#but probably a good thing to have in my pocket

[pinkthick]

Humiliating, isn’t it?

Pairing: The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Summary: “You could pay all your debts with this,” he said, his voice soft, almost enticing. His gaze shifted to you, sharp and calculating. “But it’s not free.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “What do you mean?”

A/N: This is probably wayyy out of his character, but I haven’t watched season 2 yet (I don’t have Netflix 😭) and just saw an edit with him on tiktok and suddenly my obsession with him came back from 2021. So there are no spoilers!!!

Warnings: blowjob (m receiving), cum swallowing

If you’re not 18 DNI BECAUSE I WILL HAUNT YOUR DREAMS🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

The metro station was cold, the flickering overhead lights casting dim shadows on the walls. Your steps echoed faintly as you trudged forward, your head bowed to avoid the stares of passersby. You could feel their judgment, their pity, their disgust. You didn’t blame them—you looked like hell. Blood crusted your upper lip, the remnants of a nosebleed from earlier when some thug decided to teach you a lesson about unpaid debts. Your cheek stung, swelling just beginning to bloom.

You winced as you adjusted the strap of your worn-out bag. Your ribs ached, a dull, persistent throb that reminded you how low you’d sunk. Debt was a beast that refused to loosen its grip. It clung to you, suffocated you, and drove you into situations you’d never imagined.

As you shuffled down the platform, you barely registered the man who bumped into you until you staggered back, your body colliding with the wall. “Sorry—I didn’t watch where I was going,” he said, his tone oddly pleasant.

You blinked up at him, taking in his immaculate gray suit and perfectly combed hair. His smile was disarming, polite but sharp, like the edge of a blade.

“It’s quite alright,” you muttered, instinctively brushing yourself off despite already looking like a wreck. The man didn’t move on, though. Instead, he studied you, his gaze lingering on the dried blood and the faint bruise forming beneath your eye.

“Rough day?” he asked, a trace of amusement in his voice.

You gave a humorless laugh. “Something like that.”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief, offering it to you. You hesitated before taking it, dabbing at your nose. The fabric was smooth, expensive, and it felt wrong to smear your blood on something so pristine.

“I have a game,” the man said suddenly, his voice lowering as if he were sharing a secret. “Would you like to play?”

The fuck?

You frowned. “A game?”

He nodded, his smile widening. “It’s simple. You could win money—enough to change your life.”

Your skepticism must have been obvious because he chuckled, a soft, almost paternal sound. “It’s harmless, I assure you. You look like someone who could use a bit of good fortune.”

You thought of your debts, the people breathing down your neck, the empty fridge in your apartment. Against your better judgment, you found yourself asking, “What’s the game?”

He gestured to a nearby bench, and you followed him, still wary. From his briefcase, he pulled out a folded board and a stack of rectangular tiles, explaining the rules of ddakji. It sounded simple enough: flip the opponent’s tile using your own. He placed a stack of cash on the bench beside him, its presence tantalizing.

You played your first round and lost. The second and third rounds went the same way. You were terrible at this game.

When you finally admitted you had no money to bet, his expression didn’t change. “Usually, I slap people when they lose,” he said casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “But…” He gestured to your bruised face. “It seems someone’s already beaten me to it.”

The absurdity of the statement caught you off guard, and you let out a startled laugh. “That’s generous of you.”

He smirked. “I do have a heart.”

With no stakes involved, you continued playing. You lost repeatedly, the man’s skill far outstripping your own. He never seemed frustrated, though. If anything, he looked amused by your determination. Eventually, your bruises began to throb, and exhaustion seeped into your bones. You tossed the tile onto the bench, letting out a defeated sigh.

“I give up,” you said, slumping back. “I’m not winning this.”

He tilted his head, considering you. “Pity. You were just starting to improve.”

“Sure,” you muttered, wiping your hands on your jeans. “So, what now?”

He placed the briefcase on the bench between you, opening it to reveal neat stacks of bills. Your breath caught in your throat. It was more money than you’d ever seen in your life, more than enough to pay off your debts and start over.

“You could pay all your debts with this,” he said, his voice soft, almost enticing. His gaze shifted to you, sharp and calculating. “But it’s not free.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “What do you mean?”

He closed the briefcase with a decisive snap, leaning in slightly. “I’ll give this to you if you… do something for me.”

Your stomach churned at the way his eyes lingered on you, his meaning crystal clear. Heat flooded your face, a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “What kind of something?” you asked, though you already knew.

His smile didn’t waver. “Let’s not pretend we’re strangers to desperation. You’ve been beaten down by the world, haven’t you? Cast aside, forgotten. This,” he gestured to the briefcase, “could be your ticket out.”

Your fists clenched, your nails digging into your palms. “You think I���m going to sell myself for money?”

He shrugged, unbothered by your indignation. “You’ve already sold your time, your dignity, your safety—haven’t you? What’s the difference?”

The words stung because they weren’t entirely untrue. Still, you shook your head, your pride warring with your desperation. “I’m not doing that.”

He leaned back, crossing his legs with an air of nonchalance. “Your choice, of course. But think about it. How long before your debtors come back? Before the beatings get worse? How long can you keep scraping by?”

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. You stared at the briefcase, the money practically taunting you. Your mind raced, weighing the humiliation against the potential freedom.

“I… I can’t,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

He studied you for a long moment, his smile fading slightly. Then, to your surprise, he stood, gathering the game pieces and tucking them back into his briefcase. “Well,” he said, straightening his tie, “it was worth a shot.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how easily he let it go. “That’s it?”

He chuckled, the sound low and almost fond. “I’m not a monster. I made an offer; you declined. Simple as that.”

As he turned to leave, something in you stirred—a mix of relief and regret. “Wait,” you called out, your voice trembling.

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Yes?”

You hesitated, the weight of your situation crushing down on you. “Why me?” you asked, desperate to understand why this stranger had singled you out.

His smile returned, enigmatic and unsettling. “Because you’re interesting. And because I see potential in you.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small card and placing it on the bench. “If you ever change your mind, give me a call.”

Before you could respond, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the card. You stared at it, the black lettering stark against the white background.

For a long time, you sat there, the sound of the metro fading into the background. The man’s words echoed in your mind, intertwining with your fear, your pride, and your unrelenting desperation.

And the card remained in your pocket.

—

You stared at the card for what felt like hours that night. The weight of its potential pressed heavily on your chest. In a world where every door seemed to slam in your face, this was the first one to open—albeit under circumstances you couldn’t fully comprehend.

The next day, after another call from a creditor threatening you with more violence, you finally gave in. Your pride was already battered, and your options had all but evaporated. With shaking hands, you picked up your phone and dialed the number on the card.

A smooth, professional voice answered. “Hello?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “I… I got this card from someone at the metro. I’d like to… take them up on their offer.”

There was a pause, then the faint sound of fingers tapping on a keyboard. “Ah, yes. We’ve been expecting your call. An address will be sent to your phone shortly. Be there within the hour.”

The line went dead before you could say anything else. Moments later, a text arrived, and you stared at the address. It wasn’t anywhere familiar to you, but the name of the street was in one of the wealthiest areas of the city. Hesitation gripped you again, but the bruises on your face and the weight of your debts pushed you forward.

The cab dropped you off at the gates of a sprawling villa. The sheer size of it was intimidating—tall wrought iron gates, a long driveway lined with meticulously trimmed hedges, and a house that looked more like a palace than a home. You adjusted your jacket, suddenly hyper-aware of how out of place you looked.

Before you could press the buzzer, the gates swung open as if you were expected. You walked up the driveway, each step feeling heavier than the last. When you reached the front door, it opened before you could knock.

A tall man stood there, dressed in a sleek black suit. His expression was blank, professional but cold. “Welcome,” he said, stepping aside to let you in. The foyer was just as luxurious as the exterior—marble floors, chandeliers, and artwork that probably cost more than your entire life’s earnings.

“Next time, a car will pick you up,” the man said, his tone brisk.

“Next time?” you echoed, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Before he could respond, the familiar voice of the salesman cut through the air. “Sorry, he’s—doesn’t matter. Just come on in.” He appeared at the top of a sweeping staircase, his ever-present smile intact. He looked even more polished than before, his posture relaxed.

You hesitated but eventually followed the man into what appeared to be a sitting room. The furniture was sleek and modern, the walls lined with bookshelves and abstract paintings. He gestured for you to sit, but you remained standing, your nerves making it impossible to relax.

“Drink?” he offered, motioning to a decanter of amber liquid on a nearby table.

“No, thank you,” you said quickly, your voice tight.

He tilted his head, his smile softening. “Suit yourself. I see your bruise is healing nicely.”

You instinctively touched your cheek, still tender from the beating. “Can we just… get to the point? What do you want me to do?”

The salesman’s smile widened slightly, and he leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Straight to business. I like that.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze uncomfortably intense. “What I want is very simple. And, let me assure you, the reward will far outweigh the discomfort.”

You shifted uneasily, his words setting off alarm bells in your mind.

His smile took on a sharper edge. “I want you to use that mouth of yours for something other than talking.”

The room seemed to tilt, your stomach dropping like a stone. You stared at him, your mind racing to comprehend what he’d just said. “You’re kidding,” you said, your voice trembling.

“I never kid about business,” he replied smoothly. “You’ve seen the briefcase. You know what’s at stake.”

Your hands balled into fists at your sides. “You want me to—”

“To prove how much you want to change your life,” he interrupted, his tone calm but firm. “To show me that you’re willing to do whatever it takes.”

You took a step back, your legs bumping into the edge of a chair. “This… this is humiliating.”

“Is it?” he asked, his gaze never leaving yours. “You’ve already been beaten and left with nothing. What’s one more compromise?”

His words were like needles, each one poking at the fragile walls of your pride. He stood, closing the distance between you. “I’m offering you freedom,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “All you have to do is take it.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as sandpaper. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to leave, to walk out of this villa and never look back. But the image of that briefcase, the promise of a life free from fear and debt, rooted you in place.

“I…” Your voice cracked, the weight of the moment crushing you.

The salesman tilted his head, his smile softening ever so slightly. “Think of it this way,” he said. “This is the last time you’ll ever have to beg, to endure, to scrape by. After this, the world opens up to you.”

He stepped back, giving you space but keeping his piercing gaze locked on you. “But it’s your choice,” he added. “It always has been.”

“I—okay,” you murmured, barely audible.

His smile widened, not in mockery but in something resembling satisfaction. “Atta girl.”

The words hung in the air, and you immediately dropped to your knees, ready to get this over with. But his hand shot out, stopping you mid-motion. His touch was firm but not forceful, his fingers curling gently around your forearm.

“Not so fast,” he said, his tone light, almost teasing. “Let’s get you a bit comfortable first.”

You looked up at him, confusion etched across your face. “Comfortable?” you echoed.

He patted his lap, a small gesture that carried so much weight. “Don’t you want to loosen up a bit?”

“I—” The protest was on the tip of your tongue, but you stopped yourself. He tilted his head, his sharp gaze pinning you in place.

“Come on,” he coaxed, his voice soft but insistent.

After a long moment of hesitation, you stood and awkwardly settled onto his lap. The action felt unnatural, foreign. You perched on his thighs stiffly, your hands clenched in your lap, your body tense like a coiled spring.

He didn’t seem bothered by your discomfort. Instead, he rested his hands lightly on your waist, his touch careful and deliberate. His thumbs began to trace small, lazy patterns into the fabric of your shirt, the motion strangely soothing despite the situation.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady. The words were meant to reassure, but they only made your pulse race faster.

You nodded, unable to bring yourself to speak. The air between you was thick with tension, the kind that made your skin prickle. You tried to focus on the patterns he was drawing, on the steady rhythm of his breathing, anything to distract yourself from the heat radiating off his body—or the unmistakable hardness pressing against you.

You froze, your entire body going rigid. He noticed, of course, but he didn’t comment. Instead, his hands stayed where they were, his thumbs continuing their soothing motions.

“You’re thinking too much,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. His breath ghosted over your temple, warm and inviting. “Just breathe.”

Easier said than done. You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. He shifted slightly, and your hands instinctively reached out, grasping his shoulders for balance. The movement brought you closer to him, your faces mere inches apart.

His eyes searched yours, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he leaned in, giving you every opportunity to pull away. When you didn’t, his lips brushed against yours, tentative and soft.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The kiss was gentle, almost hesitant, as if he were testing the waters. His hands stayed on your waist, their grip light, giving you space to move away if you wanted to.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you sat there, motionless, letting him lead. When he realized you weren’t responding, he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “Relax,” he murmured, his tone patient.

Tentatively, you leaned forward, your lips meeting his. The kiss was awkward at first, your movements hesitant and unsure. But he didn’t rush you. He let you take the lead, his hands remaining steady on your waist.

As you grew more comfortable, the kiss deepened, your initial hesitation fading away. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his suit jacket, grounding yourself as you tilted your head, pressing closer.

That’s when he took over.

His hands slid up your back, pulling you flush against him as he angled his head, deepening the kiss. The shift was subtle but deliberate, his lips moving against yours with a confidence that left you breathless. His tongue brushed against your bottom lip, a gentle request rather than a demand, and you parted your lips without thinking.

The kiss turned hungry, his movements more assertive but never forceful. His hands roamed cautiously, never straying too far, their warmth seeping through your clothes. Your senses were overwhelmed—the taste of him, the scent of his cologne, the steady strength of his hands.

You didn’t know when it happened, but your tension melted away, replaced by a strange sense of surrender. It wasn’t defeat—it was something else, something you couldn’t quite name. Your hands slid up his chest, your fingers brushing against the collar of his shirt as you leaned into him.

When he finally broke the kiss, you were breathless, your chest rising and falling rapidly. His forehead rested against yours, his hands still on your waist, anchoring you in place.

“See?” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Not so bad.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you simply nodded. The reality of what just happened began to sink in, but before panic could take hold, he shifted again, his hands steadying you as he leaned back slightly.

“Take your time,” he said, his tone soft. “We’re not in a rush.”

You weren’t sure if it was the weight of his gaze, the steady way he held you, or the way his fingers brushed against you as if he knew exactly where your boundaries were but was waiting for you to decide whether they mattered.

He reached up slowly, his movements deliberate, and his hand brushed against your face before moving to your hair. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as he pulled the tie from your hair. Your hair tumbled loose over your shoulders, and he twirled the hair tie around his fingers, his smile never faltering.

“You’ve sucked dick before, right?” he asked, his voice smooth, casual.

Your heart stopped, then resumed at a faster pace. You blinked, your cheeks flushing hot. “I—of course I did!” you replied defensively, the words tumbling out before you could think them through.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Of course you did,” he murmured, his voice dropping as his gaze lingered on your face. “How could someone resist a pretty face like yours?”

The compliment sent an unexpected jolt through you, but you weren’t given time to process it. He gently took your hands in his, his touch light but firm, and began guiding them behind your back. You stiffened instinctively, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Relax,” he said, his tone calm and soothing, as though he were coaxing you out of a tense state. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

You hesitated but allowed him to move your arms behind you, his grip steady and unthreatening. The hair tie you hadn’t noticed still in his hand came into view as he looped it around your wrists. The act was careful, the tie snug enough to hold your hands together but not tight enough to hurt.

“There,” he said softly, his fingers brushing against your skin as he adjusted the knot. “Don’t worry, I’ll hold your hair for you.”

You swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat. He reached up, threading his fingers through your hair with the same slow, deliberate care he’d shown with your hands. His touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you hated how your body seemed to respond to him against your will.

“See?” he said, his voice low and steady. “No reason to be nervous.”

Nervous was an understatement. Your mind raced, trying to keep up with the situation. Everything about him was a contradiction—his words soft but commanding, his actions careful yet deliberate. It left you off balance, unsure of where you stood or what would happen next.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Down on your knees.”

You blinked, hesitating for a moment as the weight of his words sank in. Your body froze, torn between instinct and the promise of what you came here for. You must have looked as dumbfounded as you felt because his lips curved into that same infuriatingly knowing smile.

But then you remembered the briefcase—you couldn’t afford to hesitate, not now. Steeling yourself, you swallowed hard and did as he said, sinking onto the plush carpet beneath you.

He watched you with a calm, calculating expression, his fingers still lightly twirling the tie binding your wrists. When your knees touched the floor, he adjusted his posture, leaning forward slightly.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the words slipping from his lips in a tone that felt both patronizing and oddly reassuring. His hand left you entirely, moving to undo his belt. The sound of the buckle snapping open echoed faintly in the room, and you bit the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to remain still.

He slid the belt free and dropped it to the side, his gaze never leaving yours. His movements were slow as he unbuttoned his pants and let them pool around his ankles. Then came the boxers, and as he stepped out of them, his confidence radiated like a tangible force.

He looked down at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Think you can handle it?” he asked, his voice dripping with challenge.

You scoffed, narrowing your eyes despite the heat rising in your cheeks. “I’ve had bigger,” you shot back.

That earned a low chuckle from him, the sound rich and amused. He crouched slightly, bringing his face closer to yours as his hand reached out, cupping your jaw firmly but gently. His thumb brushed along your chin as he tilted your face upward. “Open up,” he said, his tone soft but leaving no room for argument.

You hesitated for a fraction of a second, your thoughts warring with one another. But then your resolve hardened.

You obeyed, parting your lips just enough to feel vulnerable.

The corners of his mouth quirked upward again, and his hand slid to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair with practiced ease. “I’ll let you take the lead,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, “at least for now.”

His other hand rested lightly on your shoulder as he guided you closer, his movements careful.

With a deep breath, you adjusted, leaning in more and licking the tip. He groaned softly, the sound low and guttural. His other hand trailed from your shoulder to your neck, his thumb brushing against your pulse point in a way that sent a shiver through you. His cock was heavy on your tongue, and your mind blurred as he thrust himself further and further into your mouth—and you appreciated the slowness with which he did it—until he was fully inside. The rhythm was slow at first. Small bobbing of your head that was just enough to pull soft groans of from his lips.

You pulled back slightly and swirled your tongue around the tip, pleasantly surprising him enough to earn yourself a sharp tug at your hair and a guttural moan that sent a shiver down your spine and a sudden awareness of the need between your legs.

“My… it’s like you were made for this…” he tugged gently on your hair again, signaling for you to pause, you pulled back slightly, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. His thumb brushed against your cheek, his touch light but grounding.

“Good girl,” he said again, his voice softer now, almost approving. He leaned down slightly, his hand cupping your face as he tilted your chin upward. “Messy, though…” he muttered, wiping a bit of drool escaping your open mouth. His hand moved from your chin to your hair again, smoothing the strands back as he studied your face with that same intense gaze.

“Let’s see how far you can go,” he murmured, his tone calm but laced with challenge.

And he fucking shoved you down on his cock.

You froze for a second, overwhelmed by the situation, but his voice cut through the haze.

“Don’t stop now,” he said, his tone still calm but laced with something sharper, something that made your heart race. “You want the money, don’t you?”

Your jaw tightened involuntarily, and he noticed. His smirk deepened as he adjusted his grip in your hair, guiding you with more force than before. It wasn’t painful, but it was clear he wasn’t asking for permission anymore. He was almost guiding your head at this point, fucking into your warm mouth with soft grunts as the hand with a grip on your hair directed you towards him in perfect timing. Your jaw was starting to ache and you could barely notice it with your thoughts suddenly one-track-minded. You were alternating torturously between sucking and lapping at his dick. He pulled out, and then fucked back in roughly, and oh, he knew this would be good—but not this good.

His hand in your hair tightened, and the calm, collected demeanor he had shown earlier began to crack ever so slightly. His breaths were heavier, his eyes darker, and the faint quirk of his lips had transformed into something far less controlled.

His need was pressing against the edges of his control. Your breath hitched as you tried to keep up, the pace leaving you off balance.

You pulled back instinctively, your body reacting to the overwhelming sensation, but his grip on your hair tightened, keeping you in place. “No,” he murmured, his voice low but firm. “Not yet. Breathe through your nose. Come on—work for it.”

The command sent a shiver down your spine, equal parts thrilling and intimidating. You tried to steady your breathing, inhaling deeply through your nose as he’d instructed. Your jaw relaxed as best as it could, though every muscle in your body felt tense.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice breaking slightly at the edges, the first real crack in his composure. His free hand braced against the back of the couch he was sitting on, his knuckles whitening as he gripped it tightly.

You glanced up at him through your lashes, trying to focus despite your racing pulse. His eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, the intensity in them made your breath catch. He was watching you so closely, as if every movement, every reaction, was feeding something deep within him.

“God,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, his head tilting back slightly as his grip in your hair eased momentarily. “You have no idea how good you look like this. Believe me—you could’ve gotten out of your debts a long time ago.” The sounds are indescribable, dirty and wet and so fucking hot as he continues to thrust into your mouth.

“Your throat,” he chokes out. He splays one hand over your throat and starts to fuck up into you at a different angle. “I can fucking see myself in you, fuck—“ There was a rawness to his movements now, a lack of the careful control that had defined him earlier. “Just a little more” he murmured, his voice roughened by something you couldn’t quite place. You could hear his breathing quicken, could feel the faint tremor in his grip as he pulled you closer still. His dominance over the situation was undeniable, but there was a vulnerability in the way his body reacted, a need that felt almost desperate.

When you hesitated again, instinctively pulling back just a fraction to catch your breath, his hand tightened slightly in your hair, holding you in place. “No,” he said sharply “stay fucking still.”

You wanted to punch his face. But you did your best to keep up—still thinking about the money—your breath hitching as he guided you, his need evident in the way he moved.

His groans grew louder, more frequent, and his grip in your hair tightened again as he edged closer to the brink. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tensed and his movements became more erratic. He was losing control, and the realization sent a strange thrill through you.

His orgasm washed over him and his body went still for a moment, his grip in your hair almost bruising as he held you in place. The sound he made was low and guttural, a noise that seemed to reverberate through the room. You froze as he held you there, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Your throat burned, your body tensing as you fought the instinct to pull away as his fucking cum filled your mouth. He didn’t let you, his hand in your hair keeping you firmly in place as he muttered something under his breath—words you couldn’t quite make out over the pounding in your ears.

When he finally released you, it was abrupt, his hand loosening in your hair as he leaned back, his chest heaving. You gasped for air, your breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts as you tried to steady yourself and then started to cough. Your body felt heavy, your limbs trembling as you sat back on your heels, looking up at him with wide eyes.

He met your gaze, his expression softening as he took in your disheveled appearance. “You did well,” he said, his voice low and rough. His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face with surprising gentleness. “Better than I expected.” And then he took the hair tie off your hands.

You didn’t respond, still trying to catch your breath as you processed what had just happened. The room felt stifling, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you as you struggled to compose yourself. You just managed to smear his cum on your face.

His smirk returned, though it was softer now. “I knew you had it in you,” he said, his hand trailing down to cup your chin again. His thumb brushed against your jaw, and his smile widened slightly. “But you’ve got to learn to pace yourself.”

You glared at him faintly, though the effect was ruined by the flush in your cheeks and the way your body still trembled. “Maybe you should pace yourself,” you shot back, your voice hoarse.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Fair enough,” he said, his hand falling away from your face as he leaned back, his posture relaxing for the first time since you’d arrived. He looked down at you for a moment longer before reaching for his discarded boxers, slipping them back on with a casual grace.

“Go clean yourself up,” he said, gesturing toward a door off to the side. “The bathroom’s through there.”

You hesitated for a moment, your body still tense, before nodding and pushing yourself to your feet. Your legs felt unsteady beneath you, and you had to grip the edge of a nearby chair to keep your balance. He watched you with an amused expression, his smirk widening as you stumbled toward the bathroom.

When you closed the door behind you, you leaned against it for a moment, letting out a shaky breath. Your reflection in the mirror caught your eye, and you winced at the sight of your flushed cheeks and disheveled hair. You looked like a mess, and you weren’t sure how you felt about that.

As you splashed water on your face, trying to steady your nerves, you were almost on the verge of crying. It’s disgusting—it’s disgusting that you’re wiping his cum off your face and out of your mouth.

When you finally stepped back into the room, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his expression unreadable as he watched you. The briefcase was sitting on the nightstand beside him, and he gestured toward it with a lazy wave of his hand.

“Your reward,” he said simply, his smirk returning. “You’ve earned it.”

You hesitated, your gaze flickering between him and the briefcase. “That’s it?” you asked, your voice still hoarse.

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Unless you’re looking for another round,” he said, his tone teasing.

You rolled your eyes, stepping forward to grab the briefcase. The weight of it felt solid in your hands, a tangible reminder of why you’d agreed to this in the first place. “I’ll pass,” you muttered, turning toward the door.

As you reached for the handle, his voice stopped you. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

You glanced back at him, your heart pounding in your chest as you met his gaze. His smirk was still in place, his eyes gleaming with amusement and something darker. You didn’t respond, pulling the door open and stepping out into the hallway.

The air outside felt cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of the room you’d just left. You took a deep breath, the weight of the briefcase grounding you as you made your way down the hall and out of the villa.

[fairyrcts]

────୨ৎ──── cherry!reader & tattoo artist!matt headcanons !

ᝰ.ᐟ tattoo artist!matt who met you for the first time by doing one of your tattoos

“uhm, no, rachel isn’t here today. you’ll probably be with me this afternoon.” he gave you a welcoming smile while he put on his black latex gloves.

ᝰ.ᐟ tattoo artist!matt who was intrigued by you within moments of meeting you

“what were you thinking?” he asked, preparing his workspace while you laid back on the bench.

“a pin-up doll, near my shoulder.” you spoke softly as matt looked down at you in some sort of adoration.

ᝰ.ᐟ tattoo artist!matt who loves making you his muse for his art

“stay right there f’me… perfect, baby. just perfect.” he breathed out, looking up from his sketch pad a few times as he drew the two bows that sat at the end of your braided hair.

ᝰ.ᐟ tattoo artist!matt who sits with you on his balcony smoking and having deep conversations

“it’s so nice out, tonight.” he took a drag of his cigarette after his sentence, looking out to the bustling city below them.

ᝰ.ᐟ tattoo artist!matt who loves teasing cherry

“matt!” you whined after he took a large sip of your diet coke when you specifically told him a small sip.

“sorry, sugar. couldn’t help it.” he spoke with a sly smirk on his face.

ᝰ.ᐟ tattoo artist!matt who lets you color in his tattoos

“are you coloring the cerberus red? seriously?” he chuckled under his breath as you looked up at him, nodding.

ᝰ.ᐟ tattoo artist!matt who definitely would have some type of claiming kink

“matt, what?” you look at him like he had just said the dumbest thing ever.

“what? you don’t think my name would look good in big ole’ letters across your neck?” he asked genuinely, letting his fingers run across your neck as if he was visualizing the tattoo itself.

۶ৎ cherry!reader who found herself staring from the second she met matt

“stay still, would you, hun?” he asked, slightly quieter than he intended.

you simply nodded, your eyes still sat on his face. the way he bit his bottom lip in concentration.

۶ৎ cherry!reader who loves doodling on him

“whatcha drawin’, sweet girl?” he asked, his left hand stroking your hair while you moved the ballpoint pen on his right.

“i dunno, ‘m jus’ doodling.” she giggled to herself.

۶ৎ cherry!reader who leaves her kiss mark on him

“look at that. all mine, hm?” you smiled down at the brunette that sat on your bed, his cheek and neck covered in your lipstick.

“yes ma’am.” he nodded, snaking his arms around your waist, pulling you down on him in the process.

۶ৎ cherry!reader who likes watching matt draw

his pencil moved rapidly on the paper while you stared. the way his veins became more prominent in his hands, how his brows furrowed while perfecting his art.

“what? why’re ya lookin’ at me like that?” he huffed out a laugh. “just admirin’ you is all.” you smiled.

۶ৎ cherry!reader who leaves little hand-written letters for matt before he leaves for work

‘bye, handsome ! i love you , xoxo’ the end of the small note said. he smiled to himself, tucking the note in his pocket as a keep-sake.

۶ৎ cherry!reader who wears matt’s favorite pair of red, laced panties

“wearin’ those for me, doll?” he leaned down to whisper in your ear after noticing his favorite pair of your panties peaking through your jeans when you bent over.

۶ৎ cherry!reader who adores telling matt she loves him an excessive amount

“i love you.” you smiled, legs crossed sitting in front of him. “i love you too, beautiful.” he leaned in, pecking your nose lightly.

“like a lot.” you added. he rolled his eyes lightly. “i know you do. that’s the 13th time in the past five minutes.”

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ author’s note !

AHHH aren’t they the friggin cutest?? also like mentally i’m thinking like matt’s sorta older (late 20’s or early 30’s) and cherry’s younger so she kinda makes him feel like alive?? YOU FEEL?? but idk cuz i also wanna make a dilf!matt au so i gotta think this out

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ taglist !

@pvssychicken @emely9274 @emilyfaith2003 @nicholaschavezslut69 @sophand4n4

[delulustateofmind]

Get Ghost'd!

Sum: So you ghosted a guy that like really, really likes you, what could possibly go wrong?

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Choso

TW: Yandere Behaviors (Drugging, Stalking, Obsession, Kidnapping, Trapping, Manipulation) Slight wholesome fluff? Older woman (5-10 years) x Gojo, Noncon smooches (Gojo), The girls are around 7 in this so young cult leader geto (Not as deranged yet but getting there), Choso's is more crack (Todo is mentioned)

WC: 6.1K

A/N: I was just only going to do Geto...but then I thought about all the other JJK characters that would just go so crazy if you just ignored them. No Nanami, because he's a good man and would respect it if you ignored him.

Bold of you to assume you could just ghost the strongest-

Gojo Satoru had left his number for you.

He didn’t usually do that sort of thing—relationships were messy, and he simply didn’t have the time. Not with the weight of his responsibilities and the constant demands on his talent.

But then there was you, Megumi’s sweet next-door neighbor. The one who went out of your way to drop off food for the kids, who somehow managed to fold their laundry just the way they liked it. How could he not leave his number?

After all, he was the brat’s caretaker now, their benefactor. And, well, he could be your benefactor too, if you asked. Not even nicely—he’d do it if you so much as batted those pretty eyelashes at him and gave him one of those soft, shy smiles.

So why hadn’t you texted?

You had the time to make food for the kids. You had the time to do their laundry. But not even a reply for him? Not even a polite “Please don’t contact me”?

He tried to let it slide. Maybe you were nervous, unsure how to handle someone like him. He was Gojo Satoru, after all. But the more he thought about it, the harder it was to ignore the sting of your silence.

He wasn’t unreasonable—he understood the age gap might make you hesitate. He was freshly twenty, probably a few years younger than you. But honestly? That should work in his favor. How often does a hot, young stud go out of his way for someone like you?

You should be relishing in his attention. Cherishing the fact that he’d chosen you. Because let’s face it—you weren’t getting any younger. You should really consider settling for him.

No—scratch that. You should be grateful.

And yet, here you were, acting like he didn’t exist.

The knock on your door came late, almost too late for it to be anything casual. The soft thud echoed through your small apartment, catching you mid-step as you were putting away the last of the laundry.

When you opened the door, you weren’t prepared for the sight of him.

Gojo Satoru stood there, tall and imposing, framed by the dim glow of the hallway light. His white hair caught the faint light, tousled in that effortlessly perfect way. His signature round glasses perched low on his nose, revealing piercing blue eyes that seemed to glow, unblinking, as they locked onto yours.

His hands were stuffed casually into his pockets, his lean frame relaxed, but the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his easygoing facade.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice as light as ever, but there was a sharpness in his eyes that made your stomach twist. “You’ve been busy, huh?”

You blinked, thrown off by his sudden appearance. “Gojo? What are you doing here?”

He tilted his head, a teasing grin spreading across his face, his impossibly white teeth gleaming. “Satoru,” he corrected. “I think we’re close enough for that, don’t you?”

You faltered, searching for a polite response, but he didn’t give you the chance.

“Not even a little text?” he continued, stepping just a fraction closer. “I left my number, you know. Thought it was pretty obvious I wanted to hear from you.”

“Oh,” you mumbled, suddenly hyper-aware of how small the doorway felt between you. “I’m sorry—I’ve been really busy with work and helping out with Megumi and—”

He laughed, cutting you off. It was light, almost playful, but there was something unsettling about it. “Oh, I know. You’ve been making food for the kids, doing their laundry, running yourself ragged for them. But for me?” He leaned in slightly, his height forcing you to crane your neck to meet his gaze. “Not even a second of your time?”

Your throat tightened. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” he said, voice soft but dripping with something you couldn’t quite name. “I get it. Maybe you’re nervous. Maybe you think I’m too young, or you’re just not sure what to say to someone like me.” His grin widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “But you’re not avoiding me, are you?”

The way he said it made your pulse quicken.

“N-no, of course not,” you stammered, taking an instinctive step back.

“Good,” he said smoothly, taking a step forward as if he belonged inside your space. “Because I’d hate for there to be any misunderstandings between us. I mean, I’m just trying to look out for you.”

His gaze flicked over your shoulder at the neatly folded laundry behind you, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “All this running around for the kids? It’s sweet, really. But you should be taking better care of yourself, too.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his presence pressing in on you. “I… I’m fine, really. I just—”

“Just need someone to help you out,” he interrupted, his voice dropping to something softer, almost coaxing. “You do so much for everyone else. Don’t you think you deserve someone to take care of you for a change?”

There was a strange intensity in his gaze now, an undercurrent of something far more dangerous than his usual teasing charm.

“Satoru, I—”

“I could do that, you know,” he murmured, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. His touch lingered, his long fingers trailing along your jaw just enough to make your skin crawl. “Take care of everything. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

“Actually,” he cut in, his tone suddenly shifting, “I’ve been thinking. This arrangement? You here, me over there with the brats—it doesn’t make sense.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “What do you mean?”

He gave you a boyish grin, as if what he was about to say was the most obvious thing in the world. “We should live together.”

Your heart stopped for a moment. “W-what?”

“Think about it,” he said, stepping past you into your apartment without so much as a glance for permission. His long legs carried him casually across the room, but the tension in his movements was unmistakable. His sharp gaze darted over your space, the faint scowl on his face deepening as if your cozy apartment wasn’t quite up to his standards.

“You’re already taking care of Megumi and Tsumiki half the time,” he began, spinning around to face you, his white hair catching the dim light. His bright blue eyes locked onto yours, their intensity almost too much. “And my life? Well, let’s just say it’s dangerous.”

“Satoru, I don’t—”

“You’d be safer with me,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now, the usual playful lilt missing entirely. “And the kids, too. We’d be one big happy family. You wouldn’t have to worry about bills or working yourself to the bone anymore—I’d handle everything.”

He said it like he was doing you a favor. Like it was something you should have already agreed to without hesitation.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you managed, your voice shaking slightly.

His expression twisted, the easygoing mask slipping entirely as frustration bled into his tone. “Why not? It makes perfect sense!” he snapped, his arms spreading wide in a gesture of exasperation. “You’re already basically living this life anyway, aren’t you? Cooking, cleaning, running yourself ragged for them. But when it comes to me? Nothing. Not a single second of your time!”

His words hit like a slap, the bitterness in his voice leaving you momentarily stunned.

“I didn’t ask for that,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Well, maybe you should have!” he retorted, his lips pulling into a sharp, mocking grin. “You’re fine on your own, huh? Sure, because that’s working so well for you. You think you’re being independent, but all I see is someone too stubborn to accept help—even when it’s standing right in front of you!”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his anger pressing down on you.

He laughed then, but it was humorless, the sound cutting through the air like broken glass. “You’re too sweet for your own good, you know that? You run around helping everyone else, but you can’t even give me a second of your attention. What’s the matter, huh? Am I not good enough for you?”

“Satoru, that’s not fair—”

“Not fair?” he interrupted, stepping closer, his height towering over you as his blue eyes narrowed dangerously. “You want to talk about fair? I’m offering you everything—safety, security, a life, and you’re standing here acting like I’m some stranger asking for a handout!”

His words stung, his frustration bubbling over into something meaner, something sharper.

“I’m fine on my own,” you insisted again, though your voice was barely more than a whisper.

“No, you’re not,” he spat, his tone venomous now. “You’re delusional if you think you are. You’re just making excuses because you’re too scared to admit you need me.” He shook his head, his grin returning, bitter and condescending. “But that’s okay. I’ll fix that for you.”

Before you could respond, his hands shot up to cup your face, his long fingers curling just enough to hold you in place. His grip was firm, unrelenting, as his piercing blue eyes bore into yours.

“Stop overthinking it,” he murmured, his voice low and coaxing, though his words felt more like a command than reassurance. “You’re wasting time. I know what’s best for you. And it’s me.”

You barely had time to gasp before his lips crashed against yours. The kiss wasn’t tender or affectionate—it was rough, forceful, and far too intense. His teeth scraped against your bottom lip, cutting into the dryness of them causing a ting of blood to pool at the skin, the pressure somewhere between biting and bruising, as if he were marking you rather than kissing you.

Your hands flew up instinctively to push against his chest, but he didn’t budge. His arms slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his grip like iron. Every movement was desperate, consuming, and entirely unyielding.

“Satoru, stop,” you tried to mumble against his mouth, but he swallowed the words with another bruising kiss. It felt suffocating, as if he were trying to imprint himself on you—erase any thought of resistance.

When he finally pulled back, your lips felt swollen and raw, your breath coming in shallow gasps. But the worst part wasn’t the kiss itself—it was the look in his eyes.

They were bright, almost gleaming with satisfaction, but there was something beneath the surface.

He licked his lips, his smirk widening as he took in your dazed expression. “See?” he said, his voice a low murmur that sent a chill down your spine. “You’re already mine. You just don’t realize it yet.”

You stared at him, your heart racing as you tried to step back, but his hands were still on your waist, holding you in place.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he continued, his tone almost soothing now, though it carried an eerie finality. “You’ll see. This is what’s best. For you. For the kids. For all of us.”

His grip loosened just enough for you to pull away, but as you stumbled back, his eyes stayed locked on you, sharp and unrelenting.

“And don’t even think about running,” he added, his voice soft but chilling. “You won’t get far. I’ll make sure of it.”

Because Gojo Satoru didn’t lose. And you weren’t going anywhere.

I think I may have just ghosted a cult leader, how fucked am I? 

Geto Suguru sat in his living room, legs tucked beneath the kotatsu table, where the twins lay watching Ponyo for what felt like the hundredth time today. The familiar opera intro played, but he barely noticed it, he had lost count of how many times he'd have to endure it. His sleek, dark hair fell loosely over his shoulders, the ends brushing the fabric of his yukata, and a faint shadow from his sharp cheekbones danced across his face in the flickering light.

The DVD would end up in the highest cabinet soon, stored away with the Sailor Moon box set. Only to pretend later on that he has no idea of where the discs went, that the twins should really take better care of their things.

His tea sat untouched on the table, long gone cold as he stared at his phone. Three days since you’d last messaged him. Four since he’d seen you. His dark eyes, always so calculating and composed, narrowed slightly as he swiped through the unread threads of his polite but unanswered messages. He told himself it was fine, that you were busy, but the creeping unease in his chest said otherwise.

Being ignored was new to him, something he hadn’t experienced in years. Women had always sought him out, drawn by the quiet intensity of his gaze, the sharp elegance of his jawline, and the magnetic calm that seemed to follow him like a shadow. They threw themselves at him, eager for a glance, a touch, a word.

But you? You were different. Sweet, shy, and delicate. A part of him had loved that about you. Now it gnawed at him.

Had you used him?

The thought was intrusive, bitter, but it refused to leave. He’d erased your debt, lifted the curse that had plagued you, welcomed you into his home—and into his life. He’d done it all for you, because your smile had been enough. The way it softened your features and brightened your eyes—he couldn’t forget it. You made the darkness in his world feel lighter.

But maybe it wasn’t enough for you.

Maybe you’d only stayed because you owed him. Maybe, now that you were free, you saw no reason to stay.

His hands tightened into fists, the phone shaking slightly in his grasp.

Staring at his phone, he reread the messages he’d sent you over the past few days:

"Hope you got home safe." "The snow’s falling. The girls have been asking when you’ll come over for hot cocoa." "Good morning. Please eat well." "Did you drink water today?"

What he wanted to send was, "Was the kiss too much?"

But every time he typed it out, his thumb hovered over the send button before deleting it. He’d even tried adding an emoji once, only to groan in frustration. Giving up, he reached for the twins, pulling them into a big hug. Their squeals of delight momentarily distracted him as he tickled their sides before letting them go. They returned to their movie, leaving him on the floor, still staring at his phone.

Why did you look at him with those wide, innocent eyes when he cradled your cheek and kissed you goodbye? Why did you press your warm hands against his chest, trembling as you murmured, “We shouldn’t”?

We definitely should, was all he wanted to say.

He had wanted to kiss you ever since that day you ended up babysitting the girls in his apartment. The kitchen was filled with laughter as Nanako sat on the counter, mixing a bowl of cupcake batter, while Mimiko dozed in your arms. You worked together to bake cookies, the domestic scene so painfully perfect it left an impression he couldn’t shake.

You’d cook for him on nights when he came home late, too busy with cult duties to eat. Sometimes you’d bring a spoon to his lips, letting him taste-test your dishes, though they never needed anything. They were always perfect—just like you.

You should have stayed.

You should have realized how much he needed you, how much the girls needed you.

And yet, deep down, he knew why you might not.

You were a non-sorcerer.

The thought of it, the implications of it, only deepened his frustration. How could you fit into his new world—a world built to eliminate people like you? People who didn’t understand the true horrors of jujutsu, who were blind to the curses lurking in the shadows. His grand plan, his vision for a better, cleaner world, was supposed to make everything simpler. Sorcerers would rule, and the weak would fall away.

But you…

You were the exception.

Suguru hated that about himself, hated that he would allow one tiny thread to unravel the tapestry he’d been weaving. You didn’t belong in the world he was building, yet you were the one piece he couldn’t let go of.

How could he protect you in a world where the strong would reign? Where weakness—your weakness—would be punished?

The memory of your laugh cut through the haze of his thoughts. It had been so genuine, so sweet, so human. You didn’t belong in his plans, and yet you did. You had to.

Because without you, his grand vision felt hollow. Without you, there was only emptiness.

His jaw clenched as the realization solidified. You didn’t understand it yet, but he was doing this for you. For the girls. For all of them. But mostly, for himself.

He would protect you from the world he was creating. No one would touch you. No one would harm you. You’d live in safety, as his. His alone.

The phone screen lit up, mocking him with your silence. He could see when you read his messages. That was the cruelest part. You weren’t gone. You were ignoring him.

He rubbed a hand over his face, the smooth planes of his features momentarily obscured as he exhaled through gritted teeth. Maybe he’d been too soft with you. Maybe you thought you could just walk away now that the curse was gone, now that you didn’t owe him anything.

But you were wrong. You owed him everything.

The girls needed a mother. He needed you. The thought of you living a life without him, smiling for someone else, was unbearable. His lips twisted into a bitter smile as he typed out another message.

"The girls miss you.""I miss you."

Suguru’s thumb hovered over the send button, his jaw tightening as he debated. Then, with a frustrated sigh, he erased the message. Words wouldn’t be enough. Not anymore.

You needed a reminder.

He picked up his phone again, this time dialing. His assistant, Manami, answered on the second ring, her tone eager—too eager, though he ignored it. Manami had always looked at him in a way that suggested she wanted more than her job description entailed. A part of him in the past would humor the affection. Yet, now he has you. .

“I need you to watch the girls,” he said, his voice clipped. “I’ll be out for a while, picking up a... gift for them.”

Manami didn’t question him, though her tone softened, as though she thought he was doing something noble. If only she knew.

As he ended the call, his gaze shifted to the cult’s records, neatly organized and as precise as always. He was thankful for the meticulous documentation; it gave him everything he needed. Not just your number, but your address, your emergency contacts, your employment details—more than enough to find you.

Suguru let his fingers trace the edge of the file, his dark eyes scanning the information. Every detail about you, laid out in front of him. You had no idea how easily you could be found.

You could try to run, try to disappear—but you were his from now on.

Grabbing his coat, Suguru stepped out into the snow, the icy wind stinging his face. Words had failed; now he’d remind you. 

The soft glow from your apartment window illuminated the snow-covered street. He didn’t knock when he reached your door. He didn’t need to. The door yielded easily, and he slipped inside, the faint warmth of your home wrapping around him. The contrast between the cold air outside and the heat within was sharp, almost dizzying, but he welcomed it.

The sound of your soft, uneven breaths reached his ears before he saw you. There you were, standing in the kitchen, a cup of tea clutched in your hands. Your shoulders sagged with exhaustion, and there was a faint sheen of sweat on your forehead despite the winter chill. He noticed the trembling in your hands, the red tinge to your nose, and the way your other hand clutched at your chest when you coughed—a deep, rattling sound that made his brow furrow for a fleeting moment.

You looked pale, worn down, and fragile. For a moment, the sight almost softened him. Almost.

Almost made him forget why he was there. Forget the punishments he had planned. The ways he would teach you to never leave him again.

But that fleeting moment of pity was snuffed out as quickly as it came, replaced by a darker, more resolute purpose.

You had to learn.

You had to understand what it meant to belong to him.

Suguru’s fingers flexed at his sides, his mind racing through the plans he had already set in motion. He would remind you of his power—show you what a real curse user was capable of. That as sweet as he can be, he can also be cruel.

If fear wasn’t enough, he had other methods. He had already prepared the sedatives, carefully measured and tucked into his coat pocket. Once the fight left your eyes—and it would—he would take you home.

Home, where you would learn your role.

You would become the mother the girls needed. His law was absolute in their eyes, and soon it would be the same for you.

And if you resisted? If you dared to reject him, even after all he’d done for you?

Suguru’s lips twitched into a faint smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. He didn’t want to think about that outcome, but he’d already considered it. Conditioned responses. Physical reminders. Unsavory methods. Honestly, he didn't want to hurt you. However, he needed you. The girls needed you.

No matter what it took, you would learn to stay. To belong.

Then you turned and saw him.

The teacup slipped from your hands, shattering against the floor. The sharp sound echoed in the tense silence that followed, but Suguru didn’t flinch. He tilted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours, his expression unreadable.

“Ah,” he murmured, his voice soft and lilting, as though he were speaking to a child. “You’re sick.”

He stepped forward, his movements slow, deliberate, and predatory. The sight of your wide, fearful eyes only spurred him on.

“Too sick,” he continued, his tone warm but laced with an edge of mockery, “to even send me a little message?”

You stumbled back, your breath hitching as you pressed yourself against the counter. Your pale skin, the feverish flush to your cheeks, and the way you clutched at your chest as another cough wracked your body only made you seem more breakable.

Suguru stopped just a few steps away, watching as you trembled, your fear and exhaustion painting you as something delicate—something his.

“You’ve been suffering all alone,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, soothing hum. He reached out, his fingers brushing your wrist before curling around it with surprising gentleness.

“But don’t worry,” he murmured, leaning closer until his breath ghosted over your fevered skin. “I’m here now.”

He let his thumb stroke the inside of your wrist, his gaze unrelenting as his other hand moved to your cheek. The touch was soft, reverent even, but his dark eyes betrayed him, gleaming with something that made your stomach churn, something that sent shivers that weren’t from your cold.

“You’ve been making bad decisions, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice soft and sweet, though his words cut like glass. “Running yourself ragged. Avoiding me.”

His fingers tightened slightly around your wrist—not enough to hurt, but enough to make his control clear as you pathetically attempted to pull away.

“But it’s okay,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “I’ll take care of everything now.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured, his voice dripping with false kindness, “All you have to do is listen. Obey. I really didn’t want to have to go this route.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. His breath was warm against your fevered skin, his tone deceptively soft, as though he were doing you a favor.

You had never thought he was this interested in you. Suguru Geto was composed, almost aloof in how he carried himself—sharp features that seemed carved from stone, softened only by the flowing darkness of his hair. He had always been polite, controlled, and even gentle in his mannerisms, but you’d never felt singled out by his attention. Never thought the kindness in his deep, almond-shaped eyes was anything more than surface-level.

But now, as those same eyes pinned you in place, you realized how mistaken you’d been. His presence felt suffocating, the air between you charged with something you couldn’t name, and every movement he made was deliberate—calculated.

Suguru straightened slowly, his hand slipping from your wrist to his pocket, his movements unhurried and deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world. The room felt unbearably small under his presence, the heat of his gaze making your fevered skin prickle. His dark eyes never left yours, their intensity weighing down on you, as if he could see through the fragile walls of your thoughts.

When his fingers brushed the familiar shape of the syringe tucked into his coat pocket, his smile widened. It was subtle, almost imperceptible—a slight curve of his lips that revealed nothing of the storm swirling beneath his calm exterior. There it was—his failsafe. The assurance that you wouldn’t resist him any longer.

Your gaze flickered between his face and his hand, confusion and fear swimming in your fevered, glassy eyes. You wanted to protest, to push him away, but your body betrayed you. The trembling in your limbs, the bone-deep exhaustion, and the subtle pull of his voice, coaxing and unyielding, made it impossible to act.

Then, instinctively, you leaned into his touch, your trembling body seeking comfort, seeking something you didn’t understand. To him, it was perfect.

His hand, warm and firm, cupped your cheek as though you were fragile porcelain. The juxtaposition of his gentleness and the dark glint in his eyes made your stomach churn. He tilted his head slightly, the smooth cascade of his hair framing his face like a curtain, and his gaze softened, almost tender, as though he were truly savoring the moment.

Like the sweet lamb you were, you stepped willingly into the lion’s den.

“You’re coming home,” he said softly, his tone a mixture of mockery and affection. The weight of his words settled over you, heavy and inescapable, and you barely had time to comprehend them before you felt the sharp prick of the needle pierce your skin.

A startled gasp escaped your lips, but it was fleeting. The sedative coursed through your veins almost immediately, your body surrendering to the pull of unconsciousness.

Suguru caught you effortlessly as you fell, his arms wrapping around your limp form with an ease that betrayed just how much he had anticipated this moment. He cradled you against his chest with a gentleness that felt almost loving, the steady beat of his heart contrasting with the sinister gleam in his eyes.

“There we go,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering as though you were something precious. “Let’s get you home, Sweetheart.”

What the hell does ghosting even mean? What does spamming even mean? Poor fella is trying to figure out life. 

Now you had given poor Choso your number. Really, truly a mistake on your part. 

You thought he was hot—mysteriously so, with his brooding gaze and those face tattoos that made your heart skip a beat. It wasn’t a big deal, just a spur-of-the-moment thing when you spotted him at the bookstore while out with friends. You’d caught his eye, flashed him a smile, and casually slipped him your number on a whim.

What you didn’t realize was that poor Choso didn’t really know what to do with it.

For him, it was monumental. You didn’t just hand over your number; you handed over your heart. At least, that’s what Todo told him when Choso, unsure what the gesture meant, hesitantly sought advice. He couldn’t just ask his little brother these things, so he went to the expert about these things! After all, Todo was dating an idol! 

“She must be madly in love with you!” Todo had declared with his usual bombastic enthusiasm, clapping Choso on the shoulder so hard it nearly made him topple. “To give you her number without even talking? That’s destiny, brother! Love at first sight!”

And Choso believed him. Why wouldn’t he? Todo seemed confident, experienced.

So Choso, armed with Todo’s wisdom, started texting you.

And texting.

And texting.

At first, they were awkwardly sweet messages:

Choso: Hey. It’s Choso. From the bookstore. You gave me your number.Choso: Are you free to talk? I want to know more about you.

But then they kept coming.

Choso: Do you like horror books? Or romance? I can read both if you do.Choso: I saw a cat today. It reminded me of you.Choso: Do you like cats? I mean, not that you look like one. But you’re soft. Wait, not that I know if you’re soft. You just seem soft.

And then they started to come faster, his nervous overthinking spilling into endless walls of text.

Choso: Did I say something wrong? Are you upset with me?Choso: I hope I’m not bothering you. I just… I think we’d be good together.Choso: Please text me back. I can wait.

What Choso didn’t realize was that spamming someone all day wasn’t exactly endearing—it was overwhelming. But in his mind, the silence meant something entirely different.

“Todo,” Choso said one evening, sitting cross-legged on the floor of his apartment, his phone clutched in both hands. His dark brows furrowed as he stared at the unanswered messages. “She hasn’t responded. Do you think… do you think she’s playing hard to get?”

Todo grinned, throwing an arm around Choso’s shoulders. “Absolutely, brother! She’s testing your devotion. This is how women work. They want to see if you’re truly worthy.”

Choso nodded solemnly, his determination renewed. “I’ll show her. I’ll show her I’m serious.”

His solution? Doubling down.

When texting didn’t work, he tried calling. His voice shook the first few times—it felt so intimate, so real.

“Hi,” he murmured into the phone one evening after your voicemail picked up again. “It’s me. Choso. I just wanted to hear your voice. I miss you (the poor guy has only seen you one time). I mean—I know we haven’t talked much, but I miss you anyway (you have only exchanged names by the way). I think about you a lot. Please call me back when you can.”

And when the calls didn’t work, his thoughts began to spiral.

Was something wrong? Were you hurt? He’d seen it on TV—people ghosted because they couldn’t bring themselves to tell someone they were in trouble. Yes, that must be it.

So he started showing up.

First, it was just near the bookstore where he’d met you, hoping to “bump into” you. Then he wandered around the streets, retracing the route he thought you might take home.

Finally, he remembered the faint logo on your shopping bag that day, the one with your number scrawled on the receipt of. He found the shop, waited outside it for hours, hoping for a glimpse of you.

When he didn’t see you, his concern grew.

“Todo,” he said again one night, pacing his living room, his fingers tightening around his phone. “I don’t think she’s okay. She wouldn’t just ignore me like this. Not if she loved me.”

Todo shrugged, flipping through a magazine. “Maybe you need to show her how much you care. Do something big. Romantic.”

Choso froze, considering the advice. Todo was right. He just needed to show you.

And so, as you walked into your apartment the next evening, juggling groceries in both arms, you froze at the sight of a figure standing awkwardly in your living room.

“Choso?” you gasped, your heart leaping into your throat.You were already reaching for your phone. “How did you—”

He turned to you, a hesitant smile on his lips, his hands holding a bouquet of slightly wilted flowers. His dark eyes glimmered with a mixture of nervousness and relief, as if he were genuinely happy to see you.

“I was worried,” he said softly, stepping toward you. “You weren’t answering… so I thought I’d come check on you.” You had never given him your address. You had only given him your family name. 

You stared at him, your mind racing, caught somewhere between shock and fear.

Choso tilted his head, his brows furrowing in genuine confusion. “Did I… do something wrong?”

You stared at Choso, your groceries still in your arms, the door half-open behind you. He didn’t move any closer, but the sight of him standing there, so out of place in your living room, sent a chill down your spine.

“How… how did you get in here?” you managed, your voice trembling.

Choso blinked, tilting his head slightly as if you’d asked him a question he didn’t understand. “Your lock wasn’t very secure,” he said simply, holding up what looked like a slim piece of metal. “I was worried. You haven’t been responding, and I thought something might have happened to you.”

The sincerity in his voice was almost disarming, but the implication of his words made your skin crawl.

“Choso,” you said slowly, setting the groceries down on the counter and keeping the island between you as a buffer, “you can’t just… break into someone’s home.”

His brows furrowed, genuine confusion flickering across his face. “I wasn’t breaking in,” he said softly, almost as if the accusation hurt him. “I just needed to make sure you were okay. You haven’t been answering me, and I thought…” His voice trailed off, and he glanced at the flowers in his hands, his grip tightening slightly around the stems.

“I’ve been busy,” you said, trying to keep your tone steady. “You didn’t need to do this. I’m fine.”

“But you’re not,” he said quietly, his dark eyes meeting yours. There was an intensity in his gaze, like he truly believed every word he was saying. “You’re not fine. If you were, you would’ve answered me. Something must be wrong.”

“No, Choso,” you said firmly, taking a deep breath. “I wasn’t ignoring you because something’s wrong. I’ve just been busy with work and other things. And honestly… you’re sending way too many messages. It’s overwhelming.”

His face fell, the fragile hope in his expression crumbling. “Overwhelming?” he echoed, as if the word were foreign to him. “But I thought… I thought you wanted me to care about you.”

You hesitated, the raw vulnerability in his voice making your stomach twist. “Choso, I gave you my number because I thought you seemed nice. That’s all. I didn’t mean for this to… to go this far.”

He stared at you, unblinking, as if trying to process your words. The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, he spoke, his voice trembling slightly. “So… you don’t want me to care about you?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you said quickly, trying to keep your tone gentle. “I just think maybe you’ve misunderstood. I didn’t mean for you to think… we were something more.”

His grip on the flowers tightened, the fragile petals crumpling beneath his fingers. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his eyes distant as if he were lost in thought.

Then, slowly, he nodded. “I understand,” he murmured, though his tone was unsettlingly calm. “You’ve been busy. You’ve been… overwhelmed.”

You exhaled in relief, thinking maybe he’d finally gotten the message. But then he looked up at you again, his eyes bright with a strange, unsettling determination.

“I’ll just come check on you more often,” he said, his voice soft but firm, as if he’d made up his mind.

Your heart sank. “Choso, that’s not—”

“No, it’s okay,” he interrupted, his tone almost cheerful now. “You don’t have to feel bad. I know you’re busy, and sometimes it’s hard to keep up with everything. But I can help. I can make sure you’re okay. You shouldn’t have to do everything on your own.”

The way he said it, so matter-of-factly, made your blood run cold.

“You don’t need to do that,” you said quickly, your voice trembling. “I’m fine, really. You don’t need to check on me.”

“But I want to,” he insisted, his expression softening with something that almost looked like affection. “I care about you. Isn’t that what you want? Someone who cares?”

You stepped back, the counter pressing into your spine as you tried to put more distance between you. “Choso, this isn’t—”

“It’s okay,” he said again, cutting you off with a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll make it work. You don’t have to say anything now. I’ll take care of it.”

Before you could respond, he stepped toward the door, his movements deliberate and unhurried.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said softly, glancing over his shoulder with a faint smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re never too busy again.”

And then he was gone, leaving the faint scent of crushed flowers in the air.

You locked the door behind him, your hands trembling as you slid the deadbolt into place. The faint scent of crushed flowers still lingered in the air, a sickly-sweet reminder of his presence.

For a moment, the silence felt almost deafening. You stared at the door, hoping—praying—that this would be the end of it.

Choso didn’t understand.

He didn’t understand boundaries, didn’t understand what his actions meant to you. To him, this wasn’t wrong—it was pure love. That you must love him too. 

[twostepstyless]

Elves Wanted

Main Masterlist

SFW

Author’s Note: Y/N and Harry are drama students from two separate drama schools just looking to make some extra money over the Christmas period. Colleagues to friends to lovers ig? No major warnings I don’t think, maybe a tiny little chat about Christmas being a hard time of year. 

This is my first piece of writing in a looooong long time, so please be gentle  

As always, likes, reblogs and feedback of any variety is encouraged and always appreciated - G x 

Word Count: 7.7K+

It was the middle of November when Y/N saw it. The poster looked threatening. A large font, emboldened and in scary looking shade of red. The paper had gone a bit wrinkly as if it had been clutched tightly in a hand full of piles of the same advert printed over and over again. A contact email was printed multiple times along the bottom on tear-off tabs of paper, the fact that only one tab containing the address was missing added to the overall unappealing look of the advertisement that Y/N found on the ‘Opportunities’ board in the reception of her drama school. It looked threating compared to the opportunity it was offering. 

ELVES WANTED was printed at the top of the sheet followed by a short, bulleted list of qualifications:

Must have an enthusiastic and friendly personality

No experience necessary

No maximum height limit!!!

Great pay for festive season!

DBS checks will be carried out. 

Illustrations of holly leaves and berries bordered the A4 advert and severe looking underlines on the next steps asking for a headshot and CV to be forwarded to the recruiter’s email attached to the tear-off slips. A mall elf. Santa’s little helper. Y/N didn’t think it was the worst gig she could have in the world. Another thing to add to her CV she supposed. She realises she’s trying to convince herself into doing it and she was of the mindset if you had to convince yourself something is a good idea, it probably isn’t. But the Christmas holidays were looming and her student loan never in a million years could stretch towards Christmas presents and the zero hours contract she had a greasy spoon café down the road from her flat was certainly not helping either. She was desperate for consistent income to see her through Christmas. So, with a sigh, she ripped off the email information. 

***

Across the city, Harry was stood in front of an advert on the ‘Opportunities’ board in the reception area of his drama school. Harry frowned, then leaned in closer to get a better look. He read the poster twice, then a third time, and despite his better judgment, he felt a strange pull. There was something ridiculous about it, something he couldn’t quite shake. The idea of becoming an elf at Santa’s Grotto in a shopping centre, a 6-foot (on a good day at least) elf at that, on the surface, was completely mental. But then again, he thought back to the acting gig he had over Christmas last year and thought anything would be better than that. Plus, he loved Christmas really, and getting to spread a bit of joy can only be a positive thing. He rubbed his temple as though to clear his thoughts, still staring at the flyer. ‘Great pay’, the poster said. That was tempting. What the hell? He could be an elf for a month. Maybe there was something strange and fun about playing a cheerful holiday character—something a little whimsical and different from his usual typecast as a tortured soul or brooding romantic lead. Harry's lips quirked into a smile. “I can totally do this,” he muttered to himself, snapping a photo of the requirements and ripping off the contact email and shoving it into his pocket. 

***

Y/N trudged back to her flat after leaving uni, fell into her bed and fished out her laptop to send her email to the elf recruiter. She attached her most recent headshot and newly updated CV and sent it off to the email address she clung onto. As her laptop screen faded to black, she caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the screen. She didn’t look happy. She looked knackered actually, with heavy dark circles around her eyes. The past few months had been a lot. Exhausting, frustrating, and filled with self-doubt. She’d just finished a semester of intense Stanislavski system classes which were emotionally, physically and psychologically taxing when she was applying them to the acting pieces she was performing. She longed for a break, for something to remind her why she had fallen in love with performing and acting in the first place. Maybe this odd elf job would do that—maybe she could rediscover some joy in performing, even if it was just a month or so of prancing around in stripy tights and painted on rosy cheeks.

Y/N sighed and shook her head, but a small smile crept onto her lips. Why not? she thought again, maybe she could learn to appreciate Christmas again. 

***

Winter had truly set in the next week when Y/N arrived at the shopping centre’s service entrance. The wind nipped at her face, the only bit of her not covered up by woolly or fleece fabric. Despite the cold, there was a gentle hum of festive energy beginning to spark. She had her phone open directing her to the disused unit nearest the newly built grotto which they had turned into a dressing room and break room for all the actors who were going to be working there over the holidays. She had to agree there would be something distinctly unmagical about a child seeing the elf that had shown them to Santa, or the big man himself, walking through the mall with a backpack over their costume to catch the tube home.  

This was it—the first day of her “elf job,” as ridiculous as it seemed. She still wasn’t entirely sure what she’d gotten herself into. At least Noelle seemed nice enough as a manager when they’d spoken over zoom after Y/N applied. (Y/N still wasn’t sure if that was her actual name or that Noelle just loved Christmas that much, she’d given it to herself, she wouldn’t be shocked if it was the latter) And hey, it wasn’t like there was anything else on her schedule at the moment, classes having broken up for an extended Christmas break this week to allow the students to pick up winter acting gigs. 

The smell of cinnamon and something distinctly chocolatey wafted through the air as she hurried through the shopping centre, the disused unit between the small Boots (the big boots was on the second floor) and Clarks shoe shop was her end goal with a note to show up at 8:30 to be assigned her costume, meet their Santa and the other elves and to be talked through what their role was and what do before the kids started arriving to meet Saint Nick at 10:30 A.M. 

She was first there. Not a shock, she’s notoriously early to everything. Just Noelle in the space, ticking Y/N’s name off the list attached to her clipboard and urging her to pull up a chair until the rest of her colleagues arrived. Tubs of celebrations and heroes cracked open on the tables for the employees to pick at if they were on break. 

Y/N quickly snagged a Malteser one from the red tub knowing those were her favourite but always the first to run out in a box of Celebrations. As she rammed the chocolate into her mouth a deep, slow voice called out.

“Hey! Are y’here for the elf job too?”

Y/N looked up. A boy—no, a man��was walking toward her, a friendly smile on his face. He was tall, like worthy of stating in your dating profile tall, with chocolatey, perfectly tousled hair like he’d just ran his fingers through it and it fell perfectly. His cheeks were also flushed from the cold, and there was an energy about him, an air of confidence that could potentially approach cockiness, but not in a dickhead way, a way that made Y/N feel suddenly self-conscious. She straightened up, trying to look more confident.

“Uh, yeah.” Fuck, she still had the half-chewed Malteser sweet in her mouth, she swallowed it harshly. “I am, yeah,” she said, his voice coming out a little awkwardly. 

The man laughed lightly, as if sensing her discomfort, and stuck out his hand. “M’Harry. S’my first day, too. So, we’re in the same boat.”

Y/N hesitated for a second before shaking his hand. His grip was firm, and his-Harry’s eyes sparkled with a kind of warmth that she wasn’t used to.

“Harry,” she said. “Yeah, I figured I wasn’t the only one.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, glancing around. “Have y’seen the costumes?” he asked with a grin. “Noelle was pulling the rail out as I came in,” he nodded towards the rail now in Y/N’s peripheral, “and not that I’m biased towards the fact me n’you are here first… but I think we’re going to look the best.” 

Y/N snorted, suddenly picturing the pair of them in the green and red get up she could see swinging around on hangers that Harry pointed out. “Yeah, right. I’m not sure there is a looking the best in those but I’ll try not to look too much like a walking, talking Christmas tree.”

Harry laughed again, his voice light and carefree. “You could be a very stylish Christmas tree. And if not, I’m sure the kiddies will love you anyway. I mean, it’s hard t’look serious in tha’.”

Y/N had to agree. She could see tiny bells on the tips of the curly toed shoes and around the base of the pointy hat that were jingling in an absurdly cheerful way as Noelle pulled the rail up towards the congregating elves, more of whom had arrived in the time she had been speaking to Harry not that she noticed them arrive. 

“I’m guessing you’ve done this before?” she asked.

“Nope,” Harry replied with a shrug, his eyes crinkling with a smile. “But I’m an actor, so literally trained in fake it til I make it.” She glanced at him knowingly. “I’m sure you can, too.”

There was something about the way he said it, so effortlessly, as if being an actor was the most natural thing in the world. Y/N felt a pang of recognition. She was the same way, always pretending like she had her shit together when, in reality, she felt like she hanging by a thread the vast majority of the time.

“You’re an actor, too?” she asked, as Harry pulled a twirl out the box of heroes and snaffled it down just as quickly. 

“Yeah,” he said round the mouthful of chocolate, “Where d’you go?” 

 “Oh, I’m at RADA,” she said with a sheepish smile, as though it were no big deal. “How about you?”

“The Conservatoire,” Harry replied in a similar tone. “It’s… kind of intense there. Everyone’s obsessed with Shakespeare n’like fuckin’ Laurence Olivier,” he chuckled. His voice tinged with self-deprecation. “Which is fine, and y’know same but sometimes it feels like m’in an endless cycle of waiting. Auditions, classes, workshops, more auditions…” He trailed off, realizing he was rambling. “Though suppose you’re the same at RADA,” He finished.

Y/N’s eyes softened a little. “I get that. Sometimes it feels like I’m auditioning for my own bloody life instead of actually living it, and the constant seriousness can really knock the wind out of it and make you forget why you started acting in the first place.” She leaned back against her chair, crossing her arms. 

“At least this elf job is different. It’s kind of nice to do just… do something fun, you know?” Harry suggested.

Y/N nodded, a little surprised by the ease in which he found the bright side. There was a grounded quality to him that she hadn’t expected, especially when he said he attended the conservatoire. He didn’t seem to be caught up in the competitive, high-strung nature of their shared world, or if he did, he was doing a damn good job of hiding it.  Maybe it was his willingness to embrace something as silly as playing an elf that made him stand out to her.

“Yeah, you’re right,” she said, letting out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. “I think I’m just overthinking it. Like, this is the first thing I’ve gotten in a minute that’s actually paying me, and I’m being weird about it. Plus, I’ve got the perfect excuse to wear a fun outfit for a month,” she giggled, hoping to match his blasé attitude. 

Harry smiled back, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes. “Exactly!” 

Before their conversation could go any further, Noelle, decked out in an obscene Christmas jumper with glittery yarn and flashing lights stood at the front of the now full room.

“Hiya chookies! Welcome to your first day as Santa’s helpers!” she said brightly in her bubbly Welsh accent, clapping her hands together. “I’ve spoken to you all before but just to reintroduce I’m Noelle and I’ll be your manager for the duration of this job! You’ll be working alongside our Santa Claus, Arthur, bringing the magic to life for all the little ones we’ll have coming to visit right up until the 24th of December. You’ll mostly be working in pairs which I can split you up into- or I see most of you have split into little groups already so that will do just lovely too!” 

At the mention of already being in pairs, Harry and Y/N’s eyes flickered up to each other’s with a small smile from Y/N and a wink from Harry that made Y/N’s stomach swoop as he mouthed ‘partner’ at her. 

Noelle continued, “so we’ll get you costumed and your elf’s name assigned to you, then we’ve got a few little training things to get through before we kick off the festive season with our first visitors at 10:30!” 

***

The rest of the morning was a blur of final costume adjustments, training videos about handling children, and learning the ropes of the “Santa meet-and-greet” routine. Introduce, smile, take the kid to Santa, reassure any nervous little ones, pass out candy canes til you’re blue in the face, and sprinkle as much magic and joy in there as possible as they went. As 10:30 approached, Harry found himself standing next to Y/N at the edge of Santa’s grotto ready for the first batch of children to arrive. 

Through the noise of the shopping centre, chatter and the beep of checkouts and the rush of activity, Harry caught Y/N’s eye and offered her a dazzling smile. “Well Sugarplum,” he said, now referring to Y/N as her Elf name, as was required in their training, his voice low enough for only her to hear, “here we go. Let’s see if we can make some Christmas magic without completely embarrassing ourselves.”

Y/N laughed softly, knocking her hip against his playfully. “You’ll do great. Just remember to smile like you mean it and even if we’re pretending that it’s the most magical moment of your life.”

Harry rolled his eyes but found himself smiling anyway. “I’ll try my best. Elf-ing is harder than it looks I reckon.”

As the first family approached the line, Y/N leaned closer to him, her voice playful. “Ready to bring some joy to the world, Jingles?”

“After you, my jolly little elf,” Harry said with a smile, feeling something spark between them that he couldn’t quite name, their shoes jingling as they bounced forwards to greet their first family. 

***

The first shift was chaotic.

Y/N had been bracing herself for the madness of it all, but nothing quite prepared her for the relentless pace of the Santa meet-and-greet. From the moment they arrived at the grotto and workshop themed area, complete with twinkling lights, piles of fake presents, an enormous, fluffy teddy bear in the corner and nutcrackers as tall as Harry, it was clear that the role of an elf was not as simple as it seemed.

The instructions from Noelle had been brief—"Smile, be enthusiastic, don't get in Santa's way, and make sure every child gets their gift!"—but in practice, it felt like a never-ending whirlwind. The line of eager little children accompanied by parents and carers lapped around the grotto and down the hallways of the mall and the air buzzed with the excited chatter of families, the high-pitched giggles of toddlers, and the occasional wail of a child whose feet hurt from waiting or was a little scared of the man with the round belly and red suit. 

Y/N was feeling the initial confidence boost Harry gave her, waver. The green tunic was a tad itchy, the makeup to paint her cheeks rosy was 100% going to cause her a spotty breakout and the pointy shoes, which she’d thought would be a fun novelty, now felt like they were cutting off the circulation to her toes. She was supposed to be cheerful and welcoming, but every time she smiled, it felt a little forced. And then there was the jingle. The tiny bells attached to the hem of her outfit, hat and tips of her curly shoes made every step a clinking reminder that she was no longer the serious actor she aspired to be. No, now she was an elf, and that meant every footstep seemed to ring with the joyful spirit of Christmas. 

"Alright, Sugarplum!" Harry’s voice cut through the noise as he slid into place next to her. "You’re doing great! Just keep smiling!" His eyes twinkled with mischief, and Y/N couldn’t help but return his grin, even if it was more of a grimace.

“I’m not sure I’m pulling off the ‘joyful, Christmas spirit’ look,” she muttered, glancing at Harry. “I think the kids can tell I'm not really feeling it.”

“Oh, please,” he teased, adjusting his own costume, he had managed to twist one of the legs of his red tights around his leg as he peeled them up when he got changed and seemed completely unbothered by it. “You look like you just stepped off of an elf runway. Like we are North Pole Fashion Week right here. Autumn/Winter 2024’s finest!”

He was, in fact, a burst of holiday cheer. His costume fit well, minus the small problem with his tights. His movements were smooth and confident, and he had this way of leaning into his role that made it seem effortless. Every time a child came up to him, he greeted them with enthusiasm, making silly faces to the young ones who couldn’t talk yet, or twirling around to make them squeal and giggle.

Y/N, on the other hand, had already almost fell onto the nutcracker when a child approached her from behind. 

***

"Hey, Elves!" a little girl said in a high-pitched voice, her arms crossed in front of her chest. She was maybe seven years old, with a haughty expression on her face that both Harry and Y/N couldn’t help but find hilarious. "I want a unicorn for Christmas."

“Uh, okay, a unicorn,” Y/N repeated, trying to channel the enthusiasm Noelle had instructed them to have. “Is that, like, a stuffed unicorn or an actual unicorn?”

The little girl stared at her blankly. “A real one. With wings.” As if that was obvious, Y/N thought.

Y/N blinked. “Oh… right. Well, I think we’ll need to ask Santa if he can make that happen. Santa has magical powers, you know, isn’t that right Jingles?” she gestured to Harry, desperately wanting to involve him in this conversation to get it over with quicker.  

“That’s absolutely right Sugarplum, but I’m not sure the unicorn’s gonna make it through customs...” Harry trailed off

The girl raised an eyebrow. “I don’t care about that. I want a unicorn. With wings.”

“Understood.” Harry nodded seriously. “I’ll put in the request to Santa’s workshop immediately.” Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at Harry so turned away to get her giggles out as she organised the piles of gifts for the kids as the little girl continued on.

She gave a dramatic sniff before turning to her adult and questioning, “mummy why does that elf have all those on him?”

“All what, princess?” The little girl’s mother barely took her eyes off her phone while responding to her. 

“All those drawings,” she pointed her sticky looking hand to Harry while her mother finally looked up and over with distaste to see Harry’s lower arm exposed from where the fluffy cuffs on his tunic had ridden up, exposing the inky swirls that littered his arm.  

“I got these in prison,” Harry said to the child, seriously. 

“HARRY,” Y/N shouts whipping her head round from the reorganised piles of presents and a series of giggles. 

“Um, its Jingles to you, Miss Sugarplum,” he responded to Y/N with a sly look in his eye before turning back to the little girl, “I broke a lot of elf and safety rules,” he nodded with a sad sort of soft smile as the girl and her mother moved farther up the queue and away from Harry and Y’N’s section.

“You’re going to get sacked,” Y/N laughed. 

“Nah, no chance, I don’t reckon there’s any understudies for elves, I’m just trying to brighten the place up, they say Christmas cheer is spread through laughter,” Harry said reaching for one of the candy canes they had in a bowl to give out to customers.  

“No one says that” Y/N responded.

“Wel, I did just then,” Harry smirked before shoving his newly unwrapped candy cane between his lips. 

***

Y/N found herself laughing more, letting go of the relentless pressure she usually placed on herself. She still had moments of doubt, but they were becoming less frequent. And more often than not, Harry was there, laughing with her, encouraging her to embrace the more sparkly, joyful side of things.

By the end of the week, both Harry and Y/N were beginning to look forward to their shifts—not just for the pay check, but because of the time spent with each other. Their friendship was growing, deepening in those small moments of shared joy. They spent their breaks together, sharing their lunches and swapping stories about their schools, about their aspirations, about everything and nothing.

“I jus’ couldn’t face doing panto again this Christmas for some work experience, last year I ended up in a production of Cinderella at holiday park in the arse end of nowhere and let me just tell you never again,” Harry said round mouthfuls of the Subway sandwich he’d ran to go pick them up on their joint lunch break.

“You didn’t?!” Y/N gasped dramatically, putting her own sandwich down. 

“I did.” 

“Oh no you didn’t,” Y/N refuted.

“What y’on about? I did, I played Buttons.”

“Oh no you didn’t!” Y/N teased.

“Oh no you didn- OH ha ha, very funny,” Harry rolled his eyes playfully.  “But yeah I had to stay in a static caravan for the length of the run, and not one of those nice, posh static caravans with the deck and did y’know some of them have actual baths in ‘em too? It was a shit one, that smelt of damp and sand from the beach and had a scorch mark on the carpet from the fan radiator someone had put on upside down, the thing probably would’ve looked better if it had gone up in flames.”

***

It was the week before Christmas, when the shopping centre was at its peak. Crowds of shoppers were everywhere. Pushing, jostling, and frantically checking their lists. Santa’s grotto had gotten busier and busier and December went on, and Harry and Y/N were in the thick of it, dodging around children, parents, and cameras, keeping up the relentless pace of their elf duties. 

They were stationed in the photo line, dishing out candy canes left, right and centre to anyone who didn’t already have one clutched in their hands. The music overhead had transitioned from classic carols to the more upbeat, catchy tunes—"Jingle Bell Rock," "Last Christmas," and, of course what’s Christmas without a little bit of Mariah. 

“Honestly, feels like Christmas exploded all over this place,” Harry muttered to Y/N as a child skipped past them, jingling her own set of bells in her hair. He adjusted his own costume and shot a glance around at the sea of red and green. “I love Christmas but even I’m starting to feel a little less Santa n’a little more Scrooge.” 

Y/N’s grin was infectious. “I know, right? But I think I’m starting to really love it rather than seeing this as a quick, easy wage every week. It feels like a big Christmas party every day and really is starting to put me in the mood for the 25th.”

Harry snorted. “You’re a better elf than I’ll ever be then. I’m about two seconds from snapping the candy canes and calling it a day.” 

Y/N chuckled, her eyes glinting mischievously. “You could do that. But you’d be the elf who shows up on the ‘Naughty List,’ and frankly, I don’t think you want that reputation,” Y/N shrugged playfully.

“Well, there’s always next year,” Harry replied with a wink.

As the hours passed, the atmosphere only intensified. The mall was bursting with excited chatter, laughter, and the occasional tantrum from an upset child. Harry was starting to feel the weight of it all—the constant smiling, the relentless energy. He glanced over at Y/N, who seemed unaffected by it all. She was laughing, her face flushed from the warmth of the crowd, her energy infectious, but Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that she was hiding something—something more than the seemingly newly discovered holiday cheer that seemed to shine out of her pores like the lights round the Christmas trees. There was a depth to her that he couldn’t quite place. A vulnerability that was hidden beneath her new, bright exterior. He had seen it before, right at the start of their run—brief moments when her eyes grew a little distant or when she would zone out during a particularly quiet lull. She seemed melancholic a lot of the time at the beginning but the closer they got to Christmas her personality seemed to do a switch to the most utterly joyful person you could ever come across. Harry didn’t buy it, not completely anyway. 

After another round of photos, a break finally arrived. It wasn’t much—only fifteen minutes—but it was enough for them to run off to their break room to rest their jingled feet. Harry slumped down in his seat, taking a long, deep breath of the slightly cooler air of their break room. He caught sight of Y/N across the room, filling up a glass of water each for them from the cooler.

"Hey," Harry said, his voice a bit quieter now. “Y’alright?”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes wide and a little startled by the question. She blinked a couple of times, as if trying to shake off some thought she’d been lost in.

“Yeah, of course,” she replied quickly, offering a bright smile. “I’m just… y’know. Trying t’make the most of the break.” She gestured vaguely around; the room was empty bar the pair of them.

“Right,” Harry said, but there was something in her tone that didn’t quite match the smile she was giving him. He knew her well enough by now to see that something was off. It was slight, subtle even, but it was there.

He took a deep breath, feeling that the awkwardness of the moment would pass if he just said it. “Look, Y/N... I don’t want to make you uncomfortable n’just tell me t’fuck off if I’m overstepping or anything… but I feel like there’s more going on with you than you’re letting on.”

She froze for a moment before placing the now full glass of water in front of Harry. Her eyes shifted to the floor, her expression briefly faltering before she met his gaze again.

“You’re talking about the personality transplant I’ve had in the last few days, aren’t you?” she asked with a small laugh, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Harry shook his head. “No. I mean… yes. But not just that.” He pulled the chair next to him round to an angle so they would be basically facing each other eye to eye as he encouraged her to take a seat. Lowering his voice slightly. “I know m’not the best at reading people, but I can tell y’hiding something. You’re not as… I don’t know… there’s something not quite right about the smile you’re painting on, right?”

Y/N’s smile faltered, and she glanced away. “I’m fine, Harry. I promise.”

But Harry didn’t buy it. He didn’t know what it was, but there was something in her voice, a tone as if she was trying to convince herself of the fact and not just him, that made him feel that she wasn’t fine.

“Y/N, m’not trying to make you talk about anything you’re not ready to share,” Harry said gently. “But… you can’t just bury everything under the elf costume and the smiles. It’s okay to not be okay sometimes,” he said with a soft smile as he nudged his knee against her own. 

The room was silent. Y/N chewed on her bottom lip, clearly battling with something. Harry held his breath, waiting. Finally, she sighed deeply, as if the weight of it all had become too much to carry any longer.

“I didn’t want to bring it up, s’a bit of a mood killer at this time of year,” she said quietly, her voice thick with something Harry couldn’t quite place. “But... I guess I’m just tired. Not physically—well, kind of. But emotionally. I don’t know… I’ve been pretending a lot this year.”

Harry watched her, his brow furrowing. "Pretending?"

Y/N let out a shaky breath and nodded. “My family... my dad... this time of year is always hard for me. Christmas is supposed to be happy, right? But it just... reminds me of everything I’ve lost. Things that don’t work out. People who move on.” She paused, her voice trembling just slightly. “I didn’t want to let it affect my job here. I didn’t want to ruin the fun, or the magic… and I guess it’s been a lot.”

Harry felt a pang of sympathy for her. The words hung in the air like fragile glass, and he could see how much it had cost her to admit it. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say, he just nodded, understanding. “I get it,” he said eventually. “Y’don’t have to keep pretending, though. Not round me anyway.”

She gave him a small, relieved smile, but there was still sadness behind her eyes. “Thanks, Harry,” she whispered, almost as if she were speaking to herself. “I think I just needed someone to hear it. Even if it’s just for a second. I’m just… knackered,” she sighed.

Harry leant closer, offering gentle smile his hand reaching down to squeeze her knee. “Anytime. You know that.”

For the last few moments of their break, they just sat there, sipping on their water and cooling down for a bit, the noise of the shopping centre drifting in from the distance. Harry didn’t push her to say more, but they both knew something had shifted between them in that moment. Y/N wasn’t just his elf colleague anymore. She was a person with a past, with scars, with feelings. And Harry wanted to be there for her, even if it meant just offering an ear if she needed it.

And maybe she just needed to know that someone was there to listen, even someone she met working at Santa’s Grotto.

The break ended with the sound of a loud cheer coming from the main concourse of the shopping centre, where a new group of children had gathered to see Santa. Y/N downed the rest of her water and gave her cheeks a few quick pats to wake herself up, as if the moment of vulnerability had never happened, and smiled at Harry.

“Ready for round two?” she asked, her voice lighter than before.

Harry nodded. “Let’s do this Sugarplum.” And for the first time in a long while, Harry realized that sometimes, just being real with someone else was the greatest gift of all.

***

The day before Christmas was a blur of lights, music, and the constant hum of holiday energy. For such a manic day, it was a slow one. Harry had stopped counting the hours long ago of his shifts long ago; it was just a matter of getting through the day, but with Y/N by his side, it felt bearable. Their friendship had become a steady constant, something Harry looked forward to in the midst of the holiday madness. They spent their breaks together, talked about everything and nothing, and found little ways to make each other laugh.

But today felt different. There was a quiet tension in the air between them, an unspoken awareness that lingered longer than usual. It was approaching midday on Christmas Eve, the final shift before the big day. The mall was packed, the halls full of families rushing to get those last-minute photos with Santa, children buzzing with excitement. Harry and Y/N had just finished their break and were back on as Jingles and Sugarplum, standing in front of the grotto. They had gotten good at this—good at smiling until their cheeks hurt, good at posing for photos, good at handing out candy canes like it was second nature. But today, something felt… off. Something wasn’t quite as simple as it had been before.

“Last day,” Y/N said, adjusting her costume, the bells twinkling and punctuating her sentence, her tone almost too casual as she looked around at the busy area. “Can y’believe it’s finally Christmas Eve?”

Harry shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “It kind of feels like we’ve been doing this forever, doesn’t it? Like, time doesn’t even work anymore.”

“Yeah,” she said softly, her eyes scanning the crowd. Then, turning back to Harry, her gaze lingered a moment too long. “You know, I’ve actually really enjoyed this. Not the work, obviously, but… the time we’ve spent together. It’s been…” She hesitated, glancing down at her costume before meeting his eyes again. “Nice. A break from my usual, I guess.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. She didn’t say it directly, but there was something in her voice that made him wonder if she felt the same way he did.

“I get that,” he said, his voice a little quieter than before. “It’s kind of hard to explain, but I feel like we’ve gotten into this rhythm. You know what I mean?”

She smiled, that familiar, easy smile that made him feel like he was the only one in the room. “Exactly. We’ve somehow survived this madness, and now it’s almost over.”

As they stood there, exchanging glances with the busy families waiting in line, Harry couldn’t help but feel a sense of… finality. He had been dreading the end of this gig, not because he didn’t want to go back to the conservatoire and his classes after break but because he didn’t want to not see Y/N every day. The idea of her becoming just another friendly face in the crowd of his life was akin to one of Shakespeare’s tragedies to him, he didn’t want that at all.

“You’re right,” he said slowly, “I don’t want it to be over. This... thing we’ve got going on, I mean.”

Y/N paused, her eyebrows furrowing in slight confusion. “What do you mean, ‘this thing’?” 

Fuck, Harry thought as looked down at his hands, suddenly feeling self-conscious, a rarity for him. Maybe he was reading too much into it. Maybe he was just imagining that there was something between them. But the way her voice softened when she spoke to him, the way they laughed together, the way he felt this inexplicable pull towards her. 

“This thing where it’s easy to talk t’you. Where we don’t have to pretend with each other,” he said carefully, his heart pounding a little harder in his chest. “Where… I don’t know… I feel like I can be myself at least.”

She blinked, processing his words. Her expression was unreadable for a moment, but then her lips curled into a slow, thoughtful smile. “I know what you mean,” she said softly. “It’s like… we don’t have to be perfect all the time, right? Like, we can just… be. Together.”

The way she said the word “together” sent a small shiver down Harry’s spine. He could feel the air between them shift, and suddenly, he wasn’t sure if it was just the holiday magic, or something more. Something deeper.

He took a deep breath, stepping a little closer to her. “Y/N, I—”

Before he could finish his sentence, a loud wail from a child pierced the air, cutting through the moment like a knife. The child, no older than six, was tugging at her mother’s sleeve, refusing to get anywhere near the front door of the grotto where on the other side she’d meet Santa. Her voice was a screech of fear almost, desperate to leave.

Harry and Y/N immediately snapped back into their roles, the brief, intimate moment forgotten in an instant. It was as though the world had snapped back into its chaotic rhythm. Harry plastered on his best elf smile and turned to the mother, ready to jump back into character.

“Everything okay here?” he asked, though his mind was still racing with the things he had almost said to Y/N.

Y/N, ever the professional, was immediately by Harry’s side, kneeling down to the little girls height. “Hey there sweetness, I’m Sugarplum and this is my pal Jingles,” she said in a gentle, soothing voice nodding to Harry who waved at the shy little girl. “Y’know, Santa’s not so bad. Look, we’re elves and have worked with the big man for forever, and we think he’s pretty cool, isn’t that right Jingles?” 

The little girl sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve of her little red coat, before glancing up at Y/N and Harry with watery eyes. “Really?”

“Absolutely!” Harry said with a wink, before he too knelt down to the girls’ level, his voice bright and reassuring. “Santa’s just a big teddy bear. In fact he gave me this,” Harry pulled a candy cane from his pocket with a flourish, “t’give to you before we go in and see him!”

The girl seemed to hesitate for a moment, before nodding slowly reaching out to wrap her fingers around the candy cane Harry held out to her, “Okay…”

As the little girl settled, Harry couldn’t help but glance over at Y/N. She had a way with the kids who were a little scared or nervous, a warmth that made him admire her even more. She always knew exactly what to say, always had the right level of energy to make them feel better. It was something he’d noticed before, but today, it felt like a piece of the larger picture. When the little girl finally took a seat on the stool next to Santa’s chair and was yapping away listing off things she wanted for Christmas as well as things she thinks he should give her baby brother, Harry and Y/N exchanged a smile at a job well done. 

As the rest of the day wore on, the mall’s energy peaked and then began to mellow. The final families arrived, children almost vibrating with excitement at Santa’s imminent arrival, parents frantically snapping photos. In the quiet moments between families, Harry found himself stealing glances at Y/N. She was still the same—cheerful, warm, effortlessly glowing—but there was a new layer between them now, an unspoken understanding.

Finally, as the evening came to a close, the last group of families having exited with their pictures in hand. Santa waving a big goodbye to any straggler groups citing that he had a long night ahead of him and had to go see Mrs Claus before he set off on his journey around the world. Harry and Y/N were left alone in the grotto, it was just the two of them now, standing in the glow of the Christmas lights, the last traces of holiday music playing softly in the background.

Y/N turned to Harry, her eyes locking with his. “I guess this is it,” she said softly, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, his heart beating just a little faster. “It’s weird. I kind of thought it would feel like a relief when it was over, but… now it’s here, it feels… wrong, somehow.”

Y/N smiled softly, stepping a little closer to him. “It’s not over, Harry. It’s just… different now.”

He swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “I hope so.”

And then, as if drawn by an invisible force, they both leaned in, just inches apart. The air between them was charged, the magic of Christmas, the long month and a half of working side by side, and the undeniable pull they felt toward each other all converging in that one perfect instant.

Before Harry could think too much about it, Y/N closed the small gap, her lips meeting his in a kiss that was soft, tentative, but filled with something deeper—something neither of them could deny any longer.

The moment held, timeless and sweet, as they finally gave in to the feelings that had been building between them, and as they pulled back, breathing in the shared warmth of the kiss, it was clear to both of them: this was only the beginning.

“D’you think we can go get changed now? I never want to see or feel another pair of fucking tights anywhere near my legs for a long, long time,” Harry said as Y/N burst into fitful giggles her face slumping against his shoulder as she laughed

***

They had swapped numbers early on in their job, Harry’s suggestion since they were paired together in case one of the two were to be poorly or running late but had never used those numbers. As much as Harry’s fingers twitched to do so. 

They separated outside the mall after their kiss, both rushing off to get to their families to spend Christmas Day with them. Christmas morning came with a quiet calm. Y/N had expected to wake up feeling exhausted, her muscles sore from the constant running around, the endless hours of standing in character, smiling for the camera, but instead, she woke up in her bedroom at her Mum’s house… on edge. Like something had shifted, and now the world around her seemed to have rearranged itself, in ways she wasn’t quite sure she was ready for.

She also woke up to a text and her heart took off running. 

Harry 🧝‍♂️ 🎄 : Merry Christmas Sugarplum!! Hope your day is as magic as you are xx

Fucking hell, he sent kisses, KISSES… Should she send kisses back, never mind the kisses she needs to type the actual text first.

Y/N: and a merry christmas to you jingles. have a lovely day with your family Harry xx

He sent two kisses so she sent two kisses, that seemed a safe bet. 

Harry 🧝‍♂️ 🎄: When are you back in the city? Xxx

THREE KISSES!

Y/N:  i’m back on the 28th, you? :) xxx

Harry 🧝‍♂️ 🎄: Crazy, me too! I’m going to hope you don’t have New Years plans yet and wanted to ask if you wanted to do something with me? Ring in the new year together? Xxx 

A second text came in before Y/N even managed to process what the first one had said. 

Harry 🧝‍♂️ 🎄: Plus I’m not going to lie, going from seeing you and spending all day every day with you to not seeing you at all today is shit and I’ve decided I hate it xxx 

Y/N:  yes!!! let’s do it, i didn’t have any plans anyway so absolutely want to spend it with you xxx 

Y/N:  p.s i hate it too :( xxx 

***

They had met outside the tube station, a warm embrace on the pavement as a greeting as they began their walk to find a spot on Primrose Hill for the night, filling each other in on what they had been up to on Christmas Day and the days since. They had both booked a few auditions for the first few weeks of January and Y/N had decided she was changing her life in the New Year and had done a massive clear out and deep clean of her flat. And Harry? Well, he’d came home from his Mum’s with a pet cat in tow, one his Mum had recently been fostering and Harry fell in love within the space of a few hours. He’d called her Jingles. 

They found a spot on Primrose Hill, both of them unpacking the bags they had brought with them. A picnic blanket each they layered on top of each other to shield their bums from the cold ground. A flask of soup and a flask of tea to keep them warm as well as some snacks and tinned cocktails to see them through the night to the bells. Harry also had a half-sized bottle of champagne tucked in his bag for them to pop at midnight. 

They spent their evening wrapped up in each other in their own little bubble getting to know one another more than they already did and as Midnight came and fireworks began to pop and sizzle in the sky and people around them waved glittering sparklers around and the nearest church bells rang signifying a new hour and a new year Harry kissed Y/N again, this time with more certainty, feeling the warmth of his embrace, the joy of being with someone who understood her completely. For the first time, in what felt like forever, Y/N realized she didn’t need anything else.

They had everything right here and they thought that was pretty magical.

[9agust3]

"You and your boyfriend were hanging out at a mutual friend's party, but things got a little too heated, and you both decided to sneak off to the restroom"

Pairing: Yoongi x Fem!Reader

Genre: Established relationship, Idol!Yoongi

Warnings: Sub!Yoongi and Soft Dom!Reader, public sex, quick handjob, praise, cunnilingus, hair pulling (m!receiving), she slaps his cock once, protected sex!!!, he fucks her against the sink, she covers his mouthARGH, they love each other so much:(

Wordcount: 2.6k

a/n: I saw yoongi's video on the day of ggukie's party, and I couldn't resist. He looked so handsome@&%^@$@ i miss him so much:(

Jungkook organized a private listening party for his new album, inviting his closest friends, and of course, you and Yoongi were on the guestlist. The party takes place at a bar, very nice and cozy, with delicious food, good decoration and lighting. Everyone is having fun, drinking, chatting, and laughing for quite a long time now, and you, feeling your boyfriend's eyes, which happen to be right next to you, burning into you. He's wearing a black shirt with a blazer over it, pants and shoes, all in the same color, and a simple silver necklace. A complete snack.

Honestly, if this party wasn't so important for Ggukie, you'd probably have ripped this outfit off of him before the party even started. He looks and smells so good, wearing his most expensive perfume just for you. You're dressed especially well too, in the same color palette as him, a black dress, an overcoat, knee-high leather boots, and silver accessories.

The younger boys and Hobi are drunk, singing and dancing together with other friends. Jin has also overstepped his bounds and is mumbling to himself in his chair. Namjoon is sitting next to you, talking to a nice guy he met. And you're laughing quietly at the clowns you're seeing. Until you feel your boyfriend's fingers caressing your thigh. You look at him, and he's looking straight ahead. You caress him with your foot under the table. He looks at you out of the corner of his eye and smiles at you.

You get up.

"I'm going to the bar. Come with me?"

Yoongi nods, looking up at you.

"Nam," you catch his eye, nudging him lightly, "I'm going to the bar with Yoongi. Text me if you need us."

"Sure, feel free," he says and gives you a sweet smile, then turns his attention back to the nice guy.

Yoongi gets up, and you take his hand, leading him to the bar, where you sit down.

"What can I do for you?" asks the barman.

"How about two shots of the best whisky you've got?"

"Right away."

"Thank you." You smile sweetly and turn your full attention to the brunette next to you. He was looking at you with eyes full of love.

"You're so beautiful."

You laugh awkwardly, "Did you enjoy your dinner? The food here is very good"

"I think so too, I'd like to try their ice cream too"

"We can pass there before we leave"

"Yeah."

The two of you sit in silence for a while, staring at each other and laughing softly.

"Here you go guys, can I help you with anything else?"

"No thanks, dear," you take your order.

"You're welcome. " He turns around.

Yoongi tastes the whisky.

"Is it good, kitten?" You lean your face on the palm of your hand and look at him with a silly smile.

Yoongi chuckles, "The drinks here are great. The two I had earlier have already left me a little cheerful, and I think you too, but you still brought me here. Do you want to get me drunk, woman?"

You let out a good laugh, "funny"

"If that's your plan, it'll work", he smiles.

"And what was your plan when you caressed my thigh?"

"None... I just wanted your attention", he looks at the glass in his hand, playing with it.

"Hey, look at me", you lift his face by his chin. "Now you have my attention."

Yoongi sighs and blinks repeatedly, his gaze on your mouth.

"Give me your wallet," you gesture with your hand.

He takes it out of his pocket and hands it to you without even thinking, you being bossy like that out of nowhere could have been the death of him. You take enough to pay for the two drinks, put it on the counter, and whisper in his ear.

"I just brought you here in case anyone asks where we went. Count to thirty and follow me." You nibble his earlobe, kiss his cheek, and then leave.

Yoongi's gaze follows you until you disappear down a corridor. He finishes his drink and patiently counts to thirty. And then he's looking for you, he imagines that you're waiting for him in the bathroom, which he doesn't know where it is. He turns down the same corridor you did before, looks around kinda lost until he's pulled tightly by the arm.

Yoongi lets out a painful whine as he is pressed against the cold wall of the bathroom. The door is now locked.

"Hi love."

"You've got your sexy voice on," he replied with a shaky breath.

"Yes, I do, and you like it."

"A lot."

You start kissing his neck, he sighs and closes his eyes.

"Are you all right, love?" You asked and caressed his cheek. He knows you're asking for his consent.

"Come back to my neck, please" he holds your wrist

"I need to hear you say it," you whisper in his ear

"Yes, I am."

Your hand is on the back of his neck now, fingers entwined in his dark locks. You kiss his neck like a vampire hungry for blood.

He puts one of his hands on your waist in an attempt to stay up, his knees are shaking, almost giving up on him. And you notice this, so to give him a hand, you press your knee right between his legs.

He gets off balance and accidentally ends up sitting on your thigh.

"Ah! love," he holds harder onto your waist with both hands now.

"Cute."

"That's embarrassing."

"I feel you, and you're already hard. I haven't done anything yet." You run the hand that was on the back of his neck down his body and slide it into his pants. You giggle naughty, "Let me guess, me throwing you against the wall is what got you that way?"

"I like it when you're rough"

"Yeah?", you hiss and press your thigh harder against his cock.

He throws his head back and lets out a delicious moan. You love what you see, but sadly, you take your hand out of his pants and lower your leg, leaving him with a devastated look.

"Baby please..."

"Put me on the sink", you take off your overcoat and hang it on a bag holder since you are in the lady's room.

"What?" he straightens up

"Or you don't want to taste me?"

He opens his eyes wide and reaches for you with desperate hands, pulling you close by the waist. He kisses you passionately, the way only he does and lifts you onto his lap.

He puts you on the sink carefully without breaking the kiss, which goes down to your neck, collarbones, cleavage, and belly. He's already on his knees in front of you. It's a scene you've seen many times before, but you can never stop involuntarily opening your legs during it.

The kisses are now on the inside of your thighs. He lifts your dress slightly and holds the hem of your panties, looking at you with the eyes of a puppy begging for a treat. You nod, giving him the consent he so desperately wanted, and he pulls your panties off with the help of his mouth, so slow that feels like torture. You can't stand how sexy he can be.

"Don't forget that we don't have much time"

"Yes mistress", he murmurs while giving you kisses right below your belly button.

It's not customary for the two of you to have sex in public, but everyone needs a break. Sometimes, it's hard to hold back. Like the time you two sneaked out to the car in the middle of one of his coworkers' fancy birthday party, or in the last trip you went together, where you rode him in the hot tub of the hotel you were staying in, at night when no one was around.

You almost made love in bed this morning, but Yoongi had to leave for work to be free by the time of the party, and you had things to do too. Having to hold back while getting ready, you both couldn't take your horniness any longer.

He puts your legs on his shoulders and licks your pussy, you hold him by the hair and close your eyes, breathing deeply.

Yoongi's tongue is not to be trifled with. He can take you there once, twice, and more without getting tired. It's so pleasurable for him to suck you, he doesn't even expect anything in return, just by seeing you feeling good and hearing you calling his name, he can come without even touching himself, or just accept it and stay quiet, like the good boy he is.

He stares at you from below, caressing your thighs.

You look at him and smile.

"Keep it up, kitten, don't stop. You're doing great," you push his hair away from his forehead and pat his head.

And with a flick of his tongue, the caress turns into a hair tug. You curse and squeeze him with your thighs. He holds them tighter and smirks without stopping working.

"Baby, I'm close"

He knows. He knows when you're near, you don't even have to tell him. He knows every bit of you, just like you know him. But you still say it because you know it turns him on. He lowers one of your legs to gain better access to your clit, which he rubs with his thumb.

"Now love", you exclaimed, trying to stay quiet, and he held you with the hand that was still on your thigh.

But instead of relaxing, you began to feel overstimulated as the brunette between your legs refused to stop tasting you.

"Yoongi, that's enough," you barked.

He ignored your order and began to reach into the pit of your knee to put your leg back over his shoulder. But before he could do that, you pulled him up sharply by the hair.

"I said enough." You hissed, shaking him with your hand tightly in his black hair.

He whimpers, closing his eyes tightly, looking for your hand in his hair.

"Put your hand down."

He leans on the sink with both hands around you and opens his eyes to look at you.

"I'm sorry, who?"

"I'm sorry"

He sighs, starting to close his eyes again, but you shake him by the hair.

"Huh? Answer me."

"I'm sorry mistress... it's hard for me to contain myself, I love tasting you so much"

"Oh my kitten, I forgive you, but as I said. We. don't. have. time." You pull his hair harder, and he moans, fucking the sink cabinet underneath you.

"Awn, is baby desperate for pussy?"

"Uh-huh," he moans with a pout on his lips.

"Do you want to cum in mommy's pussy?"

"Yes, please."

"Oh, my always polite boy, I hope you brought a condom, because I'm not leaving here dripping." You release his hair and give it a caress.

He reaches into his pocket for his wallet and pulls out a condom.

"Are we doing this so often? How did I miss that?" You laugh.

He puts the wallet away and puts the condom in his mouth, leaning back on the sink with his arms around you.

You smile and take the condom.

"Take off your pants."

He takes off his belt as quickly as he can, leaving his pants on his feet so that he can put them on quickly if he needs to.

"Take off your underwear and that blazer too."

He does it without contest. When he's finished, you pull him close by the necklace he's wearing. You open the condom and touch his length, moving your hand up and down before putting it on.

"Look at this pretty little cock" You give him a kiss, "Is it nice, my love?"

"Yes mistress"

You spit on his cock and speed up your movements, staring at him. And he lets out a long cry.

"Darling, you said we didn't have time!"

"Sorry, it's just that I love watching you squirm." You smile and give his cock a slap, to which he reacts with a gasp.

You put the condom on him, laugh, and lean back against the sink. Looking directly at him, you spread your legs.

"Come here, my love"

He comes closer and puts his hands on your waist, kissing you passionately. You feel his tip rubbing against your entrance.

You put your hands on his hips, pulling him forward, making him sink into you.

You both moan in unison, and he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close. Which you also do when you put your arms around his neck.

Your foreheads are together, and he moves slowly inside you.

"I love you so much, you know?" He sighs at you. "It doesn't matter where I am. My job is to serve you."

He runs his hand down your leg and kisses your neck.

"Am I doing okay mistress?" He asks between kisses.

"You're perfect, my love."

He speeds up his thrusts, and you put your hands inside his shirt, searching for his nipples. His moans are getting louder and whinier. You didn't care until you heard knocks on the door.

"Is the restroom occupied?" A female voice asks from outside.

You cover his mouth with your hand. "Don't stop," you whisper in his ear. "Yes! And I'll be a while, darling."

"But is everything all right?"

You take a deep breath before answering, trying to concentrate as Yoongi thrusts hard into your pussy.

"It's okay, I just need some time!"

"All right then, no rush", she says, and you hear the sound of her heels dissipate.

"Well done, my good boy." You praise him without removing your hand from his mouth. "What do you think about speeding it up a bit, huh?"

He lets out a muffled growl and does as you ask, gripping your thighs tightly and pulling them against him. You throw your head back, holding back a loud moan.

"Keep going baby, you're doing so well", your walls are already squeezing his cock, making it harder for him to work.

He lets out a long, desperate sob against your hand. Shutting his eyes tightly.

"Are you close, sweetheart?"

"Uh-huh," he nods several times.

"Me too, me too, baby. Let's cum together, how's that? Huh?"

You wrap your arm around his neck without taking your hand away from his mouth, and he hugs you tightly around the waist.

He rests his forehead on yours and thrusts a little harder.

"Yoongi"

He opens his eyes, you take your hand away from his mouth.

"I love you."

And he goes off with that, letting out an extended mewl, you right after him. You hold each other trembling, climaxing together.

"That was... wow!"

"Yeah, I can't believe we did that"

"My knees are shaking" he smiles.

You run your hand over his face and neck to wipe away some sweat.

"It's a good thing there's air conditioning in here, even with it we're all sweaty, imagine without it"

"And when you covered my mouth? I almost went mad"

"I knew you'd like it and I wasn't going to do the absurd thing of telling you to stop"

He takes off the condom and puts his pants back on. Picks up your panties, helping you put them on. You both finish getting dressed, and you pull him into a slow kiss.

"What about we get that ice cream and go home?"

"I think that's a great idea."

"Hey, this will be the last time we do this in public, okay?"

"Yes ma'am"

It certainly won't be the last time.

[latenighttalkinqwp]

can u do smth where reader is a gymnast and her a paige switch sports🤗

swapping sports with paige!

Uconn’s gymnastic media team wanted to get more recognition, so why not invite the new “recruit”, paige bueckers, to try some things out.

“Hey huskies! i’m here with paige bueckers. today, we are going to be testing out her gymnastic skills.” you wink, looking over at paige. “I think we all know i’m gonna be the new captain, my skills are unmatched.” she laughs, following you around the gym. “okay, so first we obviously have to get stretched. i’m gonna lead you in some split stretches to make sure we don’t tear anything.” you both sit on the ground, spreading your legs to sit in a straddle. you motion for paige to reach for her right foot, snorting when she can’t even get past her knee. “don’t mind this, i’m just not warmed up yet.” she shrugs, following everything you do.

“okay paige, now that we are all stretched, we’re gonna do some basic stuff across the floor.” paige nods, anxiously rubbing her hands on her pants. you begin to do cartwheels down the floor, motioning for paige to follow once you finish. “i’m a cartwheel pro.” paige mumbled to the camera, taking a deep breath as she began doing cartwheels ( well, paige’s idea of cartwheels. ) the camera zooms in on your face, capturing your reaction. “well then..i guess we should probably move on.”

“right, so, today’s challenge is to learn how to do a backbend.” you look over at paige, practically feeling the nerves radiating off of her. she nods, rubbing her hands together. “put the rizz hands down-”

“okay- we just need a few more clips of you and paige together then that should be good! thanks guys!” the media manager said, motioning for you and paige to come back over to the cameras. they instructed you guys on what they wanted, and focused on the chemistry between you and the blonde. after a few more minutes, they finally were finished. “okay guys, thanks so much for coming in today!” the manager said, waving as her team packed up. the girls smiled, muttering a quiet ‘thank you’ as they walked out of the gym.

“hey, it was really cool hanging out with you today,” paige held the door open for you, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. “i agree! y’know, if basketball dosen’t work out, i’m sure i could find you a spot on the gymnastics team.” you smiled, putting your hands in your pockets to try and find your car keys. paige laughed, walking you over to your car. you could tell she had something to say because she kept looking over at you, then back to the ground. you opened your trunk, and threw your bags inside. ( trying to go as slow as possible )

“hey- um.. do you think i could get your phone number? i was thinking we could maybe go out to eat or something sometime? maybe?” paige scratched the back of her neck, her ears flushing red. “um- yeah for sure!” you giggled, taking her unlocked phone from her hands and typing your number in. “thanks. today was fun. it felt nice to not have to worry about basketball for like five seconds.” paige rambled, looking down at her phone. “shoot, speaking of basketball. okay well, i’ll make sure to text you!” she waved, as she jogged off awkwardly to her car. you giggled at the blonde, sighing as you got into your car.

unknown

shoot, coach almost made me run for being late to practice. it was worth it though 😉

- thanks so much for reading all the way through! likes and reblogs are appreciated. click here to see my masterlist 💘

- trying to clear out my inbox:)

[eliza-and-her-monsters]

the tortured poets department

Info Post

Moodboards

Part I

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TW: This chapter contains physical violence, bullying towards neurodivergent/autistic people, vi being a biiiit of a dick, and jinx just being a chaotic mess (we love her)

WC: 4.5k

Part III

bad blood

“Can you read mine?” I blurted out once I returned to the full table where Jinx was scanning through her cards once more. My hands and cheeks were probably as red as rubies as I took my seat, and hoped to actually stay in it for a while this time.

“I can, but just so you know I am simply a messenger and if the cards need to call you out then they will.” She explained with a clearly targeted scowl towards Ellie.

“You’re into this kind of thing?” Vi wondered with a soft nudge of my foot underneath the table as she was already lounging back against the couch.

“A little, yeah.” I shrugged simply before turning back towards Jinx with a small flush on my cheeks. “Go ahead, I’m ready to be called out.”

“Excellent.” Jinx grinned in a way that I could only describe as maniacal as she whipped out a lighter and a bundle of what looked like dried grass squeezed together with twine.

“Ummm, aren’t you not supposed to have an open flame in here?” Ellie chirped almost anxiously from her spot.

“Geez, you guys really are so tense. Why don’t you take a breath?” An unfamiliar voice chimed in from across the table immediately causing Ellie’s head to pop up in the direction of the girl that had spoke. Dina, I believed is what her name was tossed back her long black hair over her shoulder. “Jinx has only blown up a couple of things anyways.”

“That is an absolutely wild thing to say.” Ellie enunciated in what could almost be read as horror. “You understand how that’s an absolutely wild thing to say right?”

“Relax, you’re not supposed to have a lot of things in here. Firearms, explosives, the weed Vi has stashed in her bag and what she’s definitely going to smoke later.” Jinx drawled on as she expertly blew out the flame sparked on the bunched up grass before letting the smoke envelop the tarot deck with ease.

“What the hell, dude! Be a little bit quieter whenever you say that!” Vi voiced with a mild groan.

“You can shuffle, in any way you want.” Jinx responded without a care in the world as she passed the deck off towards me.

“Okay… cool.” I spoke, retrieving my frostbitten and clearly shaking hands from my pockets.

“Mills, you look like you’re freezing, do you want this?” Ellie questioned with a gentle nudge as she was already reaching for the edges of her flannel to pull it off.

“It’s all good, it was my fault anyways. I’ve got it.” Vi chimed in with a clear of her throat as she shrugged the leather jacket from her shoulders. I could’ve gasped at the large muscles on display, the tattoos stretching from her back and down her arms, one of which just slightly concealed by a layer of bandages wrapped around her forearm which nearly had me thinking the worst at first had it not been for the other injuries sprinkled around her body. One atop her bicep by her shoulders and one just off to the side of her chest. Suddenly the underground fighting ring made sense.

“God, you are such a fucking whore. Can you not distract her while I’m trying to give her a reading?” Jinx groaned in annoyance as she gave her a subtle shove even though it looked as if Vi could overpower her pretty easily.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so insecure in my life actually.” Ellie mumbled to herself with a bit of a grimace. “God, I really need to hit the gym.”

“Hockey players usually work out together a few times a week if you wanna come.” Vi directed towards Ellie with a knowing smirk just before I could feel the leather jacket being draped over my shoulders. It was so warm I nearly felt every bit of the cold from outside melting away, her distinctive masculine scent still lingering now even more so. “You can come too, doll.”

The heat in my cheeks remained as I slid my arms through the oversized jacket that could’ve nearly swallowed me. “Maybe.” I answered with a tiny shrug as I shuffled the cards around in my hand, every attempt to look cool probably muddled by how flustered I seemed to be with every little comment she made. “Here.” I cleared my throat as I handed the cards back to the curious Jinx.

“Alright… here we go.” She practically smirked as she pulled three cards from the deck and spread them out in front of me before flipping the first one over with a flourish. Immediately my heart seemed to twist in my chest at the art piece scrawled across: Death. “Nice, I don’t see that one often!” Jinx seemed much too cheerful at the sight as she reached across the table to give me a pat on the back.

“Ummm… wh-what does that mean?” I stammered with widened eyes.

“Relax new girl, Death doesn’t always mean actual death, usually it just means… like, losing a certain part of your life. Or even killing off a part of yourself. It’s a sign something in your life needs to be let go of, something that isn’t serving you anymore. Now… next up we have-” she began with a flip of the next one, “The Lovers. Questionable at best.”

“I thought the lovers was a good card.” Ellie spoke in confusion from next to me.

“You would think, the true card of love is oftentimes seen as Two of Cups though. The Lovers itself represents… choices, you could say. Choices, temptations, with the addition of the death card it could also indicate sacrifice?” She shrugged as if delivering the most casual piece of news ever before flipping over the last card. “Seven of Cups, you’re a daydreamer, aren’t you?” She questioned with probably the first genuine smile I had seen her crack since we’d been here.

“Being a writer, yeah, kind of comes with the territory.” I said with a nervous smile of my own.

“Keep it up, because you could find purpose in those daydreams.“ It seemed so simple compared to the other two cards, so much so I nearly felt myself hyperfixating on that one card alone even as she slid everything back into place. “Sweet, that was an intense one, but definitely juicy.”

“That’s one way to put it, I guess.” I stated with the same heat creeping back up into my cheeks almost annoyingly.

~

I didn’t feel super talkative throughout the rest of the night besides a quick rush to the bathroom to deliver the news of the kiss to Ellie. It was still hard to gauge her reaction. I almost wondered if she’d be happier if it was someone else, anyone else besides the fighting hockey player who had fucked my sister a solid few times. And maybe she had a point. Ellie was a quiet sort of protective though. She never stopped me from doing anything, she would give her thoughts in private declarations, and was always there if things went south. I guess maybe that’s why it was hard to know how she felt.

Luckily for her own overactive imagination though, she was a lightweight. Two beers in and it became as easy as ever for her to drag herself into her own room and knock out. I wish it could’ve been the same for me, or I drank more either way because the moment I curled up in bed sleep became impossible.

My thoughts were completely consumed by her. Her unruly and spiky pink hair she probably stained every surface with dying. The scent of her cologne that I wished lingered just a little bit longer. The feel of her warm hands on my body with her husky voice and muscular frame.

No, sleep wasn’t anywhere near in my future.

~

It was past 8 whenever Ellie finally woke up to find me hunched over my laptop in the living room and surrounded with various pieces of ripped paper and my journal plopped face down on the coffee table. “Woah, you’re up early.” She spoke through a yawn as she rubbed at her eyes.

“I never went to sleep.” I answered without looking up from my laptop, fingers flying across the keys.

“Christ.” Ellie cursed under her breath as she smacked her open palm against her face. “Millie, you should’ve came and got me if you were having trouble sleeping.” She groaned, shuffling forward in her mothman slippers to plop down next to me. “Babe, hands off of the keyboard for a second.” She ordered, gentle but stern hands wrapping around my wrists to pry them from the keys.

“No wait, not yet! They’re about to have their meet cute! Their- Their inciting incident.” I protested as Ellie snatched the laptop from my grasp, eyes briefly scanning over the lit up screen.

“Are you- Are you writing a love story?” She wondered in almost shock. “I thought you were working on a tragedy.”

“All love stories are inherently tragedies.” I spoke, twirling a pen I had stolen from the coffee table in between my fingers as the sudden thought sprung up into my head. “To love is to- is to-” I groaned a bit at the blurry end of the sentence somewhere in my mind, quickly flipping to an empty page of my journal to scribble down the words. “To love is be vulnerable. No, no, that’s not it.” I huffed as I roughly marked out the words. “To love is to accept loss- but love isn’t always accepting though.”

“You know love isn’t supposed to feel like that.” Ellie sighed a bit, gentle fingers carefully tucking the stray strands of hair out of my face as they had escaped from the loose ponytail a while ago.

I blew out another hefty sigh as I hunched forward to bury my head in my arms. “I’m sorry you have to deal with my mania.”

“You’re not making me deal with anything… I’m your best friend. It’s part of it.” She spoke with a shake of her head, gentle but strong arms coming upwards to tug me away from the mess of the coffee table. “C’mon, you need to get some sleep. I’ll be your pillow.”

“You just woke up, and I thought you had practice.” I protested even though I never wanted to say no to her offer of cuddles. Maybe it was inappropriate and I was a bit too obsessed with cuddles. It felt like since I was a kid it had always been hard to fall asleep without a body next to me. I couldn’t count the times I had snuck off to Caitlyn’s room in the middle of the night and crawled underneath the blankets with her. It was just the security of being next to someone. Sometimes an illusion. But I think I was okay with illusions for now.

“Not until later, and it’s only for a few hours before club rush.” Ellie answered just before stretching her longer legs across the length of the couch giving me few choices but to snuggle into her chest. “I wouldn’t mind a little bit more shut eye though, I just wanted to check on you.”

“Wake me up before you leave?” My voice sounded half muffled burrowed in her black shirt.

“Not a chance.” She denied, lounging her head against the arm rest of the couch to use as a makeshift pillow. “You can wake up on your own time and then if we’re still practicing you can meet me at the rink to watch.” She said hopefully causing a little grin to stretch on my lips.

“Sheesh, no wonder people think we’re dating. You’re a stage 5 clinger.” I teased with a giggle.

“Okay, who is the one currently clung to me like a damn koala right now? Sorry I forgot.”

“Dipshit.” I gave her shoulder a playful shove just before curling back up to her chest, it was hard not to get tired with her cuddles. She was soft, the quiet thump of her heartbeat always echoed in my ears, she kept her breathing steady, a calm rise and fall that she timed with the soothing circles she always rubbed on my back. And she smelled exactly like the way I imagined skipping through a wildflower field would. “I love you.” I murmured in a sleepy voice, my heavy eyes finally drawing to a close.

“I love you too, squirt.” I could faintly hear her voice just before I felt myself doze off.

~

Whenever I woke up again Ellie was already long gone, a blanket draped over top of me and a large squishmallow shoved underneath my head to act as a pillow. The apartment felt weird being empty, a few boxes that had yet to be unpacked scattered around the area and I had to fight the urge to start trying to unpack some more. Then I would probably never leave.

The lack of sleep still weighed heavily on my brain but at least I didn’t feel like I was going to keel over anymore. I threw myself in the shower for a hot second hoping it would wake me up, and thankfully it sort of did. I decided on a simple band hoodie and a pair of leggings after shooting a text to Caitlyn and asking what the dress code for club rush was. Luckily there really wasn’t one.

I rubbed at the sleep in my eyes before going to place my glasses back on my face before an alternate thought crossed my mind. I usually didn’t wear my contacts, they were difficult to get in and occasionally weren’t sensory friendly but… maybe it could be time for a change. So with a heavy breath I plopped the little pieces of plastic into my eyes, a string of blinks and a few watery tears following.

I speed braided a strand of my hair before tossing it up into a low ponytail. Then sending Ellie a quick text for a coffee order while packing my things up for a semi busy day, headphones, medicine, notebooks, laptop etc…

Ellie Sunshine ☀️: the rink actually has a sick coffee bar you have to check out 🤭

Ellie Sunshine ☀️: also abby is out for blood today- if i die just know i want to be planted into a tree. willow specifically.

Millie Moon 🌙: i’ll avenge you bby g

Ellie Sunshine ☀️: AVENGE ME MILLIE!! AVENGE ME!!

I let out a giggle at her text messages before slipping my phone back into my pocket and shoving my AirPods into my ears before I could go and retrieve my bike. I always felt a level of anxiety whenever I walked outside alone and I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the general sense that things were well and truthfully changing. I was trying to be independent though. It’s not as if Ellie and I had every single class together, there were bound to be some days we’d leave at different times. I needed to get used to it.

The indoor hockey rink was a tall and intimidating structure. Designed to look like a ship it looked more like a dystopian hell than anything. Grey and cold and the dreary weather of Oxford didn’t help either.

Practice was already in full swing working on scoring or a scrimmage or… I wasn’t entirely sure. Sports were never really my thing, nevertheless though I never turned down the chance to go to a game with Caitlyn. Call it the gay in me, I guess. That little aspect suddenly made her relationship with Vi make more sense. She was a beast on the ice, a ruthless animal who wasn’t afraid to get too rough. Not rough in the way that her teammate Abby Anderson seemed to get though. Ellie was right. She did seem to be out for blood with the way she zipped around the ice and treated her stick like it was an extension of her arm.

I gnawed on my bottom lip as I scanned the rink for Ellie’s figure while digging out my notebook. I was so glad she had finally gotten a chance to play. Playing all through high school only to have most of her time overtook by the army afterwards, she was almost afraid she was too out of practice to get back into it. She was great though, better than any typical freshman, I swore she nearly cried whenever she finally got her jersey. Proud to have her name on something for once.

A little smile stretched on my lips at the sight of her whipping around the ice with ease, a slight glimpse of unkept pink hair took my attention though as she skated in towards the puck from the opposite side. The name: Violence written in place of a last name on the back of her jersey. “Ugh, I can’t believe they let her do that.” I heard a scoff from behind me, flinching just the slightest bit before I could around to face the sound. Jinx stood on the row behind me, blue braids spun up into two thick space buns secured at the bottom of her head. “Violence. It’s so cheesy.” She hopped down into the same row as me, plopping down in the seat next to mine before lounging back on her elbows. “So- come here often?” She teased with a waggle of her eyebrows causing me to let out a little laugh.

“Uhhh… no, actually, Ellie wanted me to meet her at practice though so- I’m here.” I said with a tiny shrug while twirling my pencil around my fingers.

“What’re you working on?” Jinx wondered next with a quick change of subject as she gave my notebook a little nudge.

“Oh uhhh… just this like- song thing, I guess you could call it. I started it last night I just, you know, had this chorus in my head.” I answered with a bit of heat creeping up into my cheeks. “Y-You can read it if you want.” I wondered cautiously, always expecting the worst, but I swore I could’ve seen Jinx’s eyes light up in that moment.

“Oh! Word?!” She exclaimed with a grin before snatching the notebook from my hands without hesitation. “I’d love to!” She grinned before letting her eyes scan over the page. All the while I fidgeted with the ends of my sleeves hoping my one paragraphed unedited chorus wasn’t too bad. “Woah- you are quite down bad over somebody if I must say. I mean, it’s good! It’s definitely good… but- definitely down bad.”

My cheeks felt as rosy as ever and not just because of the cold as I shook my head, but not in denial. “I’m- I don’t know what’s going on with me. I-I haven’t felt this way since-“

“Ellie?” Jinx predicted with ease causing my eyes to widen in surprise.

“Wha- wh-why would you think that? I mean, don’t you have a close friend that everybody thinks you’re dating?”

Jinx only snickered with a smirk as she gave me a quick nudge, “Nope.” She said almost proudly with a loud pop. “I get why you guys aren’t together though, dating your mental hospital roomie can get complicated. I mean, I’m not saying that dating Vi wouldn’t be complicated either but-”

“Wait, how did you? I- I never told you any of that.”

“Doggy, was yesterday not a clue? I stay eavesdropping, I’m in everybody else’s business but my own. Especially my sister’s.” Jinx explained without a hint of shame, and I almost had to respect it.

“I- I don’t know how I feel about you watching me make out with your sister.” I spoke with my eyebrows furrowing together in response, but all I got from Jinx was a loud gasp as she gave me a little swat.

“Oh my God, new girl! I didn’t listen in to that point! Holy shit!” She practically squealed but all it made me do was cringe in anxiety. “Well, whatever it is you’re into, you might wanna figure it out. You’re not the only one who’s got a little crush.” Jinx hummed as she gave me a little nudge and gestured off towards one of the other sides of the rink where the same girl from last night was stood. Black hair tied up in a low ponytail this time, arms crossed as she peered into the rink with a look of fierce concentration.

“Well, I want Ellie to be happy so- if Ellie likes her then… I would be okay with it.” I voiced, though trying to hide the general crushing weight that crept into my chest just at the mere mention. The same ache Ellie had told me about last night. “Besides, she doesn’t like me like that- she made it really clear.”

“Did she? Because I know we’re not exactly experts at reading human emotions.”

“Well, I’m an expert at reading Ellie at least.” I shrugged with a little sigh.

A commotion knocked us both from our conversation though, a little breath hitching in my throat the moment I saw Abby’s gloved hands on Ellie again. “Stop!” I yelped out in anxiety, briefly remembering the memory of her telling me about the plethora of injuries she had received from the explosion that had changed everything, a TBI staring right at me in glowing red lights.

Their helmets went rolling down the ice as I watched the two girls hit the floor, “Fucks sake, Abby!” Ellie groaned in pain as her bare cheekbone touched the ice. Thankfully she was strong and knew how to fight back as she swung her off of her, hand flying to her cheek with a hiss of pain.

“Anderson! I told you save for the violence for the other team! That’s the second time you’ve targeted Williams in two days-“ The intimidating coach finally exclaimed from her observational spot in the wings, though part of her seemed to be willing to let it play out.

“Well maybe she should stay out of my fucking shot!” Abby exclaimed, a declaration that had me widening my eyes at her bravery that she’d speak to someone like Sevika in that way. Sevika who already looked as if she was about to blow. The Andersons were much like the Kirammans though, in the sense a lot of the faculty needed to be careful.

“I’m on fucking defense, Abby! What do you expect me to do?! A-Are you gonna do this during actual games too?!” Ellie shouted as she removed her hand to reveal the angry red splotch underneath her eye where she had been rammed into the ice.

“That was a foul, I saw it.” Vi spoke up as she flew over towards where the two girls stood just off of the ice. “She swiped her so she’d purposefully fall on her face.”

Coach Sevika held up a hand as if to tell her it’d be taken care of. “Everyone, take 5, Anderson, Williams, work out your issues and don’t come back until you do. Williams, do you need a medic?”

“I’m fine, I can take care of it.” Ellie huffed as she pushed herself off of the ice with a wince.

“Then why did you get us benched?!” Abby bellowed as she trailed close behind her to give her a firm shove.

“Hey! Stop, leave her alone!” I repeated probably helplessly for the second time, taking off down the stairs and after where the two were arguing.

For a moment I nearly saw Ellie’s past flash in her usually gentle green eyes. The US Army solider who had had to defend herself from much worse and was always prepared for the worst. I didn’t wanna know what would’ve happened if I hadn’t reached her whenever I did. Nearly tripping over my own two feet as I cautiously crept up next to her. She had taught me a long time ago how to approach her whenever a PTSD trigger hit. I never really got the chance to before Abby was lashing out again, darting her angered expression towards me to the point where I nearly flinched.

“Ellie why don’t you tell your fucking schizo of a girlfriend to stay out of it!”

Ellie’s eyes darkened in a way I hadn’t seen before, the way I imagined they would have on the battlefield as she whipped around to face her with an intensity that had almost gotten her her first shot against her. “What did you just fucking call her?!”

“Ellie, Ellie please- don’t.”

“What the hell is your problem, Anderson?” Vi had finally caught up to the two and I was thanking my lucky stars that she hadn’t heard what had come out of Abby’s mouth.

I gulped an anxious lump down my throat as I slid a hand into Ellie’s gloved one, attempting to pull her off towards the locker rooms but her feet were grounded in place. “I’m really fucking sorry about what happened to your dad, Abby, okay?” She finally spoke up earning me a confused expression from Vi that I could only meet with a shrug. “It was disgusting, inexcusable and it never should’ve happened and trust me whenever I say those soliders never should’ve gotten away with it and I swear to you if I would’ve had any say in it then they wouldn’t have. But respectfully if you have any shit you need to take out on me then do it off of the ice, and if you say one more word like that about Millie you’re going to see that US Army side of me real fucking fast.”

My eyes widened in shock, almost feeling like my feet were glued to the floor as I watched her whirl around and head towards the direction I had been trying to pull her in. “What did you fucking say about Millie?” Venom seemed to drip from Vi’s lips as she turned towards Abby with a fierce glare.

“Uh-oh-” I could hear Jinx’s subtle commentary causing me to curse underneath my breath.

“Man, it isn’t important, I was just pissed.” Abby tried to brush off, but Vi wasn’t having it.

“Clearly it was if you felt the need to bring her into this so tell me, what did you fucking say to her?!” Vi growled just before slamming her body into the protective glass wrapping around the rink.

“Vi- s-stop, please!” I stammered, reaching out to latch onto her broad shoulders as I tried to pry her off. She was so much bigger though, pure muscle seeming to be made out of steel as she refused to move.

“Millie, go check on Ellie, okay? I’ll handle this.” She ordered, body towering over mine even as she peered over her shoulder to face me.

“Violet please-“

“I wasn’t asking!” The words probably came out much harsher then expected causing me to wince once more. She commanded authority, and still I wondered if she was simply trying to protect me or what. But I wouldn’t challenge her after that.

“O-Okay.” I stammered, an ache settling behind my eyes as I turned on my heel to venture back into the locker room.

“Ugh, you are such a dick, do you know that?” I heard Jinx’s voice carry down the hallway, meanwhile I gulped down a heavy lump in my throat as I quickened my pace to take off in Ellie’s direction.

A/N: Two hot girls fighting for your honor- wow, living the dream 🩵

As always please let me know your thoughts! I am really am trying to slow down but it’s hard to whenever I love what I’m writing so much 🤭🥹

[r4fe-cam3ron]

CHRISTMAS STORY EIGHT | MERRY CHRISTMAS, I MISS YOU — s. harrington x reader

w; angsty! but has a cute ending :p

an; close to the ending! posting this one early so i can post the surprise one today as well <3!!

Steve Harrington used to be a cocky individual - or so it seemed, with the front he always tried to keep up until he finally allowed those walls to tumble after Nancy Wheeler. 

He wanted to prove himself to her, in a strange manner, and now he realizes that, maybe, if he would’ve truly just been himself instead of someone who Tommy Hagan and Carol Barrett wanted to hang around, things probably wouldn’t have ended the way they did. 

But, then he wouldn’t have been able to meet you with the way things had gone with Nancy. You were the epitome of a true angel. The day you’d stepped through the doors was his very first day in Family Video. 

Any and every word had slipped from his mind, forgetting how rude it was to practically stare at someone you don’t even know. 

You’d laughed about it and had continued to come to Family Video every Thursday and Friday night - conveniently the days he works night. 

It was you who had made the first move - a smile as you leaned on your elbows on the counter towards him. His brain had gone to mush again at the look on your face and the smell of your perfume invading his nose. Floral with a bit of cherry. 

“So am I asking for your number or are you asking for mine?” It was such a stupid line, yet it had worked. His fingers fumbling for a pen, knocking them into the floor in the process, Robin pausing her sweeping to stare back at him with an unimpressed look on her face. 

Your fingers have pressed to your mouth as you laugh, watching him grab a yellow post-it note before handing it to you. Everything had gone great - everyone in the party loved you, they always wanted you to be with Steve at anything he was invited to. 

Then things suddenly, somehow, went sour. He’d become more guarded, seemingly less interested than he was at first. He started to push you away more until there was nothing left to push away from. 

Now he’s sitting all alone, watching some weird movie playing on the television. The tuxedo he was wearing was so comfortable that he could probably fall asleep in it. He’d left his Dad’s work party early - nothing but older men and women there. 

The cookie he eats drops crumbs onto the lapel of his jacket and a bit on his pants. He tosses the rest on a napkin and leans back as he blinks at the television. 

“What is this?” He mutters to himself, grabbing the remote and turning the television off. He sits in the quiet for a while, puckering his lips slightly before standing. He pats at his pockets, slipping the pack of cigarettes out. He walks outside without grabbing a coat, immediately lighting the cigarette. 

He wasn’t planning on walking around aimlessly, but that’s what ended up happening. And that’s how he found himself in front of your small, cozy home, staring inside at the tree and the warm lights. 

There’s chatter going on inside, a loud laugh from somewhere in the house that he recognizes as you. He steps a bit closer, stopping when he realizes how close he is to the lawn. 

Then he realizes what he’s doing. He’s staring into your home. Through a window. In the middle of the night, like a creep, in a tuxedo as he freezes to death. He barely registers the chattering in his teeth and how tense and shaky his body is. 

The door suddenly opens and you step out onto the doorstep, tilting your head. “Steve?” 

He slowly turns and looks at you, his lips pulling into a tight smile. “Hi. Hello.” 

“What are you doing here, staring through my window? And without a coat? Are you insane?” 

Yes. Maybe. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…I was just aimlessly walking around.” 

“Oh,” He watches as your body slightly drops. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. “Uhm, would you…would you like to come in? Warm up for a bit?” 

“Is that…okay? I don’t want to intrude.”

You motion him inside. “It’s just some family. You’re not intruding.” He nods and follows you inside, shutting the door behind him. His nose is instantly hit with the smell of cinnamon, chocolate, and something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. 

“Are you hungry?” You turn to him, arms dropping when you realize again that he doesn’t have a coat. 

“Not really.” He shakes his head. 

“Oh,” You nod. “Thirsty? My mom made some homemade hot chocolate.” 

He debates and eventually nods. “Yeah. That does sound nice.” 

You smile softly and he can’t help but think of how pretty you look with the warm Christmas lights hitting the side of your face, highlighting your features perfectly. 

“Okay, follow me.” 

He feels bad, truly. For standing outside your home and staring into the window, watching your family. And for how things ended. Once in the kitchen, he sits on the bar-stool, clearing his throat. 

“How have you been?” 

You glance over your shoulder when you grab a cup, shutting the cabinet door back as you shrug. You step over towards the stove where a pot sits on the eye, steam slowly rolling off the top. “I’ve been okay, I guess. Nothing really interesting happening,” You place the cup in front of him. “Whipped cream, marshmallows, or both?” 

“Both.” He nods. You nod and grab the bag of marshmallows, dropping a couple into the cup before opening the refrigerator door, grabbing the can out. 

“How about you?” You shut the door and step back, spraying some over the top of the layer of marshmallows. 

He watches. “Thanks,” He says when you stop. You nod and lean against the counter, looking at him the same way you did that night you’d used that one stupid line. “I’ve been…okay. I’ve been better.” 

You hum softly and nod, looking down at the counter this time. “What were you actually doing outside, Steve?” It sounds like you’re hopeful. Like you’re wanting him to answer in a certain way. 

“I was honestly aimlessly walking,” He says seriously. “I was at home because I left my dad’s work party early. Some weird movie was on television so I walked outside to smoke,” Your brows lift at that, eyes lifting to meet his. Smoke? When did he start smoking? “I hadn’t even realized I even started walking until I stopped.” 

“Oh.” 

You seem disappointed with that answer and he honestly doesn’t know what kind of answer you wanted. 

“So after this, you’re going to continue to not speak to me again?” 

Steve stares at you quietly, lips parting. He goes to speak, but someone enters the kitchen. “And who is this handsome man?” Your - very stumbly - aunt smiles, waving with her fingers. 

“This is Steve,” You motion towards him. He waves awkwardly. Oh, god. Family. Your family is here. “Steve, this is my Aunt Alexa.” 

“Well, what are you two doing in here? The fun’s in the living room - come on now!” She grabs your hand, pulling you with her. You glance back at Steve who sits there for a moment. Debating on if he should leave, and do exactly what you had just asked about, he sighs and stands, following you into the living room, standing next to you. 

“Oh, look at them,” Alexa grins, eyes drifting upwards. “There’s a rule you have to follow though.” She makes a slight face, wiggling her brows. Steve gulps and quickly looks up at the mistletoe your dad had put up this morning when your mom had passed. 

It seems as if he’d forgotten to take it down. 

“No,” You quickly shake your head. “No. No, we don’t have to follow the rules. It’s stupid. Besides, I believe Steve was leaving. He was just coming over to…” 

“To pick up my movie,” Steve lamely makes up an excuse. You wanted him to leave so he’ll go. “Thanks for the hot chocolate.” 

You nod. “I’ll walk you out.” Your cheeks are flushed red from embarrassment, cutting in front of him as you walk towards the door. 

“Sorry again,” He says softly. “I didn’t mean to…just—”

“Show up. I know,” You nod, eyes drifting outside towards the snow that falls. “You’ve made that clear.” 

Steve rubs his lips together before stepping out into the cold once again. Before you could close the door, he quickly turned. “I’m sorry for not calling you back.” 

“It’s fine, Steve. I understand—”

“No. You don’t understand,” He shakes his head. The tip of his nose and the top of his cheeks had begun to grow a pretty pink color. “I truly like you. I know it seems like I have a weird way of showing you, but I do,” 

Your arms cross over your chest when goosebumps have started to slowly lift across your arms. “I…when I begin to like someone, have strong feelings for them, I shut down,” He takes a breath. “Not because I don’t want to put in that effort; but because I’m scared too,” 

“When I was dating Nancy, everything seemed…easier in a way. I was doing things that I would never do again in a million years because I’m so embarrassed I acted that way. Granted, I was young, but still,” He takes a deep breath. “With you it seemed…complicated.” 

“Oh, thanks. That makes me feel better.” You let out a scoff, hand lifting to push the door shut. He quickly steps up again, pushing it back open. You're startled by his quick movements, head rearing back slightly. 

“I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” He shakes his head. “I should’ve worded that differently—”

“You think?” 

He finishes his words. “It was scary in a good way,” He nods. “It was new. Fresh. I could actually be myself with you - I never knew who I was, exactly, since I've always tended to be different around different people so I can match them effortlessly without them judging me,” 

Your eyes glance down at the ground before looking back up when he shifts closer. His freckles had faded across his nose. “I pushed you away because I felt…” He stops and his face falters. 

“Felt what?” You ask softly. 

“I love you,” He blurts out. “And it was…it was embarrassingly fast how easy it was to fall in love with you. I think that’s what made it complicated,” You let out a small breath. 

“Because it was easy. I’m used to difficult and ‘will they, won’t they’ type of relationship. This doesn't…this feeling doesn’t come close to even touching—”

He’s cut off by your lips brushing against his, your hands cradling his jaw. It takes him a moment, but he’s lifting his own hands to cradle your jaw in a gentle hold, stepping closer. 

Pulling away slowly, your nose nudges him once, twice, three times with a small smile. He presses another quick kiss against your lips. 

“If you do that again, Steve,” You look up at him. “I will not let you in again.” 

He nods and smiles softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Do you mind if I stay for a while longer?” He asks quietly. 

You reach over and shut the door. “No. I don’t mind,” You shake your head. “And, Steve?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I love you too,” You nod. “It was…scary to me as well - but it felt nice. Like nothing before.” 

His thumb presses into your cheek and he kisses you once again - soft, sweet, and slow before pulling away. “Good to know.” 

| tags — @oceanblvd111 ; @ali-r3n

| please do not copy my work! comments, feedbacks, reblogs, & requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated! ❅

| border — @/silkholland

[hemingwaystan]

I know this is an old post but like I saw it and it was one of the most deranged, deluded things I've seen in a normally totally sane community and I can and will be mad at it. Brother are you impaired? Heisenberg/Rose????? Rose IN HER OLDEST PORTRAYAL IS A TEENAGER, HEISENBERG IS ROUGHLY A CENTURY OLD. Heisenberg is not running around diddling teenagers. That's sickening. And Ethan can be trans, it probably wasn't intended but not one thing in the game contradicts it. Does Ethan decide to triumphantly wave his cock around? I didn't think so. And Heisenberg/Zoe is just generally out of pocket, the fuck do they have to do with each other. And Heisenberg/Alcina, brother, I say again, the fuck you smoking??? It's a relevant plot point just how much they hate each other. Alcina rants about him in her diary and Heisenberg makes it very clear in his writings and speaking as well. THE REASON WINTERSBERG IS POPULAR AND THESE JOKES AREN'T IS BECAUSE WINTERSBERG IS ACTUALLY COHERENT AND CUTE. LET THE LARGE AMOUNT OF THEIR CONTENT CONTINUE BECAUSE IT'S GOOD, GOOD SHIT. Also this isn't a tirade against het ships, my problem is not that it's het, it's that these ships are all stupid and Wintersberg is not. I'm an ardent Donnaberg shipper, my problem is not that. Although, as an extraordarily gay individual person I appreciate some quality yaoi, ngl. Anyways, this is a stupid post, Heisenberg isn't going to fuck Alcina because he hates her, Heisenberg isn't going to fuck Zoe because they're completely unrelated, Heisenberg isn't going to fuck Rose because he doesn't go around diddling children and on a comparative timescale it's basically pedophilia. Alright, that's it, I just can't, I just fucking can't, who in the god damn do you think you are to be the arbiter of what people ship. You are clearly an aggressively straight man and if you have this much of a problem I bet you're deep down closeted. Like, this isn't intended to be personal but it kind of came out that way, it's just, why? Why? What is the reasoning to say something like this, go bomb an abortion clinic dumbass.

when the entire fandom is flooded with wintersberg shit, suppressing het pairings, especially when they are so rare and they have almost no fans, is disgusting.

[bambi-kinos]

I don't know much about Brian Epstein other than that he was the manager and that he was gay. Do you think it made a difference for John and Paul? Better or worse? He must have known about the two of them, don't you think? This might be the craziest ask but do you think George and Ringo had "bisexual experiences" with John and or Paul too apart from that circel jerk?

A paragraph summary: Brian Epstein was a gay Jewish man born in a family established in Liverpool. He faced a lot of anti-Semitic prejudice as a child and an adult which affected his sense of self profoundly and riddled him with self doubt. He was very intelligent and astute businessman who was close to his mother, father, and younger brother Clive. He was one of those aimless people who wandered through life, mastering skills and solving problems quickly and then becoming bored once there was nothing left to do. He attended RADA, served briefly in the British army (there was still a draft at the time), and then went home to manage the family business as his father got older. He built up the Epsteins' furniture business and then moved on to the family record shop in Liverpool proper. Brian was good at keeping his ear to the ground regarding trends and realized teen clients with pocket money were his new target audience. He caught wind of The Beatles through them (the bugs had recorded a record in Germany with another musician and tried promoting it during their gigs at The Cavern, leading their fans to NEMS, Brian's record shop.) He observed them at The Cavern and eventually approached them to be their manager.

The rest as they say is history. The Beatles as a group, a sound, and an image were built and promoted by Brian Epstein. He was the one who believed in them from the start and he is the reason why we know and love them today.

When it comes to John and Paul and their specific mess: it is reasonable to assume that they clocked Brian pretty quickly and decided to go with him anyway. I can speculate that Brian paid people off if suspicion arose and that he shielded them in other ways like the written room assignments. (John and Paul did not actually room together that often on paper though the reality was probably very different.) I don't know if Brian had to go so far as to arrange "beards" or anything, Cynthia and Jane functioned well in that role and then John and Paul both have sincere sexual interest in women. It's reasonable to think Brian realized what John and Paul were to each other early on but the specifics are completely up to interpretation and speculation. It's a big opaque wall that we can project whatever we want onto.

Brian is still very opaque in many ways. Lots of rumors about him abound, some good and some bad. It's impossible to know what is true and what is not aside from Brian's brushes with law enforcement and what has been reported about him by The Beatles themselves. I think he loved his boys very much and that he did his utmost to protect them in every way he could.

That is ultimately why The Beatles (John, Paul, George, sort of Pete at the time) decided to go with him. It's hard to say if Brian being gay was a minus or a plus for them but ultimately what drew them to him was that he respected them as performers instead of treating them as money factories. That's what Allen Williams did when he dumped them in Hamburg. Allen did love them but he wouldn't respect them and they kicked him as fast as they could. What separated Brian from their other managers was that he respected their act as a unit and tried to improve their presentation instead of changing their sound or telling them to repress their personalities. He was more interested in refining and polishing and they responded to that.

I guess my take is that the homosexuality thing didn't actually loom that large for them. The boys had enough show biz experience to realize how many gay men were involved in performance arts and that Brian's assets (a good eye for costumery, adaptability, his respect for their hard work and talent) simply outweighed the gay thing. Everything else is unknown and open to projection/interpretation/fanfiction/whatever.

Wrt George and Ringo, I think they had bisexual experiences with John and Paul, yeah. I'm a subscriber to the idea that all four of them had sexual tension with one another. It's another blank space that we can project whatever we want onto it.

Considering John and George did a lot of LSD together I wouldn't be surprised if they had sex while stoned (which would add another layer of Paul's icy refusal to take the LSD until John tricked him with the rooftop thing.)

Ringo is a little bit of an enigma, all the industry gossip online says that he's really just that heterosexual but considering how beautiful Paul is and how close they all are, it's hard to think he didn't at least try out gay sex to see if he liked it or not. George is the most likely candidate for sex with Ringo, not just because "pair the spares" but because George is the only Beatle that Ringo could try out gay sex with and he wouldn't make it weird. Can you imagine John or Paul's flutters in the aftermath of having gay sex with Ringo instead of each other lmao. George is very low maintenance in comparison so I can imagine him and Ringo trying it out just to see and then coming to an amicable agreement after regardless of the outcome. And I've often wondered if Ringo and Paul started hooking up after John died.

I don't know if George or Paul could have made it work in any capacity, casual or serious. I think they were attracted to each other (Paul certainly comes off as wanting to fuck George and Ringo on the DL in the Eye of the Storm photobook) but whether or not either of them could have actually coped with that is a big question mark. I'm not sure they could without a lot of growing up from either of them.

I also think that John's "Greek island" fantasy also included orgies but that's because John is such a horny and jealous guy, putting his three best mates in a single stretch of land where they can't avoid him? You bet he wanted group sex lmao. I'm sure that included Brian to some extent.

Maybe its a good thing that it didn't work out because Paul would gone and burned John's face off over that.

[velvetvexations]

Just saw a post telling trans women it was okay to want vaginoplasty even if it's "just" for sexual reasons (true, it's not "shallow" or "perverted" to want your body to feature a vagina for sex reasons, it's literally genitals) and some people in the comments were acting like there was some sort of unique, super strong stigma and backlash to trans women getting bottom surgery compared to other demographics, and like. Lol. Lmao even.

Of course, there are plenty of people being extremely shitty (saying gross stuff like that "angel without its wings" phrase, or "axe wound", "rot pocket"...) but I'd say most of it comes from cis people, who... Say similar shit about trans men. Maybe I'm wrong, but I've never come across someone praising FTM bottom surgery while simultaneously dragging MTF bottom surgery. Meanwhile, even within the trans community, everyone and their mother has an opinion about FTM bottom surgery and how awful it supposedly is. Joking about how "it's easier to dig a hole than build a pole" to say it's worse than vaginoplasty. Bottom surgery is not even considered an option, you're supposed to only get top surgery and be satisfied, and never dare to want to ruin your ~ pure AFAB body ~ by adding an Evil Oppressor Penis. Some people will straight up tell you that they prefer dating or being around trans men because they "feel safer since they don't have a penis" (imagine what they think of trans men who are post bottom surgery... Well you usually don't even have to imagine, as people love to loudly announce to everyone how they think transmasc bottom surgery is terrible).

So, from what I've seen, no, I don't think there's an unique bias against trans women getting bottom surgery that doesn't exist for others. I don't think they're seen as way more predatory or sexually perverted for wanting bottom surgery than other trans people (just using a packer gets you called a pervert walking around with a dildo in your pants, ffs...)

In fact, again, from what I've personally seen, I'd even say that's it's considered slightly more acceptable to want vaginoplasty than to want phalloplasty. I've seen, several times, places offering various trans surgeries listing every mainstream trans surgery and giving information about them, but suspiciously omitting phallo and meta. A "post-op" trans woman has a vagina. A "post-op" trans man has top surgery. I've lost count of how many trans people I've heard saying that vaginoplasty is indistinguishable from a cis vagina and then turning around to say that phalloplasty is just an ugly flesh tube. At some point I even read with my own two eyes an informative pamphlet about trans surgeries *made by a trans organization* saying positive things about the different types of vaginoplasty and reassuring people wanting it, but when it talked about phallo (I don't remember their stance on meta but the one on phallo really shocked me so it stuck), instead of just talking about the surgery neutrally like they were supposed to do, the text suddenly started criticizing people who wanted it for "conforming to cis society" or some stupid shit like that. Straight up, wanting vagina = good, wanting penis = bad. There's a huge taboo about wanting surgery to have a penis, even within the transmasc community. Everyone will say the most disgusting shit about it and try to discourage you to get it. Your motives get questioned, because obviously the only people who would get that kind of surgery are shallow, toxically masculine, "trying too hard to be like cis guys", wanting to become oppressors and planning to be rapists. They need to learn to deconstruct gender, don't they know they don't need a penis to be a man ? Clearly they haven't read enough feminist or queer theory. Oh, they have ? Well then, if they weren't misguided and still seek the evil penis surgery on purpose... It's clearly because they have bad intentions, they're predatory, power-hungry and probably fantasize about becoming a rapist...!!

So yeah, it kinda pissed me off. I don't really see why people feel the need to insist that if something is bad for trans women, then it must automatically be The Absolute Worse compared to every group. Idk.

I'm really sorry anon. <3 SRS should be normalized for everyone.

[tomhockstetter7-111]

Highest Form of Empathy - Chapter 1.5 (Logan)

2k+ words

“And every night, he looks up at the sky and sees the moon and howls her name. But, he can never touch her, again.”

CW: Dissociation, Trauma, Angst, someone give this man a hug SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 4

No beta. We die like Logan Earth - 10005

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Late December, 2005

Alberta, Canada

Logan walked down the street; hands shoved in his pockets. Try as he did, he couldn't call on a coherent thought. All he could manage were flashes of faces, gunshots, a man screaming...it sounded like him. He didn't like it.

Jean's visage, always the reliable go-to, conjured in his mind's eye. Her red hair pulled into a twist, showing off the sharp angles of her face. Damn, he missed that face. He missed how, despite his incessant flirting, patient eyes always stared back at him, even as he annoyed her from the exam table their first meeting. Patient even while telling him how much she didn't want him; how much she loved Scott. His chest ached. It was faint, but just enough to break through the newfound silence. It was something constant, something concrete.

Crossing the street, he ran into the nearest liquor store, slowing to a stop as he located the whiskeys. He stared, trying to check the alcohol content, the prices, the warnings, but nothing registered. It felt like someone set his brain to factory reset. No matter how he tried, blinking away the blurry vision, he couldn't help but feel like a stranger in his body. Every now and then he would see things, hear voices; a man's loving eyes, the smell of saltwater, the laugh of a boy...a woman's voice. There were no words. But, he found that if he closed his eyes he could hear the cadence. A blurry figure just barely came into view-

"Hey, buddy." A man's voice jolted him from his thoughts. He looked to the aisle's end to see what he assumed was the store clerk, some older heavy-set guy with a short, white beard. "We close in fifteen."

All Logan did was nod before the clerk walked away. Checking the shelf again, he grabbed a bottle of with a big "LTD" across the label and made his way to the checkout desk. He watched as the clerk rang him up.

"So, where ya from?"

Logan looked up to meet his eyes. "Around," was all he could muster. He watched the number appear on the cash register with more focus than was probably required before digging into his jacket for his wallet.

"Careful with that. Strong stuff." The clerk took the money before Logan reached to grab the bottle. "It's a nice jacket ya got there. Used to have one just like it when I was yer age," the clerk said, catching Logan's attention. "My buddy used to have one just like it in '64." He sounded bitter when he said it. Must be a painful memory.

Logan smirked as he glanced down at it. "Yeah um...an old friend gave it to me." He wasn't sure why he said that. But, it felt more or less correct. It was with him when he came to that day, alone on the island. At the time, it smelled faintly of air freshener and sage. "Well, have a good one." He saluted the man with the bottle as he headed out.

"Stay safe, now, ya hear?"

~~

Logan walked into the hotel room and dropped the bottle down on the kitchen table with a loud thud before plopping onto the chair next to it. The curtains were wide open to the night sky, letting the moonlight stream in. Twisting the cap off, he brought the bottle to his lips. But, just before taking a sip, he stopped. He frowned, staring at the caramel-colored liquid inside.

When did his drinking become so habitual? When did it lose meaning? It worked great to functionally shut down all the baseless voices and torment in his head. Not to mention the hell Jean's death wreaked on his world. It just became routine. But, now it was quiet. Head empty, heart beating a steady pace — with nothing to silence, why bother?

Scooting his chair away from the table, Logan left the bottle and walked to the window. He pressed his arm to the glass, leaning his forehead against it, as he looked out to the street. What was different? Everything felt normal until...

He lifted his eyes to look up to the night sky. The moon was full. In his dazed state he saw her, just at the back of his mind: the girl from the bar.

He didn't plan to fuck anyone that night. It just happened. Despite the poorly hidden circles under her eyes, she seemed so confident and lively, and she drew him in like a damn siren, getting him to shove his instincts aside, somehow. But, the way she looked at him hadn't escaped his notice, almost like she knew something was wrong.

In the end, it didn't matter. He made the offer, and she took it. It was something to take his frustration out on, some sort of relief. Maybe it was a relief for her, too. But, ever the gentleman, he still kissed her after. Hell! Of course he did. She was too adorable, the way she looked up at him with that blissful smile. How could he not? But, when he did, it was like the world quieted. It was peaceful at first, her plush, gentle lips being all he noticed. It even made his heart pound a little. But, it all came crashing down when he saw a face, felt terror, heard the screams and sounds of canon fire, felt the blood on his skin. Then, as quickly as the visions came, they disappeared, leaving an eerie silence in their wake.

What did she do to him?

~~

The following morning bled into noon. Logan laid in bed staring at the ceiling, whiskey long abandoned on the table. All night and into the morning, things would come back in flashes. Some were familiar. Most weren't. Closing his eyes, he saw the faces of men in helmets, clearly doomed to die. He saw a man's freshly shaved face visiting a child's room. The room was old, probably from a few centuries ago. He saw a boy, maybe fourteen years old, with sharp canines and long nails smiling down at him. Then, there was the woman again. Her face and voice were still unclear. But, he saw her clothes. The cowboy boots paired with the white knit sweater were especially endearing, and he couldn't help smiling when he saw her surrounded by kids in front of a wooden building. Then, he saw the lab. He felt the agonizing pain of needles drilling into his skin, through the muscle, and down to the bone. The lab...the lab he recognized.

Alkali Lake.

He shot up out of bed with a newfound determination. Throwing his shoes on, he made his way to the motorbike, stolen from Scott...again, making sure to grab his jacket on the way out. He wasn't entirely sure where he was going. He just knew north. North would take him to where he needed to be.

~~

Vaguely remembering the coordinates Chuck had given him only a few years ago, he finally found it, just as the sun was setting, too. Stopping his bike by the road, he trudged his way through the trees and snow to where the lab once stood. The area was filled with water now.

He could still hear the rushing of water as the dam broke, the freezing cold coming to claim Stryker's life. A well-deserved death, even if he didn't know the full extent of the man’s horrors.

As he walked along the forest edge, making his way to the shore, he felt his heart clench.

He could still hear Jean's words to Scott. It was a simple goodbye. She hadn't even bothered to give Logan a glance as he screamed for Kurt to bring her back. Surely there had to have been another way. She deserved more, better. Not that it mattered, anymore.

He listened to the crunch of rocks under his boots as he watched the lake that, strangely, hadn't frozen over in the winter cold, not even a little. If anything, it was pretty lively. Small crabs skittered along in the shallows, and fish ran to deeper water as his shadow hovered over them.

A glint of light caught his eye. As if fate hadn't been enough of a cryptic asshole, there sat his old dog tags just out of reach of the water. He stopped in front of them and leant down to grab the broken chain, seeing the engravings on the metal.

Wolverine. Logan. Number 45825243 T78 A.

He lifted them to eye level and furrowed his brow as he examined the second of the two. He always wondered why it said "Wolverine". As far as he knew, he was only ever "Weapon X" to Stryker. In the brief times they did interact, it never occurred to him to ask.

'Wolverine.' He repeated the word in his mind over and over. 'Wolverine. Wolverine.' Slowly, his inner voice morphed from its lower octave to something less gruff, something more feminine. 'The Wolverine.' He heard it clear as day.

"Que Qu'atsu," said a playful woman's voice. "It means 'The Wolverine'."

His breath caught in his throat as it all came back.

He saw the blue eyes of his father looked him over as his fever broke. His friend, an older boy named Victor, sat in the chair with jealous eyes. Downstairs he heard a man screaming for his mother's name. There was blood everywhere, and his heart sank when the light left his father's eyes. His claws, made of bone at the time, sunk into the abdomen of the man who put the bullet in his father's chest, the man that claimed to be his real father. The eyes of his mother, his first taste of pure disgust for what he was, burned into him. It sank in that day just how unwanted he was.

He remembered the wars. All of them. Each one, worse than the last, sent shivers down his spine, tearing him to bits. Young boys, so many still in school, carted away year after year like pigs for the slaughter. And, he was helpless to save them.

Vividly, he watched himself exiting a plane, no one sure how he survived the nuclear disaster of Nagasaki. His heart ached as he remembered Victor waiting at the gate with open arms and, animalistic as always, pressed his forehead to Logan's like a wolf would its pack member, more than ready to share a drink with his little brother. The little brother he swore to protect.

Then, Vietnam. And, Stryker, the one who made him the weapon he is now. He couldn't fucking stand that man. Logan was never good with authority, disobeying at every turn, thinking he knew best. But, Stryker…so ready to destroy, it was vile. He couldn't watch it, couldn't be a part of it. Not anymore. So, he walked away, ignoring the calls for him to come back. He wasn't an animal like them. He never would be.

Kayla taught him that. Her voice rang loud in his ears. "What you have is a gift." Despite his feelings, he wanted to badly to believe her. He felt the warmth of her hands on his chest, and the flutter in his stomach when she would fall asleep in his shirts. He saw her face clear as day, and her natural scent crept to the surface of his mind, washing over him like a summer breeze. Her face smiled at him from the car. Her eyes cut deep into his core every time she looked at him.

He loved her. God, did he love her.

The pebbles of the shore crunched under his knees, echoing in the surrounding area as his hands gripped at nothing. His eyes stung, head throbbing as he remembered the look of her body lying in the rubble of the island's facility. She looked so foreign to him, then, his damaged brain refusing to mend the pieces together. She deserved more. A proper burial. A proper send off. A proper fucking goodbye.

His throat began to burn. Black swarms of birds flew from the surrounding trees as he let out a desperate, guttural roar. His body felt so stiff, yet it seared like fire as he released his woes into the now vacated space, pain and devastation, long since locked away, now surfacing like boiling water with a vengeance. Catching his breath, his gaze shot up, vision tunneled to a small dot as his rage took over. 

She was gone.

Kill. He needed to kill something. Someone. But, they were all gone. Victor having fallen from the Statue of Liberty and Stryker drowned and eaten away by fish. Well-deserved deaths? No. They were far too quick, too merciful than what those two deserved.

Despite this, he ran, claws unsheathed and teeth bared, punching at wood and snow, slicing up tree after tree, each falling down and leaving devastation in its wake. Any animal too slow to notice being unlucky enough to be trapped and crushed under them. He thought he saw flashes of black fur, something attacking him. His claws ripped through it with ease, serving well to protect him, but he barely noticed when there was only red in his sight and heat under his flesh. 

She was gone forever.

He screamed, and slashed as animals in his path scattered, sky above darkening, illuminated only by the rising moon. Stryker was dead. Victor was dead. She was still gone. Nothing would bring her back. Nothing would fix the whole left in his chest. His body, suddenly heavy as led, fell. He buried his face in the snow as he yelled for her, yelled for Kayla. His Kayla. The only one to accept him for who he was. The only person in this god forsaken world to see him as something other than a fucking mindless monster, something human. He yelled for her to come back. Don't leave him here.

Exhausted he looked up to the moon. He could almost swear he saw her face in the light. Chest heaving and jacket falling from his shoulders, he wailed, nearly howling, at the blooming night sky above him. All he wanted was a normal fucking life. Was it too much to ask? Just a normal life away from the violence and chaos. Away from guilt. Away from destruction. Away from death.

She was gone.

She was dead.

He never even said goodbye.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Merry Christmas...? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I wrote this to "What Could Have Been" by Sting

[rabbivole]

my car title is the last loose end. everything else is changed, including my birth certificate. which is the most critical point; i found it really funny that i needed to change my birth certificate in CA but i guess it was for the best. not that i pass well enough for it to matter, but if nobody looks at me in person it's fine, and realistically few people will. if i can just get the car title fixed we're golden. i don't even fucking drive it anymore and i may need to get it reissued because my life is a mess; last time i tore through shit looking for it that shit seemed to be fucking gone.

(minus having to yell at the absolute clown show we're renting this house through, because they apparently did not change my name in all their databases so whatever scam-ass communication i get from them is a coinflip on which name it uses. jesus christ i cannot stand these people. honestly this is like the least of my grievances)

the passport is a good idea but not immediately vital; a birth cert covers me reasonably well and i have a hard copy. they apparently don't take appointments unless you're actively traveling but i could randomly decide to take a vacation in BC if it came to that. the website is SHOCKINGLY UNCLEAR on what forms of proof of residence/citizenship i need and i could either be fine or need to reconfigure some utility bills

i need to meet with my gp and realistically i need a job, so if i can keep it together enough to do some kind of minimum-wage retail that's probably a decent stepping stone but i'm still incredibly physically sick and i don't know how to fix that. may have to make a plea with the psychiatrist like 'hey, i know we had high ideas about fixing my depression first but uhhhh the situation has changed, lmao! i need stimulants now! please and thank you!'

gonna be real: french is like my last choice for languages i would like to learn right now

[oneluckydragon]

BREAKING NEWS!!! Local idiot ghost absolutely blown away when boyfriend gives him a nickname for the first time, more info after this broadcast.

Bonus pet-name edition:

(Yeah I know it's ooc for grovyle to EVER use the term "babe" but lets go ahead and assume he's done it accidentally a few times rather than intentionally. He's deeply in love with the dumb ghostman, ok. Sometimes it just slips out.)

Dusknoir is still recovering from hearing it. And when he finally calls grovyle "love" himself on accident a few days later, he falls deathly ill for two weeks cause his body couldn't handle the aftermath and started rapidly shutting down on a molecular level.

[hotasfahrenheit]

Yak and I are fake boyfriends. Yes, we started like that. But you know something? Yak is a huge green flag for me.

When I'm with Yak, I never question myself if I'm good enough. It's Yak who makes me realize how worthy I am.

Right now Yak is my peace of mind. I still don't understand why I wasted those eight years with you. Because right now, I really love myself when I'm with Yak.

Thank you, Yak, for coming into my life.

It's my pleasure. Alright then. Let's go home.

[Wandee Gooddday, 1.09]

[em-b-sides]

I think about that tiktok trend where you like paint your partners eye color on your nails or make a bracelet or something with the color a lot actually