and this time, she won’t mean it. 

“Okay, April,” Ann says, sounding resigned. “But if you ever need some relief, you know how to ask for it.” 

April’s eyebrows twitch as Ann starts casually walking in the direction of the store and she glowers at her. 

“This is never happening again,” April calls after her and she can hear Ann scoff. 

It’s a lie and they both know it. 

——

It becomes something they just do now. 

Sex with Andy never gets better and Ann is all too willing to bend her over the bathroom sink at City Hall or finger her in her car again or eat her out when they’re the only two left in the office. 

One time, after Ann gets her own office and she starts working for the city government, she wears a strap and makes April ride her. 

It’s the most intense orgasm April’s ever had. 

After each time, April says the same thing: “This doesn’t change anything. This doesn’t mean anything.” 

It gets harder to make it sound believable each time. 

[frost-queen]

Burning bridges (Reader x Cho Sang Woo)

Requested by: me! Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @floatlosers, @alex--awesome--22, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown, @wildiefleur , @meyocoko , @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23, @melsunshine  , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedrava-bitch-187, @erikasurfer , @slythetic  , @eliscannotdance, @p0nycurtis, @slythetic, @bitchybananaflower, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr

Summary: Bridges collapse when you round up the finals. Sang Woo questioning you on how far you are willing to take things. Knowing your odds against him, you accept it all.

Timer ended on zero.

It took about a few seconds before the glass broke. Sound lasting a few seconds later as the shards shattered around. Every tile blown up once at a time. The action made you turn your head away. Arm up to protect your face.

Remaining low, you felt a posture bump into you. Shards glittering around like crystals. The impact seemingly coming in slow motion. Feeling the sharpness against your skin, scraping your skin open. As quick as it came, it was done.

Panting loud, you looked up over your shoulder. Seeing him hover with one side of his vest up your back. His gaze away. Straightening your posture, he lowered his vest as if nothing had occurred. As if he hadn’t pulled it up to protect you in some way from the shards. Rather take the pain for himself than you.

Turning your posture around, you met up with Sang Woo. His expression stern. Neutral and unreadable. His eyes slowly widening as his gaze noticed something. You felt it, knowing where he presumably was looking at. A cut on your cheek from the glass. The stinging was real. A burning feeling on your skin. Sang Woo’s jaw tensed leaning a bit forwards, compelled to do the gesture.

“Are you alright?” – Gi-hun’s voice broke the tension between Sang Woo and you off. Gi-hun touched your arm, pulling you towards him after he had asked Sae-Byeok.

Sang Woo took a step back. Shoving his glasses further up his nose, looking away. You hummed soft with a nodding head.  – “I’m… I’m fine.” – you reassured him. Gi-hun’s eyes fell on the cut on your cheek. Touching it without hesitation. Letting his thumb brush right under the cut.

Sang Woo’s gaze hard on it when you looked over Gi-hun’s shoulder to him. The moment, he noticed you had looked back at him, he turned his gaze away. – “I’m alright Gi-hun.” – you reminded him, pulling his hand down with a comforting smile. – “It’s just a cut. Nothing more.” – adding to your words to reassure him even more.

Gi-hun nodded touching your shoulder. The doors opened as it made you swallow nervously. Taking one last glance at the broken bridge. Four. Only four contestants had reached the end. Every other player having fallen to their death. Gi-hun stepped through the door first. Sae-Byeok right behind him, keeping her head low. You went after her, Sang Woo close by, ending the line.

Feeling his fierce gaze stalking you. Breath shuddering with each step you went to reach the pink stairs. Already hearing the faint classical music coming in the background. A hand went around your wrist, grabbing you firm. Releasing a gasp out of you as you got turned. Spun around as your back found the walls hard. Staring with a surprised gaze at Sang Woo.

His grip on your wrist tight. Feeling his palm roughly around yours. He came leaning in closer resting his arm above your head against the wall. Tilting his head to observe your face through his glasses. His gaze dropping to your lips. – “How willingly are you to go for the money?” – he asked in a deep voice. Keeping it low. Glancing to the side to see the last of Sae-Byeok and Gi-hun leave for the pink stairs. No pink suits in an immediate range.

His question caught you off guard, making you flutter your eyelashes confused. Sang Woo inhaled deep focusing his gaze on you once more. Leaning in deeper into your personal space. Breath hot on your lips. – “Are you willing to kill for it?” – he questioned. Observing your next expression very carefully. Staring bewildered back at him.

Catching yourself drop your gaze to his lips as he was so close up to you. Swallowing immediately as you flashed your gaze back up. – “Are you?” – you asked back, seeing his eyebrow quirk up. He came pressing his body even closer to you, making you turn your head to the side. – “Without a second thought.” – he whispered to you. He inhaled deep shifting his weight on his feet. – “It’s the finals Y/n. Do you really think you can walk out with all that money.” – he asked. 

Turning your head back to him, you forced his head back with your glare. – “Are you going to kill me?” – you asked bluntly. Out in the open. His eyebrows tensed as his gaze hardened. He let go of your wrist, allowing his thumb to brush up your cheek right below the cut. Just like Gi-hun had before. – “If you give me no reasons.” – he finished parting your lips by pressing gently on your chin with his thumb.

You blinked off guard when his eyes widened. Body pressing a bit deeper into you. Sang Woo looked over his shoulder, meeting up with a pink suit and a riffle. – “Move it!” – the pink suit called out. Sang Woo shot him a glare, removing his hand from against the wall. Giving you immediate more space. Moving his hands up in defence, he stepped away from you. Turning back to you, bringing his finger to his lips. Telling you to be quiet.

The pink suit motioned with his riffle for you to follow. Silently you went after Sang Woo up to the pink stairs. Classical music breaking the silence. Step after step you went down. Returning back to the sleeping quarters. Now nothing but an empty space with four simple beds. The doors opened to the sleeping quarters.

Sang Woo getting shoved inside by a push of the riffle between his shoulders. You received a shove as well, stumbling into the room. Sang Woo’s gaze went to Sae-Byeok sitting in her bed. – “Where did you go?” – Gi-hun asked staring confused at you. He went straight to you, tugging at your arm to explain. – “Did something happen?” – he wanted to know, glancing over to Sang Woo. Keeping a firm expression on him.

You shook your head to reassure him. – “Guess I wasn’t feeling good just yet after that bridge.” – you lied to him. His immediate attention went to Sang Woo. Sang Woo staring right back at him from afar. You tugged on Gi-hun’s vest to call his attention back. – “Sang Woo staid back to make sure I was alright.” – you lied again. Not wanting him to get suspicious of the man he knew before the games.

Gi-hun sighed relieved, pulling you close for a hug. – “Why didn’t you tell you weren’t alright. Are you sure you are no where else hurt.” – he wanted to know. Keeping you at arms-length. Not trusting your judgement anymore. Shaking your head, you wanted to prove him wrong. That there was truly nothing with you. – “I’m fine Gi-hun.” – you reassured him again, tugging at his sleeve by his elbow.

You walked over to your bed near Sae-Byeok. The lights dimmed making you immediately look up. Already knowing the drill as it was imprinted in your mind. The piggy bank lowered as the money would follow soon. Gi-hun and Sang Woo were looking up as well.

Number after number getting called out. Money dropping down. Adding more to the already immense pile. The piggy almost full. Your gaze lowered seeing Sang Woo stare right back at you. Something dominant and stern in his expression. He didn’t need to speak to give you a shiver. His words from before echoing through your mind. Are you willing to kill for it. Swallowing nervously, you weren’t sure.

Sang Woo made something clear by quirking his eyebrow up. Were you? He then looked over at the bathrooms. His gaze back on you afterwards. Delivering the message. The doors opened once more, pink suits entering. Carrying gifts in square black boxes, stripped with a pink ribbon. They stood in line up front.

“Congratulations on reaching the finals.” – a triangle pink suit spoke. It made you glance immediately at Gi-hun as it felt double. Half sheer luck and dependence on your friends was what brought you this far. – “Let us reward you.” – the pink suit finished. Slowly you got up following the others to the pink suits. Accepting each a box. Opening it to see a black suit and tie in it.

Staring dumbfound at the clothing. The finals were coming and they wanted to make it a festivity. Sae-byeok went straight to the bathrooms on the left. Gi-hun scratched his head thoughtfully. Looking up from your box, you saw Sang Woo stare at you. Motioning slightly with his head in the direction of the bathrooms. Biting your lip, you found it risky. Sang Woo headed over to the right door, waiting there with one last glare at you. Looking over your shoulder to Gi-hun checking out his suit. With one final sigh, you went to the right.

Bidding to Sang Woo’s orders. Sang woo was waiting for you in the restrooms. Standing by the sinks. You went over to the other side, placing the box down. Sang Woo undid himself of the green and white shirt. Revealing his bare chest. It made you feel flushed. Immediately turning your posture away from him. – “What will you do with me?” – you asked taking your green vest off. With trembling hands, you moved your shirt up. Sang Woo’s gaze fell on your bare back. Catching him off guard.

“Will you kill me?” – you asked. Shuddering out a breath as you felt a sudden touch on your shoulder. Sang Woo forgetting all about his walls and leave a tender kiss on your bare shoulder. – “Only if you make me.” – he responded leaving another kiss on your shoulder. You turned around facing him. – “Are you willing to kill Y/n?” – he asked again. He grabbed for the white shirt in your black box. Opening the buttons whilst glancing up to you from time to time.

“Do you think you stand a chance?” – he enquired further. Throwing the shirt over your shoulders. You tugged your arms in. Sang Woo taking each side of the shirt, pulling you closer to him. – “Against you…” – you answered staring at his bare chest. Gaze flashing up to his eyes as he paused him buttoning your shirt up.

“No…” – you let out, knowing your chances. You weren’t a fool. Out of everyone here, he was the most likely one to win. You assumed he would smile. Smirk and find pleasure in this. Instead his expression remained settled. Staring with curiosity back at you. Tilting his head slightly. – “I know my chances.” – you confessed to him. You didn’t feel like you would win this. You knew this would be the final station for you.

Only one could win and it wasn’t you. You knew it and Sang Woo knew it too. Sang Woo pulled at the shirt, making you stumble forwards. – “Let’s even the chances then.” – he pressed his hands firm against your cheeks. Pulling your lips to him. Breathing loud in your mouth before closing his lips on yours. Back pressing against the sinks. Pushing and pulling you closer for each desperate kiss.

Panting loud at each given breath between kisses. You stopped kissing him, pulling your head back. Sang Woo’s lips were still eager for yours. Moving them forwards but at the loss of your touch, he pulled away curious. – “You are making a fools decision.” – you told him. Hinting at his actions. Sang Woo genuinely furrowed his brows at you. – “Do you really think you can kill me after this?” – you questioned. Wondering if he would be a lover or a fighter.

Sang Woo lowered his gaze, pushing his glasses further up his nose. Clearing his throat, he avoided your question. Buttoning your shirt up further. He then stepped back, going around the sink. Turning away to put on his own shirt. Glancing over his shoulder as he saw you get further ready.

Dismissing your green sweat pants for a classic black pants. Finishing up with a black vest and a butterfly tie. When you were finished, you left the restrooms. Leaving Sang Woo alone to finish up. You walked out of the door, already seeing Sae-byeok sit down. Giving you a curious glance. You ignored her walking straight over to your bed. Sang Woo left the doors a bit later, making Sae-byeok quirk her eyebrow up even more.

Sighing loud, you got up joining the table that was set for you. A winners meal. Set in a square. Each contestant taking a side. You sat across from Gi-hun. Staring with wide eyes at the sharp knife by your plate. Trying hard not to look at Sang Woo. Knowing the lengths he would go to win. Instead you looked over to your right, seeing that Sae-byeok was not looking so good.

Looking pale and shivering. Something was definitely up with her and if you saw it, the others could see it as well. Swallowing nervously, you weren’t sure if you should do it. Knowing probably everyone around you would do it. Or at least Sang Woo and Sae-byeok. Holding the knife in your hand, you were debating heavily. Sang Woo’s words tormenting your mind once more. Were you willing to kill?

Knowing your chances, you lowered the knife. Not giving in to the taunting. No matter what, this was your final resting place and you knew it. Plates got collected by pink suits. All glancing at each other with a look that no one could be trusted. A curse the game had set upon you. The only person you needed to look out for was yourself. The tables got cleared as you went for your bed.

Lights going out in five minutes. Defenceless you laid yourself down, waiting for the lights to go out. The lights flashed out, dimming the room. Exhaling deep, you closed your eyes. Hearing Sae-byeok struggle. Sudden spatters made you shot up. His eyes reflecting in the darkness. The lights flashed back on, revealing Sang Woo and his crime. Eyes widening at Sae-byeok laying in a pool of blood in her bed. The blood spatters on his face and shirt.

Gi-hun rushed up to the doors, calling for help after having heard the buzzing sound. Sang Woo’s gaze fell on you. Your gaze dropped onto the knife in his hand. With fear in your eyes, you stared back at him. Throwing the covers off you, jumping out of your bed.

Sang Woo stepped aside, coming to block your path. Something feral in his gaze as he lifted his hand up. It made you scream loud, stumbling to the ground. Sang Woo ready to slash the knife down on you. His gaze going down on you. – “What about my odds?” – you asked with a frantic expression.

Sang Woo’s hand slowly lowered. Gaze changing with realization to what he was doing. The knife clattering to the ground with a loud pant. – “You asked me if I was willing to kill.” – you told him, keeping his gaze on you. His expression softening up on you. Blindly you reached for it. Felt the handle in your grip as you pulled it closer to you. – “I am.” – you finished before stabbing the knife in your throat. Sang Woo’s eyes widened. – “No!” – he screamed out, leaping forwards.

Blood gushed out of your throat as your hand dropped down. Sang Woo moved to you, pulling you close to him. Laying you on his lap as you were bleeding out. Staring with gulps up to him. Unable to speak or form words. Unable to tell him you were sorry. Unable to tell him this was your best chance as you wouldn’t stand a chance out there. You wanted to tell him all of that, but you couldn’t. Sang Woo was trembling. Shivering as his shaking hand touched your cheek.

“Why?” – he sobbed out. Pulling you more up, he allowed his forehead to touch yours. Brutally met up with his own intentions. – “Sang Woo!” – Gi-hun’s voice roared through the room. Making him lift his head up with a gasping sob. Gi-hun saw the ravage of you and Sae-byeok dead. Cheeks trembling with rage at what he had done. Sang Woo looked down at you, sniffing loud. – “I…I…I didn’t…” – he let out. This was not his doing. The finals up to two. Two more players eliminated.

--------------------------------------------

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[loves-n-kisses]

HII! I have a request if you don’t mind. kindaaaaa based on the book/movie ‘everything everything’. katsuki x neighbor reader with a controlling mother :p

ever since they were kids katsuki could look out his window and see the window to his neighbors house, to the readers room. he often saw her there but never saw her outside of the house.

as they grew older (about 10), they would open windows and talk through the distance (by using papers to hold up) and eventually (secretly) exchange emails (bc she isn’t allowed to have a phone) to talk. she told him why she can’t come out and it’s bc her mom said she was allergic to the outside.

in their teens (16), whilst readers mom is away on a trip, katsuki convinces her to come out into the open and to which she does and finds out her lied.

katsuki takes her around the city and later that night, she meets his friends and has a really good time in general.

i watched the movie for this post ily

Worlds Through Windowsills - Katsuki x Fem!Reader

TW: isolation, mental abuse if you squint

A story where katsuki shows reader the world that's been awaiting her.

inspired by the movie Everything Everything.

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Katsuki Bakugou was seven when he first spotted the girl in the window across the alley. From his cluttered bedroom—posters of All Might plastered on the walls, a half-broken model grenade on his desk—he could see straight into her room. Pale blue walls, books stacked like towers, and her, always there, nose in a novel or staring out like the world was a puzzle she couldn’t solve. She never stepped outside. No school, no park, not even to grab the mail. Katsuki, all scraped knees and loudmouth bravado, thought she was weird. But his eyes kept drifting to her window, like a habit he couldn’t kick.

By ten, he couldn’t stand it anymore. One summer evening, as the cicadas screamed, he saw her holding up a piece of paper against the glass: Hi. I’m Y/N. Her handwriting was neat, too neat, like she’d practiced it. Katsuki squinted, grabbed a marker, and scrawled on a torn notebook page: Katsuki. Why’re you always stuck inside? Her reply came after a long pause, letters shaky: Mom says I’m allergic to outside. Really bad.

“Allergic to outside?” Katsuki scoffed, kicking his chair. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” But he wrote back: What’s it like in there? Boring? She grinned—a rare flash of teeth—and held up: Not boring. I have books. What’s outside like? That started it. Notes flew back and forth through their windows. He’d describe the chaos of the playground, how he’d blasted a kid’s dodgeball to bits with a mock explosion. She’d write about her favorite book heroes, like they were realer than him. One night, she pressed a paper to the glass: If you could go anywhere, where? He wrote back: Top of a mountain. You? Her answer was simple: The ocean.

Notes were too slow. One night, when the alley was quiet, she cracked her window and whispered an email address. “Don’t tell anyone,” she said, voice barely carrying. “Mom checks my laptop. No phone allowed.” Katsuki didn’t get why her mom was such a control freak, but he nodded, memorizing the address like it was a battle plan. 

Emails changed everything. Late at night, his room lit by the glow of his screen, he’d type: You’re missing out, shut-in. City’s loud and awesome. She’d reply: Tell me about it, hothead. He’d describe Musutafu’s streets—the sizzling yakitori stalls, the flash of hero fights on giant screens, the way the air smelled like asphalt and freedom. Her responses were longer, weaving stories from her books, making him feel like his world was small. You make it sound alive, she wrote once. Like it’s waiting for me. He saved that one, though he’d never admit it. Another night, after a bad day at school, he typed: Why’s your mom so strict? Her reply was slow: She says it’s to keep me safe. I don’t know if I believe her anymore.Katsuki stared at that message for too long, something tightening in his chest.

By sixteen, they weren’t kids anymore. Katsuki, all sharp edges and U.A. training, still checked her window every day. Y/N had changed too—her hair longer, her eyes sharper, but still caged behind that glass. Her mom announced a week-long business trip, and Katsuki saw his shot. He emailed: Get out here. I’m sick of this window crap. Her reply was frantic: What if I get sick? I could die, Katsuki. He fired back: You won’t. I’m not an idiot. Trust me.

It took three days of back-and-forth, her emails full of what-ifs, his full of impatience. You’re not allergic. You’re just scared, he wrote. I’ll be there. Nothing’s gonna happen. Finally, she agreed. Katsuki stood in the alley at dusk, palms sweating despite himself, when her door creaked open. Y/N stepped out, wearing a too-big hoodie and sneakers she’d clearly never worn outside. She blinked against the fading sunlight, her breath hitching. “It… smells different,” she whispered, half-laughing, half-terrified. “Like… grass and smoke.”

“Stop overthinking it, dumbass,” Katsuki said, but his voice was softer than usual. He grabbed her wrist, tugging her forward. “C’mon. World’s not gonna bite.”

He took her through Musutafu, her eyes wide as she soaked it all in. At a street market, he shoved a yakitori skewer into her hand. “Eat it,” he ordered. She hesitated, then bit into it, her face lighting up. “It’s… warm. And spicy!” she said, like it was a revelation. Katsuki smirked, hiding how her smile made his chest feel weird. At a hero merch shop, she lingered over a tiny All Might keychain, her fingers tracing it. “I’ve only seen him on TV,” she said quietly. Katsuki bought it without a word, tossing it to her. “Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he muttered as she clutched it like treasure.

In the park, she kicked off her shoes, spinning barefoot in the grass. “It’s so soft!” she laughed, arms out like she could hug the air. Katsuki leaned against a tree, watching her twirl until she tripped, landing in a heap. He snorted. “You’re such a klutz.” But when she looked up, eyes brighter than the city lights, he added, “You’re fine, right? No allergies or whatever?” 

She froze, her laughter fading. “You think… Mom lied?”

“Obviously,” he said, crossing his arms. “Look at you. You’re fine.”

Her expression cracked—anger, betrayal, and something fiercer. She didn’t cry, but her hands balled into fists. “All this time…” she whispered. Katsuki stepped closer, voice low. “You’re out now. That’s what matters.” She nodded, wiping her eyes, and he pretended not to notice.

That night, he brought her to a rooftop arcade where his friends hung out. Kirishima was first, grinning wide. “Yo, you’re Bakugou’s secret neighbor? That’s so manly!” He clapped her shoulder, making her stumble. Mina swooped in, shoving a soda into Y/N’s hand. “Girl, you’re adorable! How’d you survive living next to this grump?” she teased, dodging Katsuki’s glare. Denki tried to show off at the claw machine, failing spectacularly, while Sero laughed and offered Y/N a turn. “Don’t let Sparky psych you out,” he said, winking. Jirou, quieter, handed Y/N a spare headphone. “Wanna hear what’s playing?” she asked. Y/N nodded, eyes wide as music flooded her ears—some upbeat hero anthem. “It’s so… alive,” she said, and Jirou smiled.

Katsuki hovered nearby, growling when Denki got too close or Mina teased too much. “Back off, idiots,” he snapped, but his friends just laughed. Y/N caught his eye during a lull, mouthing, Thank you. He looked away, cheeks pink. “Whatever.”

The night ended on a hill overlooking Musutafu, the city a sea of lights below. Y/N sat with her knees pulled up, the All Might keychain dangling from her fingers. “I didn’t know it could be like this,” she said, voice soft. “The world’s so big, Katsuki. And I’ve been… small.”

He sat beside her, hands in his pockets. “You’re not small,” he said gruffly. “You just didn’t know better. Now you do.” He paused, then added, quieter, “Don’t go back to that cage, alright? You don’t belong there.”

She turned to him, eyes glistening but fierce. “I won’t,” she said, like a vow. Her hand brushed his, just for a second, and he didn’t pull away. The city hummed below, alive and endless, and for the first time, the space between their windows felt like nothing at all.

When her mom came back, Y/N would face her, armed with the truth and the weight of a world she’d finally touched. Katsuki would be there, sparks at his palms, ready to fight for her freedom if it came to that. But for now, they sat together, her shoulder close to his, the keychain glinting between them—a small, sentimental anchor to the day she stepped out and found her place in the world.

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note: this was interesting to write, ive never written anything movie/book inspired! and i would totally do it again. requests open!

-made with loves n' kisses! 💋✨