#but she wouldn’t EXPLAIN to me what was going on

[reignpage]

Piercer!Geto

Manx Norton: going over the limit

Contents: 18+ mdni, fluff, smut, grinding, making out, blowjob, deepthroating, throat fucking, swallowing, marks the end of their pre-relationship story

“We need to talk,” you say. 

Geto looks up from his journal, slow and steady like he knew you would come here and at this time. He sets his pen down. His hair is tied up completely today and there are dark bags under his eyes that you can’t bear to look at, so you don’t. Instead, you settle into the seat, without being asked, and you cross your legs and your arms. 

You mean business. 

“Good afternoon, pretty. You look gorgeous.” 

Sighing, you ignore that fluttering in your stomach. There’s no point in getting carried away by his charm; it’s his instinct to be sweet, otherwise he wouldn’t have as many clients as he does. But you’re aware, faintly and right at the very back of your mind, that his words have a bite to them — they’re complimentary whilst also accusatory. 

“I need an explanation, Geto,” you state firmly. 

His left eye twitches. It’s not a flicker or a nervous tick, it’s a flinch. You have the power, just like your sister said, when you were throwing her shoes out of the window, and she was offering advice as a means to fight your murderous intent off. It didn’t work.

There’s always something shifting between you, something unstable, and it’s been difficult to manage — you’re new to relationships, so new to venturing outside your comfort zone that you’ve relied so much on him to guide you. But you’ve also had to step up and make decisions for yourself. 

Your friends weren’t very helpful; they insisted you quit or bring a new man to the studio to make him jealous, and as tempting as it is to be petty, you know they wouldn’t solve anything. It’ll just make you feel bad and icky. 

So, you’ve chosen the high road, providing him the opportunity to share his side, to explain why he let you down once again and why everything between you had been built on a lie.

Nodding, he opens a drawer and takes out a familiar sheet of paper. Then, in a conversational tone, he asks, “What do you see?”

“It’s my CV,” you answer. Truthfully, you have no clue what game he’s playing; there’s something in particular he’s looking for but all you see is the whites of the paper and the lines of ink. 

“Look at it from the perspective of an employer looking to fill a hole in their establishment,” is his reply. 

You’ve heard that tone often, every day, in fact. It’s the tone he uses on clients when he needs to go over payment plans, or on suppliers when he needs to negotiate a new contract. But he’s never used it on you. Distant and devoid of attachment, it makes you feel uneasy. 

Fiddling with a loose thread on your sweater, you furrow your brows as you read over the paper. Geto is leaning back on the chair, hands folded on his lap, the pinnacle of confidence. That used to be so attractive. Now, you’re just a little peeved off. You were supposed to be the confident one; you came here on your own volition, even prepared a speech you practised with your sister.

You should have known he’d sweep the rug from under you. 

Frustrated, you groan and smack the sheet. “Just tell me what I’m supposed to see! I have no time for this.”

Smiling reassuringly, Geto doesn’t bat an eye at your outburst and instead, begins a lecture, “What I saw was a CV lacking in relevant work experience. In fact, you had very little experience. Your most recent job was in high school, when you worked as a librarian’s assistant for a day. The other things on there were debate club and a certificate for being a neighbourhood ‘sweetheart’, and I’m not even sure what that means.”

“Oh.”

To your embarrassment, he laughs. A blush is growing on your face and suddenly you’re very aware of how some strands of hair are sticking to your forehead uncomfortably, how the sweater you’re wearing is a little scratchy and that maybe, just maybe, you’ve overreacted terribly.

Maybe you should have confronted him sooner. Perhaps just as soon as you overheard him tell Miguel that your sister owes him a favour for hiring you. However, in your defence, you were feeling a little hurt from having been left at the restaurant — you waited for an hour, watching people pass by and give you sympathetic looks as you sent text after text to a man too busy with a client to realise time passed by. 

A week has gone by since then, and you haven’t come to work at all, you dodged every text and call from Geto and ignored him when he showed up on campus and had the nerve to get upset that you’re hanging out with a classmate. Your sister tried to defend him, and herself, but you weren’t willing to hear her out. On many occasions, you’ve told her to butt out, to leave you to make mistakes and get hurt, because it’s your prerogative. 

She can’t protect you from everything and the more she tries, the harder you all learn that lesson. 

“Okay, fine. So, my CV sucks a little,” you huff, “but you should have never hired me under the pretence that I was good enough when the real reason was because my sister asked you. It’s unfair on me. I wanted to earn this job on my own and you two went behind my back to manipulate this whole situation!”

The man sighs and leans forward. You smell his cologne and it’s muddling your mind a little, so you lean back, away from him. He notices. “I understand you’re upset. And I’m sorry to have colluded with your meddling sister. But it really isn’t what you think, pretty girl.”

You hate how patient he sounds, like you’re the crazy one. And maybe you are. You don’t know anymore. In fact, you’re starting to think you know nothing at all. 

“Yes, it’s true she asked me to give you a job. But all I promised her was that I’ll give you a chance, like everyone else. And when you came for the interview, I thought a lot of things. One was that you are so different from your sister. Different from the people that tend to come through the door, from me. You’re much brighter, much warmer and lighter than everyone I’ve ever seen.”

There’s something in his eyes, a sincerity that makes you breathless. All the air has left the room and you’re leaning in without even realising it. Everything that he says is entrancing, he’s a pied piper playing a tune that fills your soul with a fire you can’t put out, and he’s leading you closer to him, away from everything you’ve ever known, away from safety and reason. 

You’re not afraid. 

“I had a look at your CV and thought, there’s no way I would hire you, not even if she begged or blackmailed me — I take great pride in my studio, I turned it from a little backroom space with flickering lights to what it is now. My clients trust me to provide quality service from beginning to end, and I will not let a woman, no matter how beautiful, get in the way of that.”

Geto reaches for your cheek, like he can’t help himself, and you let him. His hands are slightly calloused but otherwise smooth and soft. And that smile, the polite one he always wears, is gone. In its place is something that reflects how you feel, how you’ve both been feeling for a long time now. A frustration against the distance between you, the boundary that’s erected itself between employer and employee, boss and receptionist, and a man who’s seen it all versus a girl who knows so little. 

You aren’t meant to be. Everything about this relationship is wrong, it’s inadvisable, foolish, like Hades and Persephone, or Eros and Psyche. It’s a tragic love story doomed from the very beginning, the kind people talk about centuries later with a mix sense of awe and pity. You know all about it, have read so many variations of the same story with the same individuals who think they know everything, who believe they’re different, special and that the Fates will smile fondly on them. 

Except neither you nor Suguru are under the impression that you’re different, that this will turn out differently and that the cards you’ve been dealt are from a separate, fresh deck. You both know you’re playing a dangerous game. 

Neither of you care. 

“But then I talked to you. And you were so witty, so undeterred by my unrelenting questions, and so willing to learn as you go. You had the confidence of someone who’s worked a thousand jobs, who’s met a thousand people that, despite knowing better, I wanted to hire you on the spot.”

Carefully, with your eyes fluttering shut at the tentative touch of your skin, you breathe out, “Suguru, we shouldn’t.”

“I know.”

When your eyes open, you see his gorgeous, tortured eyes fall to your lips and you know what you want. 

Your lips meet his.

This kiss is so similar to the one you shared that night, but oh so new. It seems so long ago now, and when you feel his plush lips devour yours it feels like this is new to both of you and it urges you to push in further. His tongue touches yours and you don’t hesitate to intertwine it, to explore all that he’s laying out for you. 

Gasping for breath, you pull away with little success before he’s grasping the back of your neck and urging you over the desk, kneeing the papers there and hearing the pens and stapler fall to the floor with a dull clatter, you sit onto the desk and you hear his chair slam against the wall when he stands to press himself closer to you. He kisses you again. 

“Things work differently with me,” he says in between pecks to your lips. 

Whilst his mouth moves to your jaw, sucking at the skin by your ear, you giggle. “I know. My sister says you like control. Something about Christian Grey.”

Chuckling in your ear before nipping you there, he admits, “I’m not as insane as him. In truth, I don’t really know what I am, but I know it’s more intense than what most men ask for.”

“That’s okay, Suguru. We can work it out together, step by step.”

He kisses your pulse point. You moan. Goosebumps are rising along your arms; your back is arching to press as much of you closer to him. You’re barely capable of creating a single train of thought, you feel so lightheaded you don’t register how your legs are wrapping around his hips. 

“My smart girl,” Suguru muses against your skin. 

Your legs are wrapped around his hip, pulling him close until you can feel the bulge there push against your core. With a roll of your hips, the zipper of his jeans nudges your bundle of nerves. You gasp. And you seek out that pleasure again with slow, gradual grinds. 

Breathlessly, you say, “Suguru…”

He’s scraping his teeth against your pulse point, one hand kneading your thigh and the other holding himself up. Filling your senses, all you can think about is him and how there’s a growing pressure within that’s dying to be released. 

“Go on, pretty girl. Take what you need.” Tightening your legs around his hips, you grind harder, frustrated that there are layers between you. Your arch your back, chest rubbing against his. Like he knows what you want, his hand finds your breast, squeezing and groping. “No bra? Are you sure you came here to talk, angel?”

When his thumb brushes over your nipple, you cry out, body tightening as that coil inside snaps. You spasm, grinding hastily to draw out your pleasure. It’s much better than you any could have given yourself and you’re addicted. Hand flying to his hair, you thread it through, brushing out his hair tie until his silky hair cascades down.

He groans. 

In a blink of an eye, you’re being pulled and pushed down onto your knees. You grip his thighs, blinking fast as you desperately try to regain your bearings. 

“You’re asking for trouble, sweet thing. Can you handle it?” Suguru asks, a challenge glinting in his eyes as he smiles down at you. 

You bite your lip, thighs squeezing to subdue the regrowing aching there. With a sudden bravery, your hands make their way up, revelling in the marble like strength in his muscles before they find his zip. 

Hesitating, you feel something holding you back, an instinct within awakening. Awkwardly, you question, “May I?”

His smile widens, surprise flickering in his eyes, and then he’s threading his hands through your hair. It’s a rewarding pat, one full of warmth, and it’s empowering. 

“Such a good girl. You’re a perfect little angel, aren’t you?” He coos. “Of course you may, my pretty girl. Go on, go at your own pace.”

Nodding, you unzip his jeans, tugging it down with his boxers. And what springs out leaves your mouth watering. It’s huge and intimidating. It’s bad enough that he’s well-endowed, but nothing about him is typical. He’s different to the average man in every way. 

Starting with the metal piercing the underside of his dick, emerging through the head. 

Seeing the horrified look on your face, he chuckles, the hair soothing your head delving down to pinch your chin. Unperturbed by your reaction, likely expecting it, he explains, “I got it done a year ago, mostly as a dare. It took around nine weeks to heal and yes, it did hurt.”

“B-but I-I can’t,” you stammer and shake your head, adding, “there’s just n-no way.”

Suguru sighs, thumb grazing your cheek. “You don’t need to. I understand this is too much too soon, but I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. You’re more than capable.”

You don’t want to disappoint him. And you want to prove you can do whatever you set your mind to. Recalling one of your sister’s drunken admissions, you know the trick is to pinch your thumb, so you don’t gag, to breathe through your nose and take a little at a time. 

“Okay, okay. I can do it.”

He gathers your hair and keeps them out of the way. Slowly, you wrap your hand around the base, gasping at the way your fingers barely touch. With no particular method in mind, you explore his length, thumb following a vein from bottom to top. He’s hot in your hand, almost burning, and the tip is shining with what you know to be pre-cum. 

It’s pearly white and you can’t wait to know what it tastes like; you lean in and scoop up the drop with your tongue. You both groan. 

Salty, you mull the taste over. It isn’t bad. And suddenly, you no longer feel scared. Your tongue fiddles with the bent metal barbell, surprisingly not minding the cold sensation against your hot tongue. 

“That’s it,” he groans, grip on your hair tightening. 

You widen your jaw, suckling the head, tongue pressing against the slit before it circles around, grinding the barbell back and forth. He groans louder, deep breaths vibrating through the room. 

When you push in further, you make the mistake of doing it too fast. You gag, eyes tearing up. 

“Slowly, pretty. Slowly. There’s no rush, okay?”

Coughing, you nod weakly, feeling embarrassed. Recovering your breath, you go back in, slower. Eventually, you work up a rhythm, bobbing your head up and down, taking more and more of him but never quite making it further than halfway. 

Both hands on your head, he soothes your tears away with his thumb before he advises, “Relax your throat, sweet thing. I’ll guide you, is that alright?”

You tap his thighs twice in a yes. 

And then he’s pushing in, more and more until he’s filling your throat, muscles stretching to take him in. Tearing up once more, you mentally swallow that panic rising, the claustrophobia within forcing your nails into his bare thighs. 

“You’re doing so well, angel. So good -ngh- for me, hmm?”

Suguru pulls back, the piercing scraping your tongue. And then he pushes back in. Again and again, he builds up to a rhythm, allowing you to get used to it, before he gives you more of him. 

This is so overwhelming, the feeling of his piercing bumping at the back of your throat, the ache in your jaw at the stretch, and the salty taste filling your senses. All you can see and feel and hear and taste is Suguru. You can’t get enough of him. 

So, when he bottoms out, your lips tickling his skin, your eyes roll to the back of your head just as his do. 

“I’m going to cum, pretty. Do you want to pull out?” He asks, pleasure written all over his face, the veins in his arm bulging at his barely constrained urge to fuck your throat freely. Knowing that he’s so in control, so concerned over you, when he could use you how he pleased, could take what he wants makes you so wet. 

You blink rapidly. 

“No? Are you sure you -ha- can take it? I won’t let you spit it out,” he warns. 

Sucking your cheeks in, you suction him closer. His cock head is rubbing the back of your throat, piercing burning, and with a shallow thrust, he’s cumming down your throat. 

Hot liquid fills your mouth. 

Suguru pulls out and you swallow the thick cream he leaves in your mouth. Your head slumps against his thigh, gasping for breath, heaving like you’ve just ridden a rollercoaster. 

Hands tucking themselves under your arms, he lifts you onto his lap just as he sits back on his chair, boxers pulled up before you even realise what position you’re in now. 

He rubs your back, muttering encouraging words about how perfect you were, how amazing you did, and how he knew you’d do well for him. 

“Open,” he orders, bottom lip pulled down by his thumb. He inspects your mouth and smiles at what he sees. “Good girl.”

And then he’s kissing you, tasting both yours and his essence. 

“No wonder Miguel gave me a funny look when I asked how many piercings you have,” you whisper against his lips, a high pulsing through your veins. 

Suguru chuckles. “He’s a good guy, did all my piercings. Eased all my concerns every time and I knew I wanted him in my studio.”

You nod. 

Your eyes are heavy and you’re hiding your face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, and pondering the change between you. You’ve accepted that you’re entering an unconventional relationship, that he’s going to introduce you to a world none of your friends had seen a glimpse of, but you won’t be navigating it by yourself. 

He’ll lead you just as he had when you first started working here. 

Softly, gently and with so much patience, you’ll be free to stumble as often as you need until you know who you are, what you want, and what you need to be.

“Get some sleep, my gorgeous, gorgeous girl.”

Is the last thing you hear before you fall deeper into sleep in his arms.

[classyrbf]

STILL IN LOVE! #12 — TOJI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...after still messing around with your ex husband, you began to wonder if you’re still in love with him after finding out about his new girlfriend…only to realize it’s much more complicated than you led on

INFO...ex husband!toji x fem!reader, reader & toji have two kids, megumi is readers bio son, jealousy, smut, angst, arguments, alcohol, drinking problem, family problems, arguing in front of kids, toxic behaviors, crying, mentions of divorce, mentions of jail, blood, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

series masterlist

As soon as you stepped back inside the house you immediately made your way over to the bedroom to grab your phone. Your head was still spinning from what just happened. Your heart was pounding so fast you could hear it in your ears. The thought of Toji going to jail made you anxious, scared. You two finally started off on the right foot, making little progress each day and you didn’t want to tell the kids that their father was in jail. Hell, you didn’t even know how long he’d be in jail for this kind of shit. You didn’t have the money to bail him out, whatever the cost may be. But you had an idea of who might.

Quickly, you called Gojo. The phone rang while you chewed on your bottom lip, leg bouncing up and down nervously while you waited. “Hello?” It was like a weight lifted off of your shoulders upon hearing his voice.

“Gojo, thank god you fucking answered,” you sighed.

“Y/n? Oh no…what’d he do this time? Better be worth you waking me up for,” he yawned.

You let out a soft chuckle before explaining, “he’s in jail, or is gonna end up in jail—”

“Hold up, what?” Gojo jumped up, brows furrowing at your words.

“To make a long story short, my ex boyfriend came over this morning while toji was here, he said some shit toji didn’t like and toji beat the shit outta him. Cops were called and they dragged both of them away and said toji will most likely go to jail,” you explained, biting the inside of your cheek.

“And I’m guessing you need me to bail him out? Yeah?”

“Yes…Gojo, please. Me and Toji…we were doing good and the kids and it’s just—”

“Listen, call Shoko to pick the kids up after school and I’ll be over in a little bit,” he said.

“Thank you.”

Toji sat in the chair, hands laying flat on the desk as he waited in the dingy questioning room. He felt like some big time criminal, considering what happened. He was annoyed, having to go through this whole process over a simple fight. “People are pussies,” he muttered to himself. Nanami should’ve kept his mouth shut, especially about the kids. He should’ve left when you asked him to and instead he kept on going.

All Toji could think about was you, wondering if you were disappointed in him, upset or even at your breaking point with him. He promised he wouldn’t mess up his chance, and yet here is sitting in a police station with the high probability of being put behind bars. He impatiently tapped his foot on the ground, the buzzing sound of the overhead fluorescent lights making his head pound. The slight cut on lip still stung everytime he licked his lips, a faint taste of blood on his tongue.

A knock at the door snapped him from his thoughts, a police officer walking in and flashing a quick, fake smile at Toji. “Alright, Mr…Fushiguro.” The man took a seat across from Toji and it couldn’t help but make his eye twitch.

“When can I leave?” Were the first words that came out of his mouth. “I need to see my wife and kids.”

The officer chuckled, shaking his head. “Not until we get your side of the story. We already questioned Mr. Nanami, and we got your wife’s—ex wife’s side as well, so you’re next. Mind telling me what happened from beginning to end?” The officer clicked the blue pen his had in his hand, flipping the next page in his notepad.

“I woke up, made breakfast for my wife and shortly after she woke up as well. We talked for a little, didn’t even get to sit down and eat before the doorbell rang. She answered it and I looked over to see it was her ex boyfriend at the door,” he mumbles, not once shifting his gaze.

“You say she’s your wife and you say Mr. Nanami is he ex boyfriend. But he says that you two are divorced,” the officer adds.

“We are but we plan on working things out, so she’s my wife.” The officer nods are Toji’s words, scribbling it down on the white paper. “I walk over to the door and stand behind her, and they’re having a conversation about their relationship. She told they broke up—he broke up with her because of me and our relationship. Fair enough. She respected it and realized that maybe me and her should work stuff out because of our kids—”

“So why exactly did he show up?” The officer cocks his head to the side.

“To apologize and get her back. Why else would he be there? She didn’t want to and that’s when shit hit the fan.” Toji shrugged.

“By ‘shit hit the fan’ you mean when started saying nasty comments? Your wife said he began belittling her, talking about your kids and your relationship? Am I correct?” His brows raise, the tip of the pen to his paper.

“She asked him to leave, and he wouldn’t. He was saying stuff about how are relationship wouldn’t last and how I only wanted to keep her around for…sex. Then he brought up my kids, and that’s when I knocked his ass to floor. Sound bout right?” Toji blinked, completely uninterested.

“You say she asked him to leave and he wouldn’t?” The officer glances up at him for a quick second.

“Yeah,” toji responds.

“Just one more question, you don’t live there right?” The officer folded his hands in front of him.

Toji hesitated to answer. He knew if he said no, they’d probably charge him, but he said yeah, he’d be lying but he probably won’t get charged due to fact Nanami was most likely trespassing. “I do. Been living there for about a month.”

“Alright, that’s all I needed to know. Be back in few.” The chair screeched against the floor as the officer stood and walked out the room.

With a roll of Toji’s eyes he let out a scoff. “Fucking pigs.”

You paced back and forth in the living room, nervously biting at your nails, anticipating the moment Gojo knocked on the door. You couldn’t believe this was happening. It was like the universe had placed some kind of curse on you. Was it so hard to have one good day? Apparently so. The sound of knocking pulled you from your thoughts, wasting no time to unlock the door where you were met with Gojo himself, in sweatpants, a hoodie, and his hair disheveled. It was weird not seeing him dress up for once.

“Gojo.” You quickly hugged him.

“Hey, hey.” He hugged back, stepping into your house. “So, what the fuck happened? Did he seriously get arrested?” He shook his head in confusion.

You let out a deep sigh, just the thought of talking about it made you feel tired, annoyed, upset. You weren’t sure what you were. “Yes? I mean, they dragged both of them away, but Toji hit first.” You plopped down on the couch, holding your head in your hands. “He’s most likely going to jail.”

“He is going to jail,” Gojo corrected. “If they find out he doesn’t live here, and that he swung first…jail time!” Gojo sat beside you. “Depends on how much your ex boyfriend is willing to tell.” He glanced at you.

You groaned in annoyance, falling back onto the plush cushions. “Okay, but he was talking about our kids and saying all shit to me and—”

“You think cops give a shit? All they care about is sending whoever to jail. Toji or whatever his name is. And knowing Toji’s record with the police, he’s not making it out of this one.” Gojo reached into his pocket pulling out a piece of candy. “Want some?”

You glared at him, blinking. Was he serious? “Did you seriously bring candy?” You asked, looking at the piece of taffy he held between his fingers.

“Yeah, I had a whole bag of ‘em. Anyway, you want it?” He held it out to you.

“Gojo, can we please focus right now? What if he gets let off without a warning? That’s good right?” Someway somehow you’re hoping that’s the best possible outcome in this situation.

“Well, then excellent. Wait, did he like bash his face in? Or how bad are we talking?” Gojo narrowed his eyes.

“Gojo, I don’t know! For fucks sake!” You rose to your feet, stress levels rising higher. “How do we even know he’s in jail? He’s probably locked up as we speak!” You were panicking and you weren’t exactly why. Gojo said he’d bail him out for you, so coming up with money wasn’t a problem. It’s the fact that you felt like this was entirely your fault. Your relationship with Kento and your relationship with Toji, everything came crashing down. As a grown woman with two kids, you’d think you’d know better and know how to confront your own feelings without getting others involved but apparently that was impossible for you.

Though, it’s not like you expect Kento to show up on your doorstep this morning wanting to take you back. You felt horrible. He was a good man, sweet and kind, and you, you were still stuck on your ex husband and clearly that hurt him. You were sorry for that, you take responsibility that. But that gave him no excuse to bring your kids into this. Everything about this was so fucked up. Even more than before.

“Listen, relax. They’ll allow him some phone calls if they do lock him up. He will most likely call you, and you’ll spill the great news to him! No problem!” Gojo shrugged it off, reaching into his pocket to pull out another piece of taffy.

“It’s been like three hours already.” You huff.

“Then he’s probably locked up,” he casually said, popping the candy into his mouth.

“Can you take this seriously for one second?” You you take a deep breath, finding the inner strength not to yell and cuss Gojo out just because you were extremely overwhelmed.

“I am! Listen, you know he’s been in jail before! He’s fine!” Gojo swatted his hand, brushing off the situation like it was so casual.

“Yeah, with you! When you two got into that stupid ass bar fight and Shoko and Geto called me at three in the fucking morning!” Your nostrils flared, rolling your eyes at the man in front of you.

“No need to dwell on the past—wait, is that—”

“What?” You looked at Gojo, eyes wide.

“Is that your phone?” He stands up.

You run towards your bedroom, nearly tripping over your own feet as the sound of your phone ringing grew louder. “Fuck where is it?” Your eyes scanned over your dresser and nightstand before you standing tearing your blankets off of the bed. Your phone flew to the floor and you quickly grabbed it, seeing it was an unsaved number. Fuck.

“Hello? Toji?” Your voice shook as you spoke. You could hear slight breathing on the other end.

“Baby…”

tag list (closed):

@sweetpo1son @lovebittenbyevans @ryumurin @he4rts444mi @cherrypieyourface @lemonintrovert01 @ladysi0 @avanly @chilichopsticks @tananaxx @akusrider @irlbungee @my-anime-garden @hnm-mika @antiholdinghandsclub @yharnam-prophet @crankyarchives @nnnancyr @kenqki @ebiharachan @dollcest @whoreforjjkmen @yoyio90 @jaegergirl @r0seandth0rns @blankwashed @ittomain1 @3rdmonday @5seos @weird0o0 @1-800-choke-that-ho @s-j320 @viisgrave @mayajadewrites @jhiyoon @fisherman-boat @mochimoee @cheridrwyy @olanii1019 @vi-ola666 @emmaperdoswife @sucrose-fqn @rhyies-pieces @tojislittleprincesss @sashadonat @ruixrei @zara-zara11 @paper--angel @khyok @ilyanadelarosa @zxnxy @esmedelacroix

[jjungkookislife]

Third Time's the Charm

pairing: ex-boyfriend!jungkook x ex-gilfriend!reader

genre: crack, exes to lovers

summary: Jungkook will do whatever it takes to get you back.

wc: 727

warnings: funeral, some cursing, some hitting

date: January 4, 2025

“You know he’s faking it again, right?” Jimin whispers as he looks around the room of tearful actors. He tugs at the black tie around his neck. His shoes squeak on the linoleum and his suit bunches on the chair as he turns to look at you.

“What if he’s not?” You hiss in response as you sniffle, wiping your nose with a tissue. The black dress you’re wearing itches, and you’re upset it's the third time you’ve had to throw it on for a funeral. Jungkook’s funeral.

“Don’t you find it weird that his mom isn’t here?” Jimin asks with a raised brow as he notes the absence of the older woman. 

“He wouldn’t do this a third time,” you respond, but as you look around the funeral home, you notice the lack of family and friends. 

“I’m gonna go steal the chocolate chip cookies from the kitchen. Come get me when it’s over,” Jimin says as he adjusts his tie. “And don’t fuck him in the casket like last time.”

“Hey!” You gasp, smacking his bicep repeatedly. “I told you that in confidence!”

“And now we’re back here,” Jimin scoffs. “I’m sure he’s getting a discount. He’s even got the same casket. It’s a sham, babe.”

“Go steal the cookies,” you huff as you wipe a tear from your eyes. “Get the fudge brownies, too.”

“On it!” Jimin grins, kissing your cheek before he steps out of the room and heads toward the kitchen, already familiar with the funeral home’s layout. 

When you look forward, Jungkook is sitting up holding the top of the casket, a frown on his face. 

“You brought another man to my funeral?” Jungkook asks, pouting. 

Bolting up from your seat, you stomp your way over to him, smacking him with your purse. 

“Really, Jungkook?!” You scream as the actors disperse. 

“Ow! Baby, that hurts!”

“Get your ass out of there! I had to take half the day off work to come here again!” You hit him again with your purse.

Jungkook chuckles, wiggling his dark eyebrows. “You took time off work for me?”

“Jungkook!”

“Okay, okay!” He exclaims as he gets out of the casket with practiced ease.  

“I just wanted you to come see me,” he explains. You roll your eyes as you walk away from him, noting the way the lobby has cleared. You’re sure the only one left in the building is Jimin stealing milk and cookies from the kitchen. 

“Why didn’t you just send me an email like last time?”

“Because you blocked me on it, even the email you use for shopping,” Jungkook pouts. His doe eyes nearly get you.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and huff out a breath. “I can’t keep doing this, Jungkook.”

“I know,” Jungkook nods. “It’ll be different this time. I promise. Besides, I can’t afford another funeral.”

“Jungkook!”

Jungkook’s eyes widen as he spins around to the entrance. 

“Mama Jeon,” you grin slyly. “How lovely to see you.”

“Thank you for calling me, sweetheart. I see my son is up to his shenanigans again,” she sighs as she stomps her way to Jungkook, grabbing him by the ear. Jungkook bends down, whining.

“You called my mom?” he asks, astounded.

“I did.” you cross your arms over your chest. “I had to make sure she knew what you were up to.”

“She’s gonna kill me!” Jungkook frowns as he scrolls through his contacts on his phone.

“Suits you right,” you grumble as you head for the door.

“Baby, wait!” Jungkook calls after you just as he tries to escape his mother’s hold. It’s no use, she holds him by the ear, scolding him as she drags him to the casket. She shoves his face into it, screaming about the heart attack she nearly had when she pulled up to the building. She was rabid as she swung her purse and knocked down the large photo of Jungkook on the stand beside the casket.

You giggle as you head for the exit.

Jimin runs towards you, hands full of Ziploc baggies holding the desserts.

“Run, bitch!” He cackles. “The staff caught me!”

You make a run for it as the staff chase after you. You laugh when you speed out of the parking lot, tires screeching to announce your departure.

You unblock Jungkook later that night.

Come over tonight.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Talk 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Tony Stark

Summary: Your boss is a funny guy, but there's something else about him that puts you on edge. (maid AU)

Note: he's here.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You set another shining glass on the shelf behind the bar. The work is a bit tedious but you make sure all is perfect. As you turn back to grab another, wiping clean any streaks left by the wash, a shadow wanders in from the tall doorway. 

Mr. Stark rubs his eyes as he walks blindly across the spacious room at the top of Stark Tower. His robe is slack on top, his nudity barely concealed by the lazily tied belt. He groans and yawns as he approaches the bar. He drags his hands back and combs out the silver tufts at his temples. 

“Damn, long night,” he grits out. “Get me a whiskey, honey.” 

You don’t mention the time or his dishevelled state. You just smile and oblige him. That’s the thing about Mr. Stark. He’s a very out there sort of guy. Given all his money, many would say eccentric. As his maid, it isn’t your place to question him either. 

“On it, Mr. Stark,” you beam brightly. He winces. 

“Ugh, jeez, the sunshine’s nice but for the last time, it’s Tony, Mr--” 

“Stark is your father,” you finish for him. “I know.” You put down a fresh glass and uncap his special brand of whiskey. 

He leans on the bar and scoops up the glass before you finish, spilling a drop onto the surface. You quickly sop it up with a cloth. You put away the bottle in the cabinet and he sighs. 

“Last night was...” he stops and snickers. “Long.” 

“Busy, I’m sure,” you agree as you turn back to your work. He is a hero and you imagine he has a lot of late ones. 

“Oh, yeah, you wouldn’t believe it. This woman. Mmm.” 

“Is she okay? Did she get hurt? You saved her right?” You spin to face him. 

He laughs again, “I was off duty.” 

You nod, confused, but don’t ask what he means. He says a lot of things that just kind of go over your head. It’s just who he is. Always joking around. You’re surprised given that he chose to take on such a serious role. An Avenger of all things. 

“How about you pour yourself a glass, honey?” He slurps and slams down his empty glass. 

“Oh, I can’t. I’m working.” 

“Right, but I’m your boss.” 

“Yeah, but... I wouldn’t do a very good job if I was tipsy,” you shrug and set another glass away. 

“Light weight?” He wonders. 

“Sensitive tummy,” you answer with another bright grin. “The cleaner dropped off your suit for tonight.” 

“Great,” he says with less approval than the word would suggest. He watches you and you carry on. “How long have you been here?” 

“Just a bit. I just got started on all this. Didn’t get much further than clearing up the empties,” you explain. 

“Mm, how about you go work on the bedroom. I left a mess in there,” he reaches over the bar and grabs the bottle of whiskey, twisting free the blocky stopper to swig directly from the neck. 

“Sure, uh, I’ll finish this after then,” you step back from the rows of glasses. “Anything else? Maybe some coffee?” 

“Nah, this will wake me up,” he wiggles the bottle and spins away. 

You leave him as he goes to the couch and flops down. The drinking isn’t new. You would be concerned if you had any place to be. Of course, who wouldn’t worry about the world’s best hero being a lush? 

You head off to his bedroom with a bounce in your step. You’re thankful for what you have. It’s nice working in Stark Tower. You try not to mention to the other women at the agency all the perks. Usually a free meal and a few gift cards out of gratitude. Your work isn’t difficult, even if the place is humongous. 

The bedroom door is open as you approach. You sweep inside. The curtains are drawn, the space dim. You go over to the floor length drapes and pull the cord to part them, letting in the morning. You hear a whine and turn to find a pear-shaped bottom, naked and defined, right out in the cold. You nearly let out a squeal yourself. 

“Ugh, my head,” the brunette groans and rolls over, hugging the silky duvet, “close that, Ton.” 

You clear your throat. She doesn’t react. She merely buries her head under arm and grumbles. You look around then swing your arms awkwardly as you move cautiously around the room. You tidy up the little things, trying not to make too much noise. 

“Goddamn, what are you doing?” A pillow hits your back and you turn to face the woman as she sits up, her supple chest exposed. “Tony! Ahhhhh!” She shrieks and you cover your ears. “Who the fuck are you?” 

You wince and show your teeth. You press your hands to your cheeks and sink into your shoulder, “I’m the maid.” 

“The maid!? Where--” She looks around, “where is Tony?” 

“He’s having a drink--” 

“So what? He sent you to show me the door? God, I know he’s slimy but fuck’s sakes,” she pushes herself off the bed and scoops up her dress from the floor. 

“Can I steam that for you?” You offer. She is a guest after all. 

“Get the fuck away from me,” she holds her arm out and flicks her fingers in your direction. 

You flinch, “alright, uh, coffee--” 

“Oh, would you go!? I need to get out of here. Urgh!” She throws the wrinkled dress over her head and grabs her heels from the floor. “I can’t believe that bastard. Couldn’t even give me a Berkin.” 

She storms out and you stare after her. You frown. You hope Mr. Stark doesn’t think you said anything wrong. You were perfectly nice. 

You sniff and go to the bed to tidy the sheets. A strip of black lace falls free. You pick up the panties in a pinch and look to the door. You scurry around and into the hall. 

“Miss! You forgot--” 

She’s gone. You stop, still holding up the panties. You shake your head. They are entirely impractical. Your cheeks would be chafing. 

“Oh, those are sexy,” Stark’s voice draws you around and he winks. You blanch at the under wear in your hand and hide them behind your back. “Yours?” 

“Sir, uh... no... your guest, er, left.” 

“Ah, yes, her,” he scoffs. “Forgettable.” 

“Mm, okay, uh, well, I suppose I’ll just toss these.” You say. 

“What a waste. How about you give ‘em a quick wash and try em on,” he snickers. 

“Sir, you’re so silly,” you shake your head. “I gotta finish making the bed.” 

“Go on, get on it. You deserve the break,” he purrs as he follows you, stopping at the doorway as you enter.  

You ignore him and put the panties on the night table. You shake out the duvet and drop the corner, suppressing a gasp at the stains on the sheet. Oh. 

“What’s the matter, honey?” He asks. 

You shake off your revulsion, “just remembered,” you grab the pillows and strip off the covers, “laundry day.” 

“Is it?” He hums. 

“Yes, sir, uh, Tony,” you pull down the corners of the fitted sheet. 

“Too bad,” he tuts. “Was looking forward to a lazy day in bed.” 

“I can get a fresh set,” you offer as you crumple up the bedding near the foot of the frame. 

“Bah, fuck it. No use laying in bed alone,” he mutters. “What was it you said about coffee?” 

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Too Sweet For Me

Summary: Seventeen year old Y/N isn't thrilled when she finds out her father is somehow Soldier Boy and she's now meant to live with him...

Pairing: Soldier Boy x daughter!reader

Word Count: 1,400ish

Warnings: language, minor fight

A/N #1: I noticed I've never done a Soldier Boy x daughter fic and decided to remedy that! This was meant to be a very short fic but it spiraled a bit. Not sure if there's any interest in this going forward but I have ideas for where it could go if I were to continue...

A/N #2: This diverges just a tad from The Boys. For the purposes of this story, imagine that Soldier Boy killed Homelander at the end of S3 and is now running The Seven. The reader is seventeen for this story...

________

You swallowed as the man that was apparently your father strode around the corner. He was tall and broad, the green fabric of his uniform stretched taut over his strong muscular form. All you’d wanted for years was to find him, have your birth dad miraculously come take you out of foster care so you could stop the constant moves, the constant disappointment. 

At seventeen you knew better than to expect some instant connection. Mom hadn’t been shy about the fact he was an anonymous donor, even when you were little and asked who he was. You always figured he didn’t want you but after she died when you were eight, you hoped he’d show up somehow, like something out of Annie and you’d suddenly have a permanent family again.

Having Soldier Boy for a father wasn’t exactly filling you and the warm and fuzzies.

At least it explained the super strength when you hit puberty, a fact you’d kept hidden from everyone. Every foster parent, schoolmate, social services employee. You weren’t about to wind up in Red River and have your life destroyed before it even started.

“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” said Andrew, the brand new case worker assigned to you. You didn’t take you eyes off the man before you, green eyes watching you cautiously, as a door to the apartment in Vought tower closed behind you.

Soldier Boy’s gaze wandered lower, taking you in fully. Your fists clenched by your sides. You didn’t care what the news said about how he was the hero that took out Homelander. About how he was a war hero. About how somehow he got your mother pregnant after he supposedly died and that made no sense at all.

All you could think about was the gossip forums you scrolled through last year during your annual supe school project on him. Manipulative. Abuser. Sexist. Violent. Damn near sociopathic with how little he cared for the victims left in his wake. 

Finally his gaze met yours again, his mouth curling up in a smile when you clenched so hard the whites of your knuckles showed through your skin.

“No need to be afraid of me, Y/N,” he said politely, taking a few steps forward but giving you plenty of space. “I know you’re confused and I’ll explain but I am your father. I wouldn’t harm you.”

“Funny. Didn’t you kill your last child six months ago? Homelander? Instilling me with a lot of confidence.” His eyebrows raised, his smile flashing a bit of surprise. “I’m not some delicate flower, old man.”

“Yes, you are,” he said, stepping right in front of you, staring you down as you failed to fight back a thick swallow. He gently wrapped his hand around your wrist, your breath hitching when he gave it a squeeze. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“Put your dick anywhere near me and I’ll rip it off.” His hand shot to your jaw, cradling it and forcing you to keep your head up, staring straight at his angry eyes. 

“You’re sick in the head if you think I’d ever touch you. You’re my child for fucks sake and you will learn to watch your mouth.” You kneed him in the groin, Soldier Boy’s whole body jerking as his hands shot to his midsection, doubled over in pain.

“Don’t you confuse the fact that I’m a good person with weakness,” you spat back. He recovered quickly despite you putting all your force behind the hit. Shit. Just how strong was he? You backed up straight into the apartment door, Soldier Boy crowding in on your space. A tremble ran through your body. He’d killed Homelander and his grandson had disappeared off the face of the planet and they hadn’t even done anything to him.

Soldier Boy leaned down, his face barely more than an inch away from your own, his hands splayed out on either side of your head. You kept his gaze though, something flickering in his green eyes for the briefest of moments.

“Who would have thought my teenage daughter had a bigger set of balls than that psycho of a son ever did.” You didn’t move, didn’t dare suck in a breath as he sized you over again. Suddenly he straightened, staring over your head at the wood behind you. “I’m your father whether you like it or not and you’re under my care until you’re 18. You’ll want for nothing.”

“Nothing but an actual father,” you mumbled, wincing when you realized he had super hearing and stifled at the response. After a long beat, he strode away over to a liquor cart, carelessly pouring a large glass of whiskey for himself. 

“Where’s my room?” you sighed, reaching to pick up your backpack and duffel from the foyer. 

“Second floor, second door on the right,” he said, getting to the duffel before you could take it. He held it out for you, taking a long sip, the only indication that it burned the small hiss of air he let out.

You got one hand on the strap when he didn’t release it, your eyes narrowing.

“I used to look at my father like that you know.”

“Let me make something clear,” you said, yanking the bag away, Soldier Boy allowing you to take it. “I don’t know what this is but I’m not going to fall head over heels for you just because you’re my dad. You have to earn that and if you’re not going to try, then stay out of my way.”

He smirked, leaning back against the bar cart with. “What a big little girl you are with your ultimatums. You think a temper tantrum is how to get what you want?”

“All I want is you to not hurt me and for you to be nice. It’s a low fucking bar and until you can clear it, it’s better if you leave me alone.” 

“You’re too sweet for me,” he said, throwing back the rest of his drink, pouring himself another. “A girl who writes a paper on how awful Soldier Boy is and how if he were a normal citizen would have been thrown in jail isn’t someone I would ever expect would give him a chance.”

You lifted your chin even as your heart rate picked up, Soldier Boy quickly by your side and leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“I’d expect a bit more ruthlessness from the girl that said I deserved the death penalty.” Your gaze fixated on the sleek wooden floors beneath you, his arm brushing yours. “It’s okay to admit you want a daddy, baby girl. I’m not a monster like you think.”

“It’s okay to admit you’re scared of being alone. Why else would you come and get me?” you said, his body tense beside you. You turned your head up, his gaze hard once more. You smiled. “I hit a nerve, old timer?”

“It’s cute that you think I give a shit about you.” You couldn’t hide the flash of pain on your face, his eyes narrowing. “Like I said, you’re too sweet. I can break you with just a few words.”

“Then why find me?” you asked as he shoved the whiskey in your hands and took the bags from them, storming off across the apartment for the stairs. “Why did you take me out of my foster home?”

“Because you’re mine whether I like it or not.” He looked over his shoulder. “And you will not fuck that up. Now drink that, calm the fuck down and get used to it or I’ll make sure you get tossed in Red River without a second thought.”

“Or you can just man the fuck up and say you’re scared because you’re alone and I’m all you got.” He stared you down, trying to intimidate you but you didn’t miss the way his eyes watered ever so slightly before he was gone around the corner.

You sighed, closing your eyes and breathing deeply. Okay, that could have gone worse. Much worse. While you weren’t exactly thrilled about how things had gone, at least you knew one thing. 

Somewhere deep, deep down, that man cared about you, only so he wouldn’t be lonely. You wouldn’t trust that it was anything more than that. Those days were long gone, especially when Soldier Boy of all people was your father. It was far too dangerous to trust whatever act he put on once he decided to start playing nice.

You took a long sip of the whiskey, the fiery liquid burning down your throat, making you cough violently. You swore you heard the asshole laughing all the way from the living room.

_______________

A/N: If you'd like to read more of this story, please let me know in a comment, reblog or ask!

[mim16s]

Survival in Game

Cho Hyun-ju x Autistic!Fem!Reader

•I'm not autistic, but I have a brother and a cousin who are, so I used my experience living with them to write this character. English is not my first language, but I tried my best to write this without spelling errors. This is my first story on this app, so I hope it is good.

This wasn’t what you wanted for your life. Honestly, you didn’t even understand how you had gotten to this point. All you wanted was to take care of your mother, to repay all the effort she had put into you. And you knew how hard it had been for her.

She got pregnant young and raised you on her own, with no support system. Your father? Well, you never knew him. He disappeared as soon as he found out about the pregnancy. Your grandparents, embarrassed that she had gotten pregnant so young and without even getting married, abandoned her too. That’s how your mother faced the world alone, with you in her arms.

And things got even harder. You knew that being autistic made everything more challenging for her. As a child, you didn’t speak, and your first words came only after many therapy sessions, which were expensive. But she never gave up. You remembered seeing her come home, exhausted after a long day of work, but always with a smile.

— Mom is fine. You’re everything I need to have strength, — she would say, trying to hide her exhaustion.

But you knew the truth. You knew how much she fought, how she struggled to meet all your needs, to make sure you never lacked anything. Everything fell apart when she got sick. You were 19. The illness took all her strength, and she could no longer work. That’s when the weight of the world fell on you. You had to find a job, but no matter how hard you tried, no one wanted to give you a chance. When they saw you weren’t neurotypical, they wouldn’t give you a chance.

Life became a daily struggle. You survived doing small jobs here and there, while some kind neighbors helped with food baskets. But the money was never enough, and the debts started piling up. Your mother’s treatments were expensive, and with each unpaid bill, the despair grew.Then he appeared. The man in the suit.He appeared out of nowhere, as if fate had sent him. With a piercing look, holding a briefcase in his hand. He stopped in front of you while you were resting in one of the subway chairs, with a smile that made you just as uncomfortable as it did curious.

— Looks like you need an opportunity, don’t you?—You hesitated, unsure of what to respond. He seemed to know exactly who you were and what you were going through.

— I want to propose something to you.

And that’s when you got a card with geometric symbols and a phone number. You stared at it, your heart racing without fully understanding it.

---

And now, here you were: in a strange hall, surrounded by people you didn’t know, in a place you had never seen before, wearing clothes you didn’t even remember putting on, and the fabric itched. You weren’t the only one confused. Perplexed looks crossed the room, and nervous whispers filled the air.

Then they appeared: masked soldiers, wearing uniforms that seemed more threatening than functional. You couldn’t help but shrink back, a heavy feeling that something was terribly wrong.They began to speak, explaining what was happening.

— Can I speak? — A voice echoed. Your eyes followed the sound until they landed on a beautiful woman, who seemed just as indignant as she was confident. — They said it would just be some games, but you kidnapped us. And you still want me to believe this?

— We apologize, — one of the masked soldiers replied, the voice distorted by some sort of modifier. — It was a necessary measure to ensure the confidentiality of the games we are organizing.

Questions started popping up from all sides, but the answers provided no comfort, only more tension. You wanted to understand better, but it was hard to follow. The questions, the sounds around you, the smell of sweat and fear in the hall, everything was pulling you in different directions. You began to rock back and forth slightly, trying to focus. It was something that always helped. But the discomfort persisted.

---

You were led to a large open field, surrounded by high fences and cameras that seemed to record every movement. It was announced that the first game would begin soon. When a desperate man screamed that, if anyone was eliminated, they would die, a chill ran down your spine. It couldn’t be true... right? But when the game began, the illusion of safety shattered. The sharp sound of a gunshot cut through the air. Your eyes widened, shock paralyzing you. That sound — loud, deafening to your sensitive hearing — seemed to hammer in your head. You instinctively wanted to cover your ears to block out that deafening noise, but you felt someone hold your hands firmly, preventing any sudden movements.

— Don’t move, it’s dangerous. — The voice came from behind. It was the beautiful woman from before. There was something in the firmness of her tone that managed to cut through your panic, bringing some calm.

— My ears hurt, — you murmured, your voice trembling.

— I know. But you have to hold on. Just a little longer.

Chaos spread around you. People were screaming, some running in desperation, while others were falling to the sound of new gunshots. You felt terror take hold, a heavy knot in your throat. Your legs felt like stone.

— If you don't cross the line in time, they'll still kill you! Look at the doll's eyes! They're cameras that scan for motion! But it's not able to detect you if you're behind something! — screamed one of the players, his voice desperate. — So if you short, line up behind someone who's taller than you!

Your body wouldn’t respond. You were frozen, the noise and the fear trapping you in place.The beautiful woman stopped in front of you, blocking your view of the rest of the field.

— Keep going. — Her voice was urgent, yet gentle. — You need to keep going. Don’t worry, I’ll stay in front of you. Just follow me, okay?

You couldn’t verbalize, but when the music started again, you followed her. Each step behind her felt like an eternity, but she kept her promise, protecting you as you moved forward.

After the game ended, everyone was taken back to the room. The atmosphere was heavy, filled with fear and despair. Lost looks, uncertain steps — everyone seemed terrified, and you were no different.Sitting on one of the beds, you rocked back and forth, an automatic motion, a desperate attempt to find comfort. But it didn’t help. Your breathing was uneven, the sounds around you seemed amplified, and all you wanted was to leave. Your mind raced in circles, always returning to the same question: Why me? You just wanted to help your mother. Everything you did was for her, and now you were trapped here, too scared to do anything.Then the voice of the masked soldiers echoed through the room, imposing order, the man from before who said he had already participated in this game proposed the vote.At first, the idea of voting seemed like an escape. A chance to get out of that terrible situation.

But then they revealed the amount of money accumulated by the people who had died. The sum gleamed in a giant safe suspended in the room. The shine of the money seemed to hypnotize some. Murmurs started to arise. Many were considering staying. You felt a tightness in your chest.

When the vote began, the sound of buttons being pressed was like a constant drum in your ears. You watched the people go to the ballot box, one by one, pressing their votes. Some hesitated, others went with determination.When it was your turn, your hands trembled as you walked up to the ballot box. The panel blinked in front of you: a circle to stay and an “X” to leave. You could barely see properly, your vision blurred by the tears at the corners of your eyes.Your finger pressed the “X.” You wanted to leave, go home. You needed your mother as much as she needed you. But when the final vote was recorded and the numbers were revealed, your heart sank.The majority had chosen to stay.Panic took over you again. Your fingers began to tremble uncontrollably, and you went back to your bed, feeling your whole body tighten. Your mind was in chaos. The rocking movement returned, but this time even more intense, as if your body was trying to compensate for the avalanche of emotions.You felt helpless. You wanted to scream, to cry, but all you could do was try to hold onto the little control you still had.

The terror was greater than anything you had ever felt before. And, even worse, it was just the beginning

[choccy-zefirka]

Our Latest Book Club Meeting

[Before we begin: Rook is a Qunari Shadow Dragon with some self-worth issues going on]

Attending: Bellara, Neve, Harding, Lucanis, Emmrich (also Taash, and Davrin, sort of)

Book: Adventures of Dolor the Daring, Volume 48, by I. L. Literatus (chosen by Neve)

Notes taken by: Bellara

Notes:

Bellara (me) was quite surprised (and also excited!!!) that Neve chose a crime serial, as she seemed skeptical about those before

Neve admitted that she selected the book not for the plot, not really (though she was complimentary of it, especially Dolor’s final confrontation with the corrupt magister), but because she suspects the author might be… Rook!

Lucanis was first to break the stunned silence afterwards; asked why she thinks that

“Any excuse to hear me talk, hmm, Lucanis?” oh this one is good, must write that down Neve explained that it’s “rather suspicious how the mysterious I. L. Literatus took an extended break from writing the moment we all got tangled up in Solas’ mess, and then showed up again, just as Rook got injured in that fight with the Antaam and had to take a bit of downtime”

Bellara (me) pointed out that it could be a coincidence (mostly to try and ground myself for disappointment, because WOULDN’T IT BE INCREDIBLE IF ONE OF MY FAVORITE PEOPLE WROTE ONE OF MY FAVORITE SERIALS). Sorry

Harding joined in; recalled how the rooftop chase between two burning buildings was almost an exact match for how she, Rook and Varric hurried to rescue Neve on the day when… things happened. Down to the shortcuts they took!

Neve added another detail: apparently, she and Rook were once looking for clues in Docktown, and Rook paused to look up at the sky and say that it looked like a “miserable grey towel that the black claws of the Archon’s palace would not stop wringing”. This was the same description as in the serial’s opening scene! Neve never forgets a thing, she is amazing

Lucanis conceded: he was more convinced now. Realized that “Scorpion”, a mysterious cloaked figure who helps Dolor investigate evil mages, might have been inspired by Viper.

Bellara (me) also realized something! Viper is in the story, but Tarquin isn’t! That’s because the Venatori already know about him, from rumors at least, so mentioning him in a serial in passing would not compromise him… But nobody knows about Tarquin! Rook is protecting him!

Taash was passing by on their way upstairs; but stopped and said, more or less (with a lot more “vashedan” thrown in): “Nah, I read a couple those. Hid them in my Advanced Qunlat textbook so I’d look smart when my mother checked on me. That can’t be Rook. Dolor is nonbinary too, but Lit-Whatsit keeps saying that they always knew who they were, were always confident about that. Rook wasn’t always confident. They struggled, like me.”

Neve disagreed. Noted that Dolor might not be a one-on-one copy of Rook, but an idealized version with all the “right” feelings Rook wished they had. Also listed all the places where Dolor gets excited to play their role as a fighter against cultists and blood mages, and the city’s protector. They are human, an everyday citizen of Minrathous who fits in so very well among everyone… But that’s a very Qunari way of putting it. And that’s something that always bothered Rook.

 Some notes had to be copied over at this point, because the “OH!” sound Harding made toppled over some of our mugs, and they spilled all over the paper! Maybe the stone floor reacted to her? No harm done, really! (Harding, stop worrying)

Harding put things together and asked Neve if I. L. Literatus, or Illiteratus, means anything in Tevene. Neve confirmed it means what it sounds like in Trade: Illiterate. Rook must have a very low opinion of their writing skills (doodle of a sad Bellara face)

Davrin (??? He said he wouldn’t be joining, he had more important things to do, like train Assan??? But there he was???) walked (or sauntered! sauntered is a good word! swaggered even!) up to the table. Asked: “If the author is Rook, and Dolor is Rook but without all their worst thoughts, then what do we make of Flosculus?”

On Flosculus! Bellara (me that is, it’s getting awkward talking in third person for so long) wrote this down while there was another long, long pause. He is a new character that just got introduced in this volume. An older lowborn mage that worked hard to earn a place in the Minrathous Circle, despite the contempt from the greedy, cruel Altus nobles that Dolor usually defeats on their adventures. He is very tall, only a “hand’s length” below an average Qunari warrior (which is just about the height difference between Rook and Emmrich), and his face “might have been fairly good-looking when he was younger, but was chiseled into an elegant, dignified handsomeness with age… Truly, time had treated him with the same kindness as he treated those around him”. I really liked him; he does remind me a lot of Emmrich, with his love for flowers, and his wealth of advice on all things arcane, and his eagerness to see the best in people… And you (well, me at least) can’t help but notice how the story, which is usually all about magic duels and human sacrifices and screaming matches with crazy cultists on top of piles of bones, grows softer whenever he is on the page. Like stepping in from a hailstorm to a cozy room with a burning hearth. But then… then, at the very end of the volume, Dolor realizes that they have been developing a crush on him, and decides never to tell him about it because he does not like them back. Which the author praises them for because it’s “the right thing to do”. Dolor always knows the right thing to do.

Book club meeting adjourned here. No dice were thrown to decide who’s next. Because Emmrich, first very pale and then very pink, got up without a word and ran off somewhere.

THAT BETTER BE TOWARDS ROOK’S ROOM!

Sorry.

[zaunbinary]

it’s so funny to me when it gets pointed out the strings on jinx shirt got removed when she was in jail and people are like “omg that’s like the equivalent of getting your shoelaces taken” but she still has her long ass hair. like she could so easily hurt herself with her hair in more ways than the strings on her shirt.

what i would’ve done is had enforcers forcefully cut her hair off. and no this isn’t just a “piltover evil!!11!” take so listen.

she’s in jail not a mental hospital. she went in willingly yes but it’s STILL jail and that’s STILL jinx. the jinx piltovers been ruthlessly hunting the jinx that bombed the council that jinx. they wouldn’t care or notice the change in her behavior because they didn’t know her enough to know how significant it is also they wouldn’t care because again she fucking bombed them!! jinx’s hair means a lot. the people who saw her as a symbol dyed their hair to match hers to the point piltover saw blue hair as a threat. jinx herself points to her braids to identify herself. it’d mean something if they were the ones to take it. and for jinx personally, all the people she loved and lost touched that hair, helped her braid and style it. her mother, silco, and most recently isha- she carried them all with her in her hair. having that forcefully cut from her would truly leave her with nothing. yes her cutting it herself is “symbolic” because it’s her choosing to let go, but again it’s silly they let her keep it while also taking her strings because it’s like. they Know she’s going to try to hurt herself. the enforcers wouldn’t even see what they’re doing as more harmful than good. they’d think they’re helping her and look how kind they are for not letting their enemy kill herself <3 they are so nice looking out for her <3

this would make her new really bad haircut in the end also mean something. despite the circumstances put upon her, she’s STILL jinx and she’ll still find a way to express herself with her hair. ekko helping her fix it, her building herself up again, it could be a little moment or something. and it would explain why it looks so fucking bad in the end because they were rushed on time and had limited options. i hate her final hair style im sorry

i’m not trying to nitpick every little thing about s2 ep9 but it becomes really hard to ignore these small details in the show that used to thrive on picking up small details when you notice them

[writing-mlm]

Reddit Discovers a Relationship

Summary: Peter is acting strangely following a trip to Asgard and you, naturally, take to Reddit to get opinions from absolute strangers Pairing: Peter Parker x Gn!Reader Wc: 2k tags: readers gender is up to the viewer, mentions of cheating but nothing happens, reader is the adoptive child of Loki, this is formatted like a Reddit post LOL a/n: this came to me in a dream

r/AmItheAsshole 4d ago

throwRA-unclepleasedontseethis

AITA for being upset with my bf for being weird after we visited my family abroad?

Hii! Sorry if formatting and spelling is wrong, I’m on mobile. 

So, I (20nb) and my boyfriend (21m) met when we were both around 15, dating since we were 17. If it matters we met through my (adoptive) uncle: they sort of worked together but in the way that you work with Jane from Accounting. It’s a relatively small business so we did eventually cross paths, I don’t want to go into details for privacy's sake, sorry. If it’s confusing I’ll explain in an edit. 

EDIT: basically he’s the bosses intern-turned-employee, I’m the weird guy's brother's kid turned employee. He joined at 15, I ‘joined’ at 13, i’ve been there two years longer than him

So, recently I went to visit my dad in our home country for two weeks with my uncle and his maybe gf, naturally my bf, wanted to join. He wasn’t allowed to at first bc the last time we tried something similar to this he kind of died?? I’m not sure if the event is still triggering for people, but it was that global event where the population got… sanded?? EDIT: yes the blimp But after that I get nervous with him traveling around there, I know it’s not normal and he would be perfectly fine. It took a while but I eventually agreed that he could go. 

We get there without any hiccups and he sees my country for the first time, i literally have to drag him into my childhood home and let him set up a room. My dad wouldn’t let us sleep in the same room, he went to crazy lengths for that lol. But that was fine, it was only two weeks. Really a week and half. But we have a good time, he meets my old friends, I taught him some traditional cooking and such, we explored for a whole day. I literally took him flower picking and they're in our living room. He spends some time with my folks, some of which I was too busy for, my friends had dragged me out and one time no one woke me up. The last day we spent I literally did not see him at all, like at all. And one of my friends, I’ll call her Vivi, was gone too even though we all said we’d have a group picnic in the garden. 

Eventually, we leave back and he’s just… I don’t want to say ignoring me but he’s definitely distant. He’s hiding his phone (not that I check it, it’s just he got a screen blocker thing, he’s leaving it face down, and in the car, he stops all the notifications from coming through the speakers), he’s all sweaty around me, genuinely will not talk about the trip, he keeps asking if I’ve kept in touch with my friends and what they’ve said. 

Prior to this. he’d literally shove his phone in my face to show me videos or text his aunt if his hands are busy. I’ve heard his text messages between him and his friends where they talk about embarrassing topics like him peeing his pants bc he was drunk. He’s also not one to really sweat, he’s nervous a lot but it’s never like this. 

At work he’s asking to be paired with other people and my uncle keeps staring at him?? they talk in the corner a lot and my uncle cannot whisper for the life of him but he suddenly learned. 

I spoke to one of my friends, not the childhood friends but ones I made here, and they think he’s cheating. Idk, we’re never really apart for him to. We live and work together. We commute together. Our friend groups overlap a whole bunch to the point where I only have two friends that aren’t his friends and the same with him. The same friend said he’s always been off, she just never said anything bc I really like him. I’m cutting her off because even if she is right, that’s a weird thing to harbor right?? like if my friend had a shady bf I’d definitely let them know when I felt that. But maybe that’s an American thing, I don’t know. 

I asked him about it, I think three times. Each time he gets more nervous and I’ve decided I’m going to be the same way. His boss, who’s really just like a weird older brother or something to me, says I’m being petty and we need to grow up and talk. His wife says she did the same thing to him and the issue ended up being that he was going through major heart problems and she still feels bad about that. But i don’t think he’s having heart issues, our jobs need regular medical checkups and he’s his same healthy self. 

Am I going crazy? Should I ask again?

EDIT: he’s 21 and I’m 20 but we met when we were both 15 bc his birthday is earlier than mine is

——

WNDRGRL639 • 3d ago

NTA, i’m sorry sweets but it does sound like he cheated. That day where he was gone with ViVi for the whole day is suspicious, have you talked to her to see what she was doing?

-> throwRA-unclepleasedontseethis OP

Communication with people back home is difficult. They’re kind of the send a bird to deliver mail type, I can only talk to my dad when he’s in this specific area bc it has signal. It’s a portable device from over here. I don’t want to ask him to ask her because everyone is kind of… fearful of my dad but I don’t think she would do that. 

—> Holding_Space

why don’t you think she would?? also NTA 

—-> throwRA-unclepleasedontseethis OP

bc she’s only into women, sorry I forgot to add that detail I was in a rush 

JoyfulCalling629 • 4d ago

NTA, it’s frustrating when a partner doesn’t say what’s on their mind but give it time. could it have been something your uncle and dad said? are they too protective?

-> throwRA-unclepleasedontseethis OP

I wouldn’t put it past my dad but my uncle absolutely adores my bf, like even if we weren’t dating they’d still have the same relationship lol. but from what I noticed my dad does like my bf, he just comes off as scary to basically everyone 

—> Daylighthatings

NTA but it sounds like your bf wants to propose!! my wife was the same way leading up to the proposal 

—-> throwRA-unclepleasedontseethis OP

hmm. We’ve spoken about marriage for sure, so I know it’s something on his mind. I’m going to hope it’s that and not any of these crazy ideas lol. I saw someone say he’s planning on leaving me for my dad, that he’s cheating with my uncle, that i’ve probably scared him off bc my country must be scary. 

——> Daylighthatings

aw it’s certainly none of those, i’ve read through your other replies and the two of you seem absolutely smitten

fhendnsn79 • 2d ago

YTA, he probably gotten scared by your dad. keeping the two of you separate for two weeks? he has issues. not to mention you kept bringing up him dying! i’d want to break up too probably call the cops too

-> throwRA-unclepleasedontseethis OP

trust me when I say this, I have your address and I’m sending the IRS bc you have unfiled taxes since 2010 good luck in prison!!!!

—-

r/confessions 2d ago

u/spiderman

I asked my partners dad for the family ring and I’m planning to propose but they think I’m cheating on them 

Hii! First time posting, sorry if the formatting is wonky I’m on my phone. Throwaway bc my partner knows my main

Okay, so I (21m) and my partner (20nb), have been together for around 3 years and I knew I wanted to propose to them after they agreed to binge watch all of Star Trek with me even though they hate (and I mean HATE) most alien media because it’s inaccurate. They ended up enjoying it, but that’s not the point. 

Recently we visited their dad, after a lot of pestering they agreed to let me go and I was super nervous. It wasn’t my first time meeting their dad, maybe the third time but I was about to ask a man who could kill me in a second if I could get his family ring so I could marry his only child. I tried to tire them out, meeting with friends, taking me across a lot and I mean a lot of hills and such so I could also talk to their best friend alone. I’ll call her Ivvi. So, I didn’t have a lot of time and unfortunately had to spend the last day of the trip with Ivvi and their dad talking about traditional wedding stuff and how to properly propose (i didn’t even know there was a wrong way!!!) 

So, with all those expectations I’m super nervous. I have to hide my phone bc their uncle is sending me texts about it and he absolutely does not know how to speak in code. my aunt is the same way and I Don't want them to ruin it. I’m also so close to just blurting out the question so (we work at the same place) I’ve been avoiding them. Their uncle keeps pulling me away to ask when and it’s making me so nervous I can’t even think straight around them anymore. 

They’re starting to notice, not start they BEEN noticing but now they’re giving me the cold shoulder. I know this one friend they have, not Ivvi, it’s this one friend they met during college who I CANNOT stand bc she’s fake. They can’t see it because they tend to take things at face value when it comes to Americans because they think we don’t like to lie. I’ve been trying to tell them that it’s not true. But yeah. That friend spoke to one of my friends who asked me if I cheated and i, of course said no, and spilled my whole plan to her because if anyone could help, it would def be her. 

But I know that friend planted some evil seed in my partners head and now I have to rush my plans. 

I’ll update this after I propose tho!!!!

—

DjMightyThor • 2d ago

I just checked… this is Spiderman’s official Reddit. 

Xsavior • 2d ago

SPIDERMAN IS PROPOSING TO NORIDC???

MegannnHorsie • 1d ago

didn’t know they were that serious wow

Spideyfan4EVA • 2d ago

does he know he posted this to his main hopefully Nordic doesn’t see this LMFAOOO

—

r/BestofRedditorUpdates • 1 hr. ago

u/TonyStark

Clearly, I am not Nordic or Spiderman but they’re both too embarrassed to update. You’re welcome. 

Original post- Nordic

Original post- Spiderman

Thought I should update the people of Reddit on the kids proposal plans. I was unfortunately not there but I was fortunate enough to hack into the cameras in their apartment to see it. So, I’ll give a sort of play by play. 

Spiderman, in the living room with the place decorated in Asgardian stuff, rose petals everywhere and their favorite song in the background. He’s typing the Reddit story because he’s so nervous. 

Nordic, coming back from hanging with their friends, enters the apartment. Spiderman posts it without double checking ANYTHING. Chucks his phone into the kitchen sink somehow. 

Nordic walks inside and looks at the sink before looking at Spiderman. Ugly cries, a lot of tears. Like a lot. I asked (got permission to post) and apparently some of the items were from their since deceased family, so it was extra emotional. Spiderman, in full fucking Asgardian, asks Nordic to marry them. Oh it’s snotty tears now. Idk wtf he said, and Thor won’t translate, so…

There’s two rings!! The royal one and one from Nordic’s blood family. They kiss and fireworks!!! Joking, that’s a fire hazard. But he does immediately call Thor, who was in the room with Sam. I heard the tears from my office. They hang up and I’ll cut the rest of the footage bc I do not want to bleach my eyes thank you. 

—

spiderman • 1 hr. ago

MR STARK YOU DIDNT NEED TO PUT THE LAST PART 

-> throwRA-unclepleasedontseethis 

or any of this actually why are you in our cameras??

—> TonyStark  I made them.

[luvvictoria]

Through Fire and Void

+ pairings. suguru geto x f!reader/satoru gojo x f!reader

+ tags. romance, heavy (?) angst, cheating, betrayal, dark romance themes, love triangle (more like a square), secrets and lies, eventual smut

+ status. on-going

+ official playlist. by victo

+ materialist ; prev. part ; next part + a/n. Reblog with your favourite line ! It would help me very much to grow my account !! Thank you in advance

The days blurred together in a haze of routine and unresolved tension, each one indistinguishable from the last. For [Name], the mornings were the worst — waking up felt like an uphill battle she had already lost before opening her eyes. The gnawing emptiness in her chest would greet her like an unwelcome visitor, settling heavily as if it had every right to be there. She would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, her body weighted by an invisible force that whispered to her that something was wrong, even if she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what.

But life didn’t stop for feelings she couldn’t explain. So, she did what she always did: got up, plastered on a smile, and went through the motions of her day. It was easier to pretend than to face the gnawing questions in her mind. That was what Suguru loved about her, after all — her ability to hold it all together, even when everything inside her felt like it was shattering into a thousand pieces. She was dependable, predictable, someone he didn’t have to worry about.

The mornings stretched into afternoons, where her routine felt like a carefully choreographed dance, each step hiding the chaos beneath. She would laugh at jokes she didn’t find funny, nod along to conversations she wasn’t really listening to, and avoid lingering too long in moments of silence where her thoughts might catch up to her. And when she saw Suguru, she made sure to keep her doubts buried deep, masking them behind the perfect image of the girl she thought he wanted her to be.

Today, though, was different.

The cracks were starting to show. It was in the way her hands trembled slightly as she buttoned her shirt, in the way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes when she greeted her classmates. It was in the way she avoided looking too closely at Suguru’s face when he kissed her on the cheek that morning, afraid that she might see something she wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

Her reflection in the bathroom mirror caught her off guard. She paused, staring at the person looking back at her. Was this who she really was now? Someone who spent every waking moment second-guessing herself, walking on eggshells, and pretending everything was fine when nothing felt fine at all? Her chest tightened, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe. She splashed cold water on her face, the chill shocking her back to reality, and forced herself to straighten up.

The world wouldn’t wait for her to fall apart. It never did.

The school hallways buzzed with chatter and bursts of laughter, a chaotic symphony of teenage life that felt at odds with the storm brewing inside [Name]. She moved through the throng like a ghost, her books clutched tightly to her chest as if they could shield her from the noise, the questions, the uncertainty. Her gaze stayed glued to the floor, avoiding the curious stares of those around her.

The doubts and suspicions that had taken root in her mind felt like live wires, sparking and threatening to ignite if she let herself think too long. How many times had his phone buzzed while they were together? How many times had he turned away with an excuse, his smile disarming but his eyes unreadable? She shook her head, trying to banish the thoughts.

“[Name]!”

The voice broke through her spiraling thoughts, and she stopped in her tracks, turning toward its source. Utahime was weaving through the crowd, her expression warm and filled with concern.

Utahime. The one person who had always been there, her steady presence like a lighthouse in a storm. Her friend’s kind smile cut through the noise in [Name]’s head, grounding her.

“Hey,” [Name] greeted, her lips curving into a smile she hoped looked convincing.

Utahime tilted her head, her eyes scanning [Name]’s face with the precision of someone who knew her too well. “You look like you didn’t sleep at all. Did something happen?”

The question hit harder than it should have. [Name]’s grip on her books tightened, her nails pressing into the covers. She wanted to tell Utahime everything. She wanted to spill the truth about Suguru’s distance, about the constant buzzing of his phone, about the way he sometimes looked at her like she wasn’t even there. But the words stuck in her throat.

“No, I’m fine,” she said quickly, her voice a little too bright. “Just tired.”

Utahime’s frown deepened, but she didn’t press. “Well, let me know if you need anything, okay?”

She slipped an arm around [Name]’s shoulders, and the simple gesture felt like a lifeline. “Want to grab lunch later? Just us? We can skip the cafeteria and go somewhere quieter.”

The offer warmed something in [Name], and for the first time that morning, her smile felt almost real. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

Utahime grinned, giving her a light squeeze. “Good. You need a break, and I could use some girl talk. See you then.”

As Utahime walked away, her presence lingered like the last rays of sunlight before a storm. For a brief moment, [Name] felt a flicker of hope—a reminder that no matter how chaotic things got, she didn’t have to face it alone. But as she turned to head to her next class, the weight of her thoughts settled back onto her shoulders, heavier than before.

In the crowd, she caught a glimpse of Suguru, his tall frame leaning casually against a locker as he laughed with Shoko. The sight sent a pang through her chest, but she looked away before either of them could notice her. She bit her lip and quickened her pace, the doubt coiling tighter in her stomach.

She told herself she would confront him soon — just not today. Not yet.

Across campus, Satoru Gojo leaned against a wall, his signature grin plastered on his face as he chatted with Yo Haibara. The two of them were like magnets for trouble, their energy infectious and a little chaotic.

“So, did you hear about the party at Mei Mei’s place this weekend?” Yo asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Of course I did,” Satoru replied, adjusting his sunglasses. “Think I’d miss out on a chance to outshine everyone?” Yo laughed, but his amusement faltered when he noticed Satoru’s gaze shift. Following his line of sight, he spotted Suguru walking across the courtyard, his phone pressed to his ear.

“He’s been busy lately,” Yo commented, his tone casual but curious. Satoru’s grin dimmed, just slightly. “Yeah. Busy.” Suguru’s conversation ended, and he slipped his phone into his pocket before joining them. “What are you two scheming now?” he asked, his tone light.

“Planning to crash Mei Mei’s party in style,” Satoru replied, his usual charm masking the edge in his voice. “What about you? Finally done with all those ‘errands’ you’ve been running?”

Suguru’s smile was as polished as ever. “Some of us have responsibilities, Satoru. Not all of us can coast through life on good looks and charm.”

“Speak for yourself,” Satoru shot back, though his laugh didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The air between them shifted subtly, a tension invisible to anyone passing by but palpable to those who knew them well. Satoru’s grin lingered, a shield against the questions simmering beneath the surface. Yo, ever the peacemaker, raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet, sensing the unspoken undercurrent between his two friends.

Suguru’s polished smile didn’t waver, though there was a flicker in his eyes — a brief shadow that Satoru caught but chose not to comment on. Instead, he leaned back against the wall, his posture as casual as ever, but his sharp gaze never left Suguru.

“Responsibilities, huh?” Satoru drawled, pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. “Funny how those seem to come with a lot of phone calls lately. Anyone important?” Suguru chuckled, his tone easy but calculated. “Just people I have to keep happy. You know how it is.”

“Do I?” Satoru shot back, the words light but laced with an edge. His grin widened, but his tone softened, almost too casual. “You’re not spreading yourself too thin, are you? Gotta make sure you have time for the people who really matter.” Suguru’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the shift barely noticeable. “I always do,” he replied, the smoothness of his voice betraying nothing.

Yo glanced between them, sensing the growing friction but unsure of its source. He cleared his throat, forcing a smile. “Okay, okay, let’s not get too serious here. It’s a party, not a debate club. So, Suguru, are you coming, or are you gonna leave me and Satoru to fend off Mei Mei’s sarcastic jabs by ourselves?” Suguru’s smile returned, this time with an air of detachment. “I’ll see if I can make it. No promises.”

“Translation: ‘I’m bailing,’” Satoru quipped, throwing an arm around Yo’s shoulders. “Looks like it’s just you and me, Haibara. Don’t worry; I’ll make sure we’re the stars of the night.” Yo laughed, the tension easing slightly, but Satoru’s grip on his shoulder was tighter than usual, his focus still on Suguru. “Don’t stay too busy, Suguru. You might miss something important.” Suguru didn’t respond immediately, his expression unreadable as he met Satoru’s gaze. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said finally, his tone neutral.

With that, Suguru turned and walked away, his pace unhurried but purposeful. Satoru watched him go, his usual carefree demeanor slipping for just a moment as he ran a hand through his white hair.

“You two okay?” Yo asked hesitantly.

Satoru shrugged, the grin back on his face like a mask. “Yeah, we’re fine. Suguru’s just... complicated.”

Yo didn’t push further, but the unease lingered as they made their way across campus. Satoru’s thoughts, however, remained on Suguru. He’d known his friend long enough to recognize when something was off, and lately, everything about Suguru felt like a puzzle with pieces missing.

As they reached their next class, Satoru made a mental note to keep a closer eye on him. Secrets had a way of unraveling, and Satoru wasn’t about to let Suguru’s unravel without warning.

Later that afternoon, [Name] found herself in the quiet sanctuary of the library, sitting across from Nanami Kento. The rows of books around them provided a sense of stillness, the hum of hushed whispers and the occasional turning of pages creating a calming background. It wasn’t the first time she had sought solace in Nanami’s company. The studious, dependable boy had a way of grounding her, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions she’d been wrestling with lately.

“Are you okay?” Nanami’s voice cut through the silence, soft yet direct. He didn’t look up from his notebook, his pen moving methodically across the page, but there was a weight to his words that made her pause.

She hesitated, her pencil hovering over the math problem she had been pretending to work on. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?” she finally muttered, her tone defensive but laced with fatigue.

Nanami stopped writing and set his pen down carefully, his gaze meeting hers. His hazel eyes were steady, unfaltering, and filled with a concern that was impossible to ignore. “Because you’re not hiding it as well as you think,” he said simply. There was no judgment in his voice, just an observation that landed uncomfortably close to the truth.

Her shoulders sagged under the weight of his words. She sighed, dropping her pencil onto the table and leaning back in her chair. “I don’t know, Nanami. I just feel… off. Like something’s wrong, but I can’t figure out what it is.”

Nanami didn’t respond right away, giving her the space to gather her thoughts. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “Sometimes,” he said after a moment, “it’s okay to not have all the answers. You’re human. Feeling lost doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you.”

She stared at him, the unexpected kindness in his words catching her off guard. “But what if it’s not just me? What if it’s… other things? People?” She trailed off, the confession hanging in the air between them like a fragile thread.

Nanami’s expression didn’t change, but there was a slight shift in his posture, a silent acknowledgment that he understood more than she was saying. “If something — or someone — is making you feel this way, you don’t have to face it alone. You should talk to someone about it. Someone you trust.”

His words lingered in her mind, each one heavy with unspoken meaning. She wanted to tell him everything — the doubts gnawing at her, the way Suguru’s behavior didn’t add up, the emptiness she couldn’t seem to shake. But the thought of saying it out loud felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, the drop too terrifying to face.

Instead, she forced a smile. “Thank you, Nanami. I’ll think about it.”

He studied her for a moment longer, as if weighing whether to push further, but finally nodded. “Anytime.” Picking up his pen again, he returned to his work, his movements precise and deliberate.

[Name] tried to focus on her own homework, but the numbers and equations blurred together on the page. Nanami’s words echoed in her mind, intertwining with her own swirling thoughts.

When their study session ended, Nanami packed his books neatly into his bag. Before he left, he paused, his hand resting on the strap of his bag. “If you ever need to talk, I’m here,” he said softly, his tone so genuine it made her chest ache. Nanami hugged her before finally tossing his bag over his shoulder.

She nodded, watching him walk away with his usual calm, measured stride. As the library fell silent again, she sat back in her chair, staring up at the ceiling. The weight of her secrets felt heavier than ever, pressing down on her like a suffocating blanket.

For the briefest moment, she considered taking Nanami up on his offer. But the thought of unraveling everything, of exposing the cracks she had worked so hard to hide, of the fear of judgment, of the fear of someone expossing everything to the whole university, was too daunting.

Instead, she stayed there, alone with her thoughts and the overwhelming quiet of the library.

As evening fell, [Name] sat alone in her dimly lit room, the faint glow of her phone screen illuminating her face. The silence pressed heavily around her, broken only by the occasional muffled sound from outside — a dog barking, a car passing by. She stared blankly at the wall, her thoughts racing but directionless, like a storm churning in her mind with no end in sight.

Her desk was cluttered with unfinished assignments and crumpled notes, remnants of tasks she’d started but couldn’t bring herself to finish. Even the simple act of picking up a pen felt like dragging herself through quicksand. Her bed was unmade, the sheets tangled from restless nights spent tossing and turning.

She’d told Utahime she wasn’t feeling well and skipped their lunch earlier that day. She hated lying to her, but the thought of forcing a smile and pretending everything was fine felt unbearable in that moment. [Name] didn’t want to face anyone — not when the storm inside her felt like it was on the verge of breaking, spilling out in ways she couldn’t control.

Her phone buzzed in her lap, jolting her from her spiraling thoughts. For a fleeting moment, her heart leapt, a desperate hope swelling within her. Suguru. Maybe he’d finally noticed her absence, finally decided to check in.

But it wasn’t him.

It was Riko Amanai.

Hey, just checking in. Are you okay?

[Name] stared at the message for what felt like an eternity, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She wanted to respond honestly, to tell Riko that she wasn’t okay, that she felt like she was drowning. But the words caught in her throat, the weight of her own thoughts silencing her.

Finally, she typed out a reply, her hands trembling slightly.

Yeah, I'm just tired from all that studdying, that's all. Thanks for asking, sweetheart .

She hesitated before pressing send, her chest tightening with a pang of guilt. Another lie.

Riko’s reply came almost instantly. If you need to talk, I’m here. Always.

The words hit her harder than she expected, and before she could stop herself, tears welled in her eyes. They blurred her vision, spilling over and streaking down her cheeks as she clutched her phone tighter.

But even as the tears fell, she didn’t respond. What could she say? That she felt like a shadow of herself, hollowed out by the weight of her doubts and fears? That she spent most nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what was wrong with her?

The thoughts swirled relentlessly, dragging her deeper into the void. She wiped at her face hastily, as if erasing the evidence of her unraveling would somehow make it less real.

No one had noticed — not Suguru, not Shoko her best friend, not even her teachers who saw her every day. She’d perfected the art of smiling, of nodding along, of being what everyone expected her to be. A people pleaser.

Her phone buzzed again, pulling her back. It was another message from Riko.

Seriously, anytime. I’m here.

The sincerity in Riko’s words broke something in her, and she let out a shaky breath, her hands trembling as she typed out a response she would never send.

I’m not okay. I’m falling apart, piece by piece, and I don’t know how to stop it. It feels like I’m screaming into a void, but no one hears me. I’m surrounded by people who care, but it doesn’t matter — It's like I'm losing myself and I don't know why, it's like I can't be helped, I’m still drowning in this endless emptiness. I can’t breathe, I can’t think, and I can’t remember the last time I genuinely felt like myself. It’s like I’m fading away, and the worst part is, no one even notices and it fucking hurts. No one sees me slipping, not even the people I thought knew me best. I don’t even know if I’m worth saving anymore.

She stared at the unsent message, the words staring back at her like a confession she wasn’t ready to make. With a sigh, she deleted it and placed her phone face down on the bed.

Instead, she curled up in the corner of her room, her knees pulled tightly to her chest as the silence closed in once more. The storm inside her raged on, unseen and unheard by anyone else.

s the night deepened, the invisible threads connecting them all tightened, pulling each of them closer to the breaking point. Secrets layered upon lies, creating a suffocating web that clung to them, unseen but impossible to ignore. It was the kind of weight that settled in the back of their minds, growing heavier with each passing moment, yet they pretended it wasn’t there.

For Suguru, every lie he told was like a brick added to the fragile façade he had built. He wasn’t blind to the cracks forming, but he couldn’t stop. The thrill of deception had become its own addiction, feeding a part of him he didn’t dare acknowledge. Each time he looked at [Name], her adoring eyes searching his for truths he’d buried, he felt a fleeting pang of guilt. But it was fleeting, drowned out by the whispers of temptation that beckoned him back to Shoko.

For [Name], the web wasn’t invisible — it was suffocating. She could feel its strands tightening around her, constricting her every breath, yet she convinced herself it wasn’t real. Her mind was a battleground, torn between the image of Suguru she cherished and the shadows of doubt she couldn’t shake. She replayed their moments together like a broken record, searching for clues she didn’t want to find. Every laugh, every touch, every lingering kiss, every night spent together, — was it real? Or was it all part of a lie she was too afraid to confront?

Satoru carried the weight of knowing too much. The truth sat heavy on his chest, a burden he hadn’t asked for but couldn’t let go of. He watched Suguru navigate his double life with the precision of a skilled manipulator, and it churned something bitter in him. He’d warned Suguru once — told him that secrets like these had a way of unraveling, tearing apart everything in their path. But Suguru had laughed it off, confident in his ability to keep the pieces together. And so Satoru stayed silent, his loyalty to his oldest friend locking him into a role he hated.

Even Yo, so often dismissed as the carefree troublemaker, felt the pull of the web. His own secrets weighed heavy on him — the pills in his pocket, the deals that left a sour taste in his mouth. He told himself it was just temporary, that he’d walk away when the time was right. But the longer he stayed, the more tangled he became, the more the lines blurred between who he was and who he was becoming.

And then there was Shoko, the catalyst no one talked about. She wore her indifference like armor, but beneath it was something colder, sharper — a satisfaction in knowing the role she played. She wasn’t blind to the pain she caused, but she told herself it wasn’t her responsibility. Suguru had made his choices, and [Name] was too naïve to see the truth. It wasn’t her job to fix anything, even tho [name] saw her as a best friend, Shoko couldn't care less about her.

As the night stretched on, each of them felt the web pulling tighter, the strands digging into their skin. None of them could see the full picture, but all of them felt its weight. The lies they told themselves were the hardest to escape, echoing in their minds like a relentless tide: This is fine. I can handle this. Nothing’s going to fall apart. It will get better.

But deep down, they all knew better. The web wasn’t just trapping them — it was unraveling, one thread at a time. And when it finally gave way, none of them would emerge unscathed.

✨ Enjoyed this story? ✨ If you’d like to support my writing, consider leaving a tip or commissioning a custom fanfic on Ko-fi. Every bit helps me and my family, and I’m so grateful for your support! 💕

[sailorscout93]

Scout watches Cynthia and Ariana’s Wicked commentary part 4! Starts right after Popular up until Elphie gets the letter from the Wizard. Warning, I go on tangents again in this one. I info dump one of my favorite shipping headcanons and I infodump about one of the 10 deleted scenes that we get 😂

1. I love that Cynthia requested the hairstyle for this part being “something that Galinda would’ve given Elphaba to do!” Such a cute little Easter egg!

2. “WOOWWWW okay Fiyero! You didn’t have to say it like that! I don’t like it.” 😂😂😂 Ari being Galinda again

3. “Do you want a lolly?” omg they would have snacks while doing this

3. I don’t know which of them said “He’s so good.” Talking about Johnny Bailey’s Fiyero in the forest scene but at first I heard “He’s so gay” and I was like “I mean… true, but odd thing to say?” Listen…. I have auditory processing issues because of my autism so it takes me a little longer to process what I’ve heard 😂

4. The way they both agree that Galinda is jealous that Elphie took Fiyero with to rescue the cub instead of her but it wouldn’t have even crossed Galinda’s mind that something could have happened between Elphaba and Fiyero at that moment. Galinda being Elphie’s jealous GF, not Fiyero’s confirmed!

5. And then Immediately confirmed that Elphie ALSO didn’t think of anything happening between her and Fiyero, but Fiyero might have….. Fiyero holds the brain cell of the poly Thropple also confirmed! (Yes I primarily ship Gelphie, but I do also ship the trio as a polycule) Specifically I ship it in the sense of Act II Glinda and Fiyero being in a ‘lavender marriage’ (where one or both partners in a straight appearing relationship is actually gay and the public “relationship” between them is a cover up for the gay person, usually for political/social reasons) but they both agree that they’re missing Elphaba. Fiyero eventually leaves to go find Elphie, brings her back through some means, they defeat the wizard and Morrible, the events of the Wizard of Oz never necessarily happen maybe? Idk. I’d have to write more details if I wanted to flesh it out. One thing leads to another (as it so often does) and they end up as a trio with Lesbian Glinda with her Elphie and in a QPR with Fiyero because he’s like her best friend but she doesn’t want him like that (maybe she’s also a little ace-spec? Am I projecting? Maybe!) and Elphie and Fiyero are also together. Okay moving on….. lol

6. I should’ve kept a tally of how many times Ariana fangirls over Cynthia’s singing 😂

7. OMG they’re mentioning the Elphaba’s Promise deleted scene and how they get why it was deleted. Okay I’m gonna go on a tangent of info dumping again lol so I saw an interview of Jon Chu where he explained WHY he ultimately chose not to put that scene in the final movie and as much as I WISH that scene was in the film, his reasoning makes sense. It gets the story a little ahead of itself and kinda gives continuity issues with Elphaba asking Glinda to come with her to the Emerald City if before they find out about her going to meet the Wizard she tells Glinda “I won’t leave you behind again.” Then it sets up this narrative that we would EXPECT Glinda to go to the Emerald City with her and it kinda jumbles up the “come with me!” At the train station. That’s why it was left out in the end.

8. Last one for now: The Easter egg of Elphie’s hair getting looser and less uptight over the course of the movie as she grows into who she is…. 😭 and then they fangirl over each other’s outfit again!

I’ll be back for part 5 soon! Idk if it’ll be the last one but we are within less than an hour left of the movie!!!

[rivalsispunk]

The Interview (Chapter 1 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)

Best friend’s dad!Declan O’Hara, boss!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader

Journalist Declan O’Hara is in need of a personal assistant as his Corinium career skyrockets, and his daughter Taggie has the perfect candidate: her best friend. What seemingly starts as a professional relationship soon snowballs into something both Declan and reader were never expecting and are no longer able to deny.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, (eventual) smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), more warnings added per chapter

Word count: 3.1k

Author’s note: Hello! Long time reader, first time poster! Please be kind but also let me know what you think! Proof read but probs still some mistakes. Not entirely canon, Declan still works for Corinium, Maud has disappeared to god knows where and the rest, well, you’ll have to read to find out :)

Chapter One: The Interview

You were going to positively kill Taggie once you returned to the Cotswolds. Only she, your closest friend since you relocated to the country after finishing your university degree six months ago, could convince you to cut your gap year short in favour of interviewing for a personal assistant job at Corinium. And, for her father, Declan O’Hara, no less.

“Oh, go on!” Taggie had pleaded with you over The Priory’s kitchen counter. “I know you’re getting bored out here. You can’t spend all of your days sitting around here, helping me peel the shite out of prawns for dinner parties.”

“Why not?” You plucked a grape from the fruit platter she’d just finished assembling for an event at Freddie and Valerie Jones’ that evening. “I happen to like spending all my time with you. Even if it does mean peeling shite out of crustaceans.” You eyed your friend with faux suspicion. “Are you getting sick of me already?”

“Of course not! I just think you’d be grand at it, that’s all, what with your journalism degree and all,” Taggie explained. “You’ve heard Daddy when he comes home. Always complaining about the sorts he’s had to interview. Plus, he already knows you. That’s ought to win you some points right there.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be all bad,” you confessed, mulling the opportunity over as you chewed through another handful of grapes. It would look amazing on your resume and you’d have a foot in the door at one of the biggest TV networks in the United Kingdom. Plus, it wouldn’t kill you to have a front row seat to Declan in all his glory every single day. You would never mention it to Taggie, but you fancied her dad a rather handsome sod.

“Say you’ll do it. At the very least, for me?” Taggie bat her thick eyelashes at you.

“Fine,” you eventually relented, a smile cracking over your face at the new possibility. “I’ll go in for an interview, but no promises. And I don’t want you convincing him of me either! I want to get this job on my own merit, okay?”

“Convince Daddy of you? Please, he already adores you.” The sentiment spread fire through your chest. Tag rounded the kitchen bench and grabbed you by the hand. “Now let’s find you an outfit! Mummy ought to have left something halfway suitable behind.”

Taggie nor Declan had said much about their absentee matriarch Maud in the recent weeks since she fled the countryside after yet another explosive argument between her and her husband. You knew better than to ask, but you could tell by the way Taggie’s shoulders sagged at the sight of her mother’s partially empty closet that her absence had a somber affect on her.

You’d only been into the main bedroom of The Priory once before, when the room was overtaken by Maud’s florally perfumes and extravagant evening gowns. This time, however, the space was so intrinsically Declan; all heady cedarwood and whisky and smoke. Shirts with patterns of plaid and tartan as well as numerous odd, natural-coloured socks were peppered across armchairs and vanities, while a stack of memoirs sat on his bedside with a full ashtray perched atop. Your heart swelled, and sunk simultaneously, at the thought of Declan being sat up here alone at night, or early of a morning, thumbing through a book while taking slow drags of his cigarette as he let himself be consumed by a life far different to the one he was currently living.

“How about this?” Taggie’s voice ripped through your daydream, forcing you away from thoughts of her father. You peered at the oatmeal-coloured dress she had retrieved from the closet, surprised that Maud owned something so…brown. You’d always known her to wear jewel tones that complimented her flaming red hair. You shook your head, and thus began a cycle of Taggie suggesting an outfit and you shooting it down. Eventually, you agreed to Taggie swapping out your creature comfort jeans and Wham! T-shirt for an old black pencil skirt that you were convinced had given you hives from the way your legs hadn’t stopped itching since you put it on, as well as a silky fuchsia blouse that stretched a little too tight over your breasts. While your friend had done a good job at assuring you that you’d fit right in at the Corinium offices, you weren’t as convinced.

The receptionists, all in latest season fashion with not a hair out of place, had looked you up and down as soon as you stepped foot in the marble foyer, snickering behind your back about your fashion fauxpas once you’d checked in. Sarah Stratton wasn’t as covert with her judgement. As you sat outside Declan’s office, waiting to be called in, Sarah outwardly guffawed when she spotted you across the floor. You’d met her several times in passing at parties and Corinium events you’d previously attended as Taggie’s plus one, and for the most part, she’d kept her observations to herself. But now, as her red heels clip across the carpet, her gaze set right on you with her matching rouge lips upturned. “I would never have expected to see you here, darling!” she coos down at you, reaching for a strand of hair that has slipped in front of your shoulder. “And playing dress ups, no less!” Another laugh tinkers out of her as she twirls your hair around her finger. “Interviewing for the assistant job with Declan, hm?”

You nod with a taut smile and try not to let her comment about you looking god-awfully out of place get to you. Sarah’s eyes shift to Declan’s closed mahogany door and tuts. “Well, good luck, sweetheart. Seems like you’ll need it with the way the rest of those interviews have panned out.”

“Oh, hop off it, Sarah!” an unmistakingly Irish voice barks from your left. Sarah jolts upright and despite the embarrassment that tinges her cheeks pink, still manages throw a sultry smile in Declan’s direction. Your posture matches her pin-straight stature as you side-eye his office. It hadn’t occurred to you that he wasn’t inside, preparing for your interview the way you had been all morning. You’d crafted your pitch of yourself perfectly, complete with ideas and suggestions for potential guests for Declan’s show, anything to set you apart, make you seem even a fraction less useless that the interviewees that came before you. “Don’t you have anything better to do? Where’s James?” he questions Sarah, alluding to the very common knowledge that she and her co-host James Vereker are having an affair. Declan makes a show of raking through his moustache - god, that moustache - then adds with a smirk, “James and better. Probably not two words that should be in the same sentence, eh?” Sarah’s smile plateaus at that, and that stiff upper-lip culture she was dying to marry into takes its place.

“I’m sure I can make myself busy, Declan. Got a show to prepare and all that. Ciao!” She doesn’t look at you again and you’re grateful that Declan starts to speak before you bumblefuck your way through the silence.

“Ciao,” he repeats once Sarah’s out of earshot . “Doubt that leech of a woman’s ever had a decent carbonara, let alone stepped foot in Italy.” he says, offering you the first genuine smile you’ve received all day. “Let’s get to it, shall we?” He swings open his office door and holds an arm out. “After you, love.”

“Thanks.”

You shuffle into the room ahead of him, completely oblivious to the way Declan’s eyes are trained on your arse in a skirt that’s familiar to him, but he’s unsure how. Right now, however, he doesn’t care, because it fits your body so magnificently, as if it were made for you. He fights to ignore the dull throb beneath his trousers while he watches you sit, the black fabric pushed to its limits as it stretches across the globes of your arse.

God, has she always been so… womanly? Declan wonders, then immediately chastises himself for leering so openly at his daughter’s best friend. Yes, she was a few good years older than Taggie, and always a beautiful girl, but he was glad his middle child had finally made a friend amid the shitshow that was the move to the country and his crumbling marriage to Maud. He didn’t need to muddy the waters with pervacious thoughts about the young lass’ curves. If only she’d shown up to his office in her usual ripped jeans and George Michael-adorned tees.

“Everything okay, Mr O’Hara? Should I sit somewhere else?” you ask when you notice Declan frozen in the doorway with a furrow etched in his brow. You immediately start second-guessing yourself and wonder if this was a bad idea after all. You can only imagine everyone else who lost out on this job before you faced that same expression. He shakes his head at you, at himself, then busies himself with straightening his maroon tie as he moves to sit behind his desk. You shift in your seat, trying to thwart of the lingering itch Maud’s skirt has buried into the back of your thigh. You think if you can wriggle just so, you can ward it off for at least the main portion of the interview. While you think your subtle movements go unnoticed by Declan because he’s perusing your resume - impressive, he’d earlier noted in black pen beside details of your internship at The Times - he’s been clocked onto your behaviour since he’d laid eyes on you across the office. Scared shitless, and he doesn’t half know that Sarah’s sneaky comments only added to it, thanks to the way you’re fidgeting with that damned skirt mere metres away from him. If Declan had any less sense in him, any less dignity, he’d have half the mind to tear it straight from your body. Of course, he decides against it and tries a less barbaric approach to settle your nerves.

“No band t-shirt today?”

Now it’s your turn for your brows to knit together. “I’m sorry?” Declan nudges his head in the general direction of your chest and your chin dips in response to see what he’s referring to. There, your vision is flanked with fluorescent pink and a tinge of flesh where the silky material doesn’t quite stretch to cover your breasts between buttons, and you silently curse Taggie for allowing you to wear something so borderline revealing at her father’s workplace. Plus, you were surprised he’d even noticed your usual attire.

“I thought it was best I grow up a bit in the clothing department if I were to go for a job at Corinium,” you confess. Declan doesn’t miss the way the swell of your breasts arch against your shirt when you take a deep breath and fold your arms across yourself. “But now I’m thinking the bright pink was a mistake.”

You peer across the expansive wooden desk expectantly, and Declan pitches his hands up in mock surrender. “Don’t ask me! Fashion, clearly, is not my strong suit. All I know is, according to my girls, leaving the house with ladders in your tights is a big no-no unless you’re a gothic or Winona Ryder.”

You chuckle at that, even more so for knowing that his youngest daughter, Caitlin, would be all for half-shredded tights.

Declan looks coy as he sips from his tea. “But if it counts for anything, you look lovely.”

“Well, I should hope you think so. These are your wife’s clothes, after all.” Your confession elicits a splutter from the otherwise put together man in front of you. Tea spouts from his lips across the desk, marring your resume and any other papers with brown stains. You immediately spring into action, scanning the room for a towel, handkerchief, anything that could mop up the mess.

“Sorry, love,” Declan says quietly, thumping a fist against his chest. “Wrong pipe.”

That’s when you see it, a pocket square the same colour as his tie poking from his breast pocket. Without thinking, you lurch across Declan’s desk and pluck it from its resting place, and begin soaking up the liquid. Declan ought to help you, it’s his mess after all, but he’s frozen at the view you’ve awarded him as you lean over. Your cleavage fights against the V cut of Maud’s blouse and Declan can just make out the ripple of a black lace bra below the neckline. He can’t even imagine Maud in that outfit. Right now it’s all so you. His cock stirs at the sight and he can’t help the pained groan that bubbles up his throat.

“Stop,” he breathes in barely a whisper. You don’t, of course, you can’t hear him, and you keep wiping at the desk, your breasts bouncing with every swipe up and down.

“Christ, girl, stop it!” Declan explodes, bolting up from his chair. Thankfully, the height of his desk hides his growing bulge, but it doesn’t matter. The look of pure fear painting your face has the same effect as a cold shower. You sink back into your seat and begin spluttering apologies, that you shouldn’t have used his pocket square, that you were out of line and another dozen variations of sorry, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Declan mirrors you by returning to his chair, raking a hand over his face.

“I’m sorry, darlin’,” he states eventually. “I don’t give a dying rats arse about the pocket square. It’s just… I’m a bloody fool just standing here while you clean up after me. I can’t have you doing that. You don’t even work for me.”

Despite the shock of Declan’s outburst, you manage to muster up a bit of cheek in response. “I don’t even work for you yet,” you correct him.

Your confidence juts Declan’s eyebrows to his curly hairline and a grin cracks across his face. “Cocky little thing, aren’t ya? Go on then.. tell me why I should hire you.”

You spend the next twenty minutes talking Declan through your university studies and experience, the tension from earlier already forgotten. When Declan mentions he once worked with your media law professor, the conversation detours into the pair of you sharing stories about your experiences with the man, far too senile and set in his ways to do the younger generation any good. The rest of the interview carries on like that, you and Declan laughing and exchanging anecdotes like two friends in the pub rather than an employer vetting a potential employee. You’re about to pitch the idea of getting Farah Fawcett on Declan’s show when the office door thumps open to reveal Corinium’s managing director, Tony Baddingham, at its entryway.

“O’Hara! If you’re done with giggling like a little schoolgirl down here, we’ve got a production meeting to get to,” he bites, barely glancing in your direction. You don’t miss the roll of Declan’s tawny eyes as he waves Tony off.

“Alright, Tony. Give me five, I’m just finishing up here,” he says before introducing you by name.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Baddingham,” you tell him, standing to shake his hand. He doesn’t properly look at you until your palms meet, and your spine stiffens when his beady eyes rake over you.

“One of Declan’s assistant candidates, I presume?” he wonders aloud.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, you’re far prettier than some of the other trolls we’ve had roll through here recently.”

“Tony,” Declan warns. The last thing he wants is another man leering at you like you’re a rite of passage for them.

“Right, well, lovely to meet you,” Tony clasps his other hand over the top of yours, careening his neck so he’s at your eye level. “Hope to see you around here. You’ll definitely be a much-appreciated addition.”

Offering a tight-lipped smile, you reserve the urge bawk in his face. You’ve worked with enough Tony Baddinghams to know his interest in you has nothing to do with your professional ability and everything to do with aesthetics. Fucking men.

For the most part, they sickened you and Declan all the same, but for the latter, he was mainly sickened with himself for wanting to pummel Baddingham for the way he was eye-fucking you. But who was he to talk? He’d been doing the exact same thing just minutes earlier.

When Tony leaves the office, he leaves the door ajar, a reminder that Declan is expected elsewhere. You’re about to ask Declan if Tony is always so…Tony, but he’s already got his briefcase in hand and is ushering you towards the door. “I have to admit, I was surprised when Taggie said you wanted to interview for this position, with you being on a gap year and all,” he confessed as you strolled out onto the office floor. “But you know your stuff. You’re bloody intelligent. Passionate. That’s rare these days.”

“Thank you, Mr O’Hara.”

“Please, call me Declan. Here, and at The Priory. Just Declan,” he smiles and you return it.

“Alright, then. Declan.”

“I’ve got to get going, but I’ll let you know about the job. There’s a couple more interviews on the books in the next few days, I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course.”

Declan gives you a curt nod, and you start for the elevator, but you barely make it five steps before he calls you back.

“For what it’s worth, I’d be lucky to have ya here. And like I said, you look great, but I prefer the jeans and t-shirts. They’re much more…you.”

His admission sends your heart thrumming against your ribcage, and red creeps up your neck and onto your cheeks. “Thank you, Mr O’Ha- Declan,” you correct yourself. “Thank you, Declan. See you around.” You turn on your patent black heel, leaving Declan standing there with an image that’s bound to haunt him for nights to come: you in that fucking skirt.

~ Chapter 1 end ~

Please let me know if you enjoyed this, and if you’re feeling generous, a lil’ reblog won’t go astray <3

[idkanymark]

[Give me my Romeo]

haechan x f!reader | theater club | romeo and juliet au

INTRO: What started as a rivalry on the stage became something neither of you expected. Cast as Romeo and Juliet in your university’s theater production, you and Haechan were forced to confront not only the tensions of your roles but the growing spark between you. What happens when the lines between acting and reality blur, and the final curtain brings more than just applause?

wc: 6.1k

NOTE: I never read Romeo and Juliet in English so I had to search online for some parts of the act, sorry if there's any mistake🙏

----

The dimly lit auditorium buzzed with nervous energy as students filtered in, clutching scripts and notebooks. The annual play auditions at NCTU’s theater club were legendary, and this year, they’d chosen the timeless tragedy Romeo and Juliet. Everyone wanted a role, but only two parts truly mattered—Romeo and Juliet.

You sat in the second row, scanning the script you’d practically memorized. The club director, Ms. Lee, paced near the stage with her clipboard, her sharp gaze flicking over the students as if she were sizing up a battlefield.

And then, he walked in.

Lee Donghyuck—or Haechan, as he insisted everyone call him—strode into the auditorium like he owned it. He was NCTU’s resident golden boy: charming, talented, and insufferably arrogant. His honey-brown hair caught the light as he ran a hand through it, grinning at his entourage of sycophants trailing behind him.

Your stomach churned. “Of course he’s here” you muttered under your breath.

“Why wouldn’t he be?” your best friend Yeri whispered back, glancing at him. “You know he’s going for Romeo”

“And I’m going for Juliet” you said, straightening your back. “Let’s just hope the universe has some sense of mercy and doesn’t pair me with him.”

The rivalry between you and Haechan was practically the stuff of legends. Ever since he transferred to NCTU last year and stole the spotlight in the spring musical, you’d been at odds. He was talented—you couldn’t deny that—but his cocky attitude and penchant for pushing your buttons made him unbearable.

“Alright, everyone, settle down!” Ms. Lee clapped her hands, silencing the chatter. “As you know, today we’re auditioning for the lead roles. I’ll be pairing you up for readings, and I want to see chemistry. Convince me you’re star-crossed lovers.”

That would be an easy task unless your partner is Haechan.

Ms. Lee called names, pairing students for the preliminary rounds. You watched as one by one, hopefuls took the stage, some stumbling over their lines, others showing promise. Then, the inevitable happened.

“Y/N and Haechan, you’re up” Ms. Lee announced, barely glancing up from her clipboard.

Your jaw clenched. You glanced at Yeri, who gave you an apologetic shrug, and stood, smoothing your shirt. Haechan was already swaggering toward the stage, his signature smirk plastered across his face.

“Try not to ruin this for me” he said under his breath as you climbed the stairs.

“Funny, I was about to say the same to you” you shot back, taking your place center stage.

The scene was Act I, Scene 5—the fateful moment when Romeo and Juliet meet at the Capulet’s masquerade ball. Ms. Lee explained the context briefly before nodding for you to begin.

Haechan started, his voice smooth and melodic. “If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss”

You suppressed an eye roll and focused on delivering your line. “Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss”

The words felt electric in the air, but not because of any real connection between you and Haechan. It was tension—raw, palpable tension that made your voice sharper and his gaze more intense. You could feel Ms. Lee watching closely, her pen hovering over the clipboard.

When the scene ended, there was a beat of silence before Ms. Lee spoke. “Interesting. Thank you, both of you. Next pair, please.”

As you descended the stage, you caught Haechan’s smirk. “Not bad” he said. “For someone who’s clearly out of her depth.”

“Oh, please” you shot back. “You’re just lucky I’m carrying this performance.”

“We’ll see who’s carrying who when the roles are announced” he replied, walking off with that maddening confidence.

Two days later…

The cast list was posted. A small crowd had already gathered around the bulletin board when you arrived, and you pushed your way through, heart pounding. Your eyes scanned the sheet until you found it:

Romeo: Lee Donghyuck

Juliet: Y/N

You stared at the names, the reality sinking in like a stone in water. Your breath caught in your throat.

“No way” you whispered, your mind reeling.

Yeri appeared beside you, looking over your shoulder. “Well, looks like fate’s got a twisted sense of humor” she said, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice. "You and Haechan... this is gonna be something"

From behind you, a familiar voice spoke, smooth as ever. “Looks like we’re stuck together, Juliet”

You turned to find Haechan grinning down at you, his expression equal parts smug and amused.

“This is going to be a disaster” you muttered, half to yourself.

“Or a masterpiece” he countered, winking.

Yeri groaned as she read the list. “Great. Now I have to hear you complain about him for the next two months” She glanced over at Haechan, who was already swaggering off, completely unfazed. “Can’t believe you’re actually going to have to kiss him on stage. You okay with that?”

You shot her a side-eye, feeling your cheeks warm slightly at the thought. “No. I’m not okay with it. At all” you said, your tone biting more than you meant it to. “But it’s not like I have a choice”

Yeri smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Well, if anyone can make something work, it’s you. Just remember, it’s acting. You can survive this.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “This is going to be the greatest challenge of my life.”

“Or the greatest performance” Haechan added from behind you, strolling away with a wave. "See you at rehearsal, Juliet"

Gosh, how cocky can he be?

And just like that, the stage was set for the greatest challenge of your theater career.

----

The first week of rehearsals was a complete disaster.

You showed up early every day, determined to prove you were the better actor. Yeri cheered you on from the sidelines, offering moral support and running lines with you during breaks. But no amount of preparation could prepare you for dealing with Haechan.

“You’re stepping on my cue” you snapped during the third run-through of Act II, Scene 2—the infamous balcony scene.

Haechan leaned casually against the mock balcony railing, his expression infuriatingly relaxed. “I’m not stepping on your cue. You’re just late delivering your line.”

“Late?” Your voice rose an octave. “I’m perfectly on time. Maybe if you stopped ad-libbing every other word, we wouldn’t be having this problem.”

“It’s called artistic interpretation” he replied with a smirk. “You should try it sometime.”

“Alright, that’s enough” Ms. Lee interrupted, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Both of you, take five.”

You stormed off stage, muttering under your breath. Yeri was waiting in the wings, holding out a bottle of water. “I take it things are going well?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

“He’s impossible” you hissed, taking the water and gulping it down. “He thinks he’s God’s gift to theater.”

“To be fair, he’s pretty good” Yeri pointed out, earning a glare from you. “Okay, okay, don’t kill me. I’m just saying maybe you should try working with him instead of against him.”

“I’d rather eat this script” you replied, waving the booklet in your hand.

Rehearsals continued, and the tension between you and Haechan only grew. He had a knack for getting under your skin, whether it was by subtly correcting your blocking or making snarky comments about your delivery. But as much as you hated to admit it, there were moments when his talent shone through.

During one rehearsal, Ms. Lee had you run the balcony scene again, this time with more emotion. “I want to feel the longing, the desperation" she instructed. “You’re two people who are willing to defy the world for each other. Make me believe it.”

You took a deep breath and stepped onto the stage. Haechan was already in position, looking uncharacteristically serious. As the scene unfolded, something shifted. His voice was softer, more earnest, and his gaze held a vulnerability that caught you off guard.

“With love’s light wings did I o’er-perch these walls” he said, his words carrying a quiet intensity. “For stony limits cannot hold love out, and what love can do that dares love attempt; therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me”

For a moment, you forgot about your rivalry, about the barbs and bickering. You were Juliet, and he was Romeo. And for the first time, you felt the spark of something real. His sincerity made your heart flutter unexpectedly, and you had to fight to keep your composure.

When the scene ended, the auditorium was silent. Ms. Lee clapped her hands once. “Much better” she said. “That’s what I want to see.”

You glanced at Haechan, expecting a smirk or a snide remark, but he simply nodded, his expression unreadable. His usual cocky smile was absent, and something about that made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t ready to admit.

As you walked off stage, Yeri was waiting with a knowing smile.

“What?” you asked, frowning.

“Nothing” she said, grinning. “It’s just... you two might actually pull this off.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small part of you wondered if she might be right. There was something different in the air, something you couldn't quite place. Something that made the idea of this performance—of working with Haechan—suddenly feel... possible.

----

The tension in rehearsals began to shift after that balcony scene. Something unspoken lingered between you and Haechan, neither of you willing to acknowledge it directly. Instead, it seeped into your performances, turning your clashes into something raw and electric.

Ms. Lee noticed the change, of course. “You two are finally starting to act like star-crossed lovers” she remarked one afternoon after a particularly charged run-through of the play’s climactic tomb scene. “Keep it up.”

Despite the progress onstage, your relationship offstage remained rocky. Haechan still found ways to annoy you, whether it was by "accidentally" stealing your water bottle or offering unsolicited critiques of your delivery. But now, there were moments when his teasing felt... lighter. Playful, even.

One rainy afternoon, the rehearsal was canceled due to a power outage. You and Yeri decided to stay behind and run lines in the empty theater, but Haechan showed up too, claiming he needed the quiet to work on his monologues.

“You can’t possibly concentrate with us here” you said, eyeing him suspiciously as he sprawled across the front row of seats.

“I can ignore you just fine” he shot back, flipping open his script.

An hour later, you were struggling through one of Juliet’s monologues when he interrupted.

“Pause” Haechan said, sitting up. “You’re rushing through it. Juliet’s conflicted, but she’s not frantic. Give the words more space to breathe.”

You bristled, but Yeri nudged you. “He’s right” she admitted reluctantly.

“Fine” you said, exhaling sharply. “Show me how you’d do it, Mr. Perfect.”

To your surprise, Haechan didn’t smirk or gloat. He simply stood, walked to the stage, and began reciting Juliet’s lines. His voice was softer than you’d ever heard, layered with a vulnerability that made the words ache.

"O, that I were a glove upon that hand,

That I might touch that cheek!"

When he finished, the theater was silent. You swallowed hard, unwilling to admit just how much he’d moved you.

“Not bad” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

“High praise coming from you” he replied with a small grin. “Your turn”

You hesitated, then took a deep breath and tried again. This time, you let the words settle, drawing on the emotions you’d seen him convey. The pause before you spoke felt longer this time, your thoughts swirling around his sudden honesty.

"O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek!"

When you finished, Haechan nodded.

“Better” he said simply, his tone lacking the usual sarcasm.

That wasn’t the last time you met a new side of Haechan. One evening, after a particularly grueling rehearsal, you found yourself alone in the auditorium. The stage was empty, the lights dimmed, but you lingered, flipping through your script and mouthing the lines to yourself. The world seemed quieter in these moments, as if the theater itself were holding its breath.

“You’re still here?”

The voice startled you, and you turned to see Haechan leaning against the doorway, his bag slung over one shoulder. “Didn’t think you were the type to overwork yourself.”

“And I didn’t think you cared” you shot back, though your tone lacked its usual bite. “What are you still doing here?”

He shrugged, walking closer. “Sometimes it’s hard to leave. Feels like the stage pulls you back, doesn’t it?”

You nodded despite yourself. There was something about the theater—the way it transformed you, made you feel larger than life, even when you felt small. “Yeah. It does.”

Haechan set his bag down and perched on the edge of the stage. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching like a taut string between you. Then, to your surprise, he broke it.

“You know, it wasn’t always like this for me” he said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “Theater, I mean. I used to hate it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You? Mr. Theater Club Golden Boy? Hard to believe”

He let out a short laugh. “Yeah, well, my parents pushed me into it when I was a kid. Thought it would make me more confident or something. At first, it was just… exhausting. Trying to live up to everyone’s expectations.”

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “What changed?”

“I don’t know” he admitted, fiddling with the strap of his bag. “One day, I realized that being on stage was the only place where I felt like I could breathe. Where I didn’t have to be perfect, even if everyone expected me to be”

The raw honesty in his voice caught you off guard. You’d always seen Haechan as this unshakable force, someone who thrived on confidence and charisma. Hearing him admit to struggles you’d never imagined made him feel… human.

“I get that” you said quietly. “It’s like, when you’re on stage, nothing else matters. Not school, not family, not… whatever else is going wrong. It’s just you and the story.”

He looked at you then, his eyes searching yours. For once, there was no hint of mockery or arrogance in his expression. “Yeah. Exactly.”

The moment hung in the air, fragile and fleeting. You felt a strange warmth in your chest, an unfamiliar ache that you couldn’t quite name. Before you could dwell on it, Haechan smirked, breaking the spell.

“Don’t tell me I’m winning you over” he teased, his usual bravado slipping back into place.

You rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Don’t push your luck.”

The next day at rehearsal, things felt… different. The barbs you and Haechan exchanged were less pointed, playful. The chemistry Ms. Lee had demanded seemed to flow more naturally, and for the first time, you found yourself looking forward to your scenes with him.

Yeri noticed, of course. She always did.

“Okay, what’s going on?” she asked during a break, cornering you near the water cooler.

“What are you talking about?” you replied, feigning innocence.

“Don’t play dumb with me. You and Haechan. You’re… I don’t know, actually getting along?”

You hesitated, unsure how to explain. “I guess we just… called a truce or something. It’s not like we’re best friends now.”

“Hmm.” Yeri gave you a skeptical look but let the subject drop—for now.

The next major turning point came during a late-night rehearsal. Ms. Lee had insisted on running the pivotal Act V, Scene 3—the tragic finale where Romeo and Juliet meet their untimely end. The scene required raw emotion, the kind that left you drained but exhilarated.

As you and Haechan stood on stage, the weight of the moment pressed down on you. The other students watched in silence as you delivered Juliet’s lines, your voice trembling with desperation.

"O, happy dagger! This is thy sheath:

There rust, and let me die."

The dagger in your hand was just a prop, but the emotion you poured into the words felt real. As you collapsed beside Haechan, his hand found yours, his grip firm and grounding. For a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you, the stage fading into darkness.

When the scene ended, the room erupted into applause. Ms. Lee’s voice cut through the noise, her praise uncharacteristically effusive. “That’s it! That’s what I’ve been waiting for. Incredible work, both of you.”

You sat up, breathless and slightly dazed. Haechan was still lying beside you, a small, genuine smile playing on his lips.

“See?” he murmured. “We make a good team.”

You didn’t reply, but for the first time, you wondered if he might be right.

----

It had been weeks of rehearsals, and now, the moment had arrived. The kiss. The scene that you both dreaded, the one Ms. Lee had been emphasizing from day one—“Make it real. Make it believable.” You didn’t even want to think about it.

You sat in the dimly lit theater, the final act of the play hanging in the air. The room was empty except for you and Haechan, and you could hear the sound of your own heartbeat in the stillness. You looked at him, standing there, waiting for you to move, but you couldn’t. Your feet felt like they were glued to the floor.

"So, uh... ready?" Haechan asked, his voice oddly soft, the usual playful smirk nowhere to be found.

You swallowed, unable to meet his gaze. "Not really"

Haechan’s brows furrowed slightly. "It’s just a kiss" he said, but there was something in his voice that sounded almost... uncertain? "You’ve kissed before, right?"

You gave a nervous laugh, but it sounded hollow. "Yeah of course.."

“You haven’t?” he asks and you nodded confirming

Haechan paused, his eyes softening for a moment as if he understood, but then the playful side of him came back. “Hey, don’t worry. It’s just a scene. No pressure. We got time”

But you could feel the weight of the moment. The kiss wasn’t just a kiss—it was Juliet and Romeo, the pivotal moment of the play. You couldn’t do it in front of everyone like this, not yet. Not with the way your heart raced just thinking about it.

Before you could voice any more doubts, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hall. Ms. Lee walked into the theater, her clipboard in hand and a determined look in her eyes.

“You two ready for the kiss scene?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at both of you.

You opened your mouth to say something, but before you could get the words out, Ms. Lee gave you a pointed look.

“I know, I know,” she said. “This scene has been... difficult, but we need to make progress.”

You bit your lip, looking down at your script as if it might hold the answers. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck. You weren’t sure what was more terrifying—the fact that you had to kiss Haechan or that Ms. Lee was watching.

"Let's try it" she said, gesturing for you both to get into position.

You took your place across from Haechan, trying not to let the nerves show. The lines felt different now—he wasn’t just Romeo, and you weren’t just Juliet. You were two actors trying to make something real out of nothing.

“From the top” Ms. Lee said, her voice firm.

You and Haechan began, your words flowing more easily now that the tension had built. It felt like a dance—back and forth, moving in sync with each other.

“Thou know’st the mask of night is on my face” you said, your voice quieter than you meant it to be, but Haechan’s gaze was steady, pulling you in.

“I take thee at thy word” Haechan responded, his voice surprisingly gentle, not the usual confident tone you were used to hearing. “Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized. Henceforth I never will be Romeo”

The space between you was closing, the tension so palpable that you could almost taste it. But as Haechan stepped closer, you found yourself frozen in place, heart pounding in your chest.

You weren’t sure what to do—what to feel. Every part of you was screaming to just get through the scene, but the other part... the part that didn’t want to admit it, the part that felt shy, scared to let it go, was holding you back.

Just as Haechan leaned in, ready to bridge the gap and close the scene, Ms. Lee stepped forward sharply.

“Stop!”

You froze immediately, your heart dropping into your stomach. Haechan pulled back just as quickly, confusion flashing across his face.

Ms. Lee gave both of you a look that wasn’t angry, but stern. “That’s enough for today.”

“What? But... we were almost there,” Haechan said, looking between you and Ms. Lee. “What’s wrong?”

Ms. Lee shook her head. “It’s not the right time. You’re both still holding back. That kiss has to feel real. It has to come from a place of emotion, not just ‘getting through the scene.’ Right now, it’s not.”

You bit your lip, avoiding Haechan’s gaze. The tension between you both hadn’t been just for the scene; it had been real, building each time you were forced to confront it. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to do it, but you didn’t want to rush into it.

“But we need to rehearse it, right?” Haechan asked, a slight edge to his voice. “Ms. Lee, we can’t just skip it.”

Ms. Lee nodded, but there was a firmness in her tone that made you want to shrink into the floor. “You’re not skipping it. But it’s not about rehearsing the kiss over and over. You need time to feel it. To make it real. The audience will feel it when it’s true. The chemistry, the tension—you can’t fake that.”

You couldn’t meet her eyes, but you knew she was right. You could feel the difference between just performing the scene and actually experiencing it. There was no faking that kind of connection, no matter how much you tried.

Ms. Lee continued. “Take some time. Work on the scene together. When you’re both ready for it, we’ll go for the kiss, and it will be as real as it needs to be.”

With that, she gave a nod and left the stage, leaving you and Haechan alone in the stillness.

The silence between you two was thick, but this time, it wasn’t as awkward as before. You took a deep breath, feeling a little lighter without Ms. Lee’s intense gaze on you.

Haechan gave you a small, reassuring smile. “You okay?”

You nodded, though you weren’t sure. The air felt different now, and for a moment, you just stood there, unsure of what to say or do.

“We’ll get it.” Haechan said, breaking the silence. “When it’s time, we’ll make it real.”

You met his gaze, a small but genuine smile tugging at your lips. You didn’t know when it would happen, but maybe, just maybe, you were starting to believe him.

---

After several more rehearsals, the tension between you and Haechan seemed to settle, though there was still a quiet undercurrent that neither of you fully acknowledged. But, as Ms. Lee had said, you needed time to really feel the scene—especially the kiss. Haechan seemed to understand that now, and so, the rehearsals went on without any more awkwardness.

One evening, as you were packing up your bag after a particularly long rehearsal, Haechan caught your eye, looking unusually hesitant. You raised an eyebrow as he approached.

"Hey" he began, his voice softer than usual. "You know, we've been practicing this scene for weeks, but we barely ever talk outside of it. How about we, I don't know, hang out a little? Just... you and me"

You blinked in surprise, not expecting such an invitation. "Like... a date?" you asked, unsure if that’s what he meant.

Haechan smiled, his usual playful grin returning. "Yeah, a date" he confirmed. "Think of it as a way to get to know each other better, so it doesn’t feel so... weird when we’re on stage"

You hesitated for a moment. You'd never been on a date, not in the traditional sense, and the idea of spending time with Haechan outside of rehearsals made your heart race for all the wrong reasons. But then, you remembered his gentleness during the last rehearsal—the way he'd reassured you without making it awkward. Maybe this would help you both get more comfortable.

"Okay" you said, giving a small nod. "I guess I could do that."

Haechan’s face lit up. “Great! I know a place. I promise it’s not as weird as it sounds"

The next day, he picked you up, wearing a simple yet stylish jacket that made him look effortlessly cool. You were still nervous, but there was something about his easy confidence that made you feel like everything would be okay.

When you got to the spot he had chosen, you were surprised—it was a small, charming café tucked away in a quiet part of town, far from the busy streets. The soft glow of fairy lights hung overhead, and there was a cozy, intimate atmosphere that felt worlds away from the chaos of rehearsals.

"You didn’t tell me you were a fan of cozy cafés" you said, glancing around at the warm, inviting space.

Haechan grinned, his eyes twinkling. "There’s more to me than just rehearsals and sarcasm, you know."

The café had a relaxed vibe, and the two of you settled into a corner booth. As you chatted, it was easier than you expected. The conversation flowed naturally—about everything and nothing. You discovered that Haechan had a deep love for music and played guitar in his free time, and he learned that you loved reading and had a secret obsession with indie films. You laughed together over the silly things you shared, and for a moment, it felt like you were just two people, not actors forced to kiss in a play.

As the night went on, you realized how much more you were learning about him—the playful side, the thoughtful side, and, maybe unexpectedly, the vulnerable side. He wasn’t just the confident, teasing actor on stage. There was something deeper to him, something that made your heart flutter.

When the meal came to an end, Haechan suggested a walk through the nearby park. It was quiet, peaceful, and the night air felt crisp as you strolled side by side, occasionally brushing against each other. You could feel the connection between you growing stronger, but neither of you spoke of it directly.

Finally, you stopped in front of a small fountain, the sound of the water filling the silence. The lights from the café flickered in the distance, casting a soft glow. Haechan turned to face you, his expression serious now, no longer playful.

"I’m glad we did this" he said quietly, his voice soft. "I wasn’t sure if you’d say yes, but I wanted to give us a chance to just... be normal for once. No pressure, no stage, just u."

You met his gaze, your heart pounding a little faster. The night had been unexpectedly perfect, and you couldn’t deny the way he made you feel—like you could breathe easier with him around.

“I’m glad too” you said, your voice quiet. “I... didn’t know what to expect, but this feels nice”

There was a pause, and then Haechan stepped a little closer, his gaze not leaving yours. “You know, I think... we’ve got this. The scene, the kiss, all of it. We can do it, because we’re not just pretending anymore. This—" he gestured between the two of you, "—this feels real.”

You felt a surge of warmth spread through you, and for the first time, you didn’t feel so nervous about the kiss. Maybe it was because, right here, standing in front of him, you were starting to understand what it meant to be real. Not just for the stage, but for the two of you.

You took a deep breath and smiled. “Yeah... I think we can" you said softly, your heart telling you that Haechan wasn’t just talking about the scene anymore.

The walk back was easy, and when you reached your apartment, Haechan stopped, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“Goodnight,” he said, his voice lower than before. “I’ll see you at rehearsal tomorrow”

You nodded, feeling a mixture of emotions. “Goodnight, Haechan”

As you closed the door behind you, your heart was still racing, but it wasn’t out of fear anymore. It was something else—something new.

And for the first time, you were sure of it. What was unfolding between you and Haechan? It wasn’t just part of a play. It was something real, and it was happening.

----

The big night of the performance had arrived.

The packed theater buzzed with energy, the murmur of the audience blending with the hum of the orchestra tuning in the pit. Behind the curtain, the cast and crew hurriedly adjusted costumes, touched up makeup, and whispered last-minute words of encouragement. But for you, the world felt still—like the weight of the night pressed its full force upon you.

You stood in the wings, adjusting the lace of your Juliet costume. Every fiber of your being was charged, not with nerves for the performance itself, but for what lay beyond it. Haechan stood a few feet away, leaning casually against the wall, dressed as Romeo. His typical playful confidence was gone, replaced by something quieter, something serious.

The moments between you during rehearsals had been electric—charged with unspoken feelings neither of you dared to address. The kiss, rehearsed in fragments but never fully acted out, was waiting at the center of the storm.

“Places!” called the stage manager, jolting you from your thoughts.

You glanced over at Haechan. He caught your eye, his expression unreadable, but in the depth of his gaze, you felt the same tension mirrored back at you. He gave a small nod, barely perceptible, as if to say, We’re in this together.

The opening scenes flowed seamlessly, the energy between you and Haechan drawing the audience in. By the time the masquerade ball arrived—the fateful first meeting of Romeo and Juliet—the crowd was utterly captivated.

When he spoke his first line to you under the soft glow of the stage lights, his voice was steady, but there was something more, something that made the words hum with sincerity.

“If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”

The way he looked at you made your heart stutter, and for a moment, you forgot your lines. But the pause wasn’t awkward—it was charged, a heartbeat longer than it should have been. Finally, you found your voice.

“Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.”

Your hands touched, palm to palm, and though it was only for the scene, the touch felt electric. When he leaned in, pretending to kiss your hand, the brush of his breath sent a shiver down your spine. The audience erupted into applause, but you barely noticed.

The first kiss came midway through Act II, Scene II—the balcony scene. The moment you dreaded and longed for in equal measure.

Standing on the balcony, you gazed down at Haechan. He delivered Romeo’s lines with raw, unfiltered emotion, his voice steady and low, each word drawing you in.

“With love’s light wings did I o’er-perch these walls;

For stony limits cannot hold love out,

And what love can do that dares love attempt;

Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me.”

As Juliet, you responded with all the vulnerability and yearning you could summon. But this time, it wasn’t just acting. Every word you spoke felt real, pulled from somewhere deep within you.

“If that thy bent of love be honourable, thy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow...”

As the lines wove together, the moment came. Haechan climbed the balcony, his hand reaching out to you. The script called for the kiss—a brief, dramatic moment—but it was anything but scripted.

When he leaned in, your heart raced. His lips met yours, soft and warm, and the world fell away. The noise of the crowd, the spotlight, the weight of the scene—all of it vanished. It wasn’t a performance. It wasn’t rehearsed. It was real.

The kiss deepened for a heartbeat longer than it should have, and when you finally pulled away, breathless, you opened your eyes to find him staring at you. Not as Romeo. As Haechan.

The rest of the scene passed in a daze. The audience erupted in applause, but your heart was still pounding from something far more intimate than the performance.

After the final scene, the play came to its tragic conclusion. Juliet’s dagger fell, and the stage went dark. The audience leapt to their feet, the sound of their cheers filling the theater. The curtain fell, signaling the end, but for you and Haechan, something had only just begun.

Backstage, the cast celebrated, hugging one another and reliving the highlights of the night. But you stood apart, your thoughts consumed by the kiss—by the way it lingered, refusing to fade like the echo of a final note in a symphony.

You found Haechan by the prop table, where he was unlacing his boots. He looked up as you approached, his expression unreadable. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

“That kiss” he said finally, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “That wasn’t acting, was it?”

You hesitated, the weight of his question pressing down on you. But you couldn’t lie—not now. “No” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t”

Relief flashed across his face, quickly followed by something deeper. He stood, closing the space between you, his eyes searching yours.

“I’ve been trying to say this for weeks" he said, his tone soft but insistent. “But every time I get close, I... chicken out. So, I’m just going to say it now.” He took a deep breath. “I like you. Not just on stage, not just as Juliet. I like you.”

Your breath caught, his words unraveling the last of your defenses. “I like you too.Not just on stage, not just as Romeo. I like you too” you said, the confession tumbling out before you could second-guess it.

His smile was soft, vulnerable, and before you could think, he leaned in again. This kiss was different from the one on stage—less dramatic, more tender. His hand cupped your cheek as if afraid you might disappear, and when you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.

“I guess we’re not just a disaster waiting to happen, huh?” he teased, his signature playfulness returning.

You laughed, the sound light and free. “No,” you said, smiling up at him. “Maybe we’re just the beginning of something amazing, a masterpiece.”

In the distance, the cast’s cheers continued, but for you and Haechan, the night had quieted into something intimate, something that felt like a new story waiting to be written.

The final curtain had fallen, but the real performance—the one with no script or stage lights—had only just begun.

[hazzashouse]

The Space Between Us (Harry Styles series)

You voted for chapter three of The Space Between Us - so here we go! ✨

Triggers: Subtle angst.

Pairing: Harry Styles x Sophie Pearson

Word Count: 3,712 Words

As always, thank you for your support!

tag list: @lizsogolden @fangirl509east @sassamanda77 @wheredidmyeyesgo @triski73 @hopeyoustaythenight

If anyone would like to be added to the tag list - lemme know in the comments 🩷

CHAPTER ONE: HERE

CHAPTER TWO: HERE

Chapter three: Crossing the Line

Sophie stood at the kitchen counter, absentmindedly arranging and rearranging the hors d’oeuvres. It was a task she’d already completed twice, but she needed something—anything—to keep her hands busy.

Her encounter with Harry had left her rattled. Seeing him after all these years, hearing his voice, being so close she could catch the faint scent of his cologne—it had dredged up feelings she thought she’d buried long ago.

She leaned against the counter, taking a deep breath.

“It’s fine,” she whispered to herself. “You’re fine. Just focus on the wedding.”

But her pep talk was cut short when her brother Anthony appeared in the doorway, looking slightly frazzled.

“Sophie!” he called, startling her.

“What?” she snapped, turning to face him.

Anthony held up a roll of ribbon. “We’re short on this for the chairs. Can you handle it?”

“Sure,” she said, grabbing the ribbon.

“And one more thing,” Anthony added, rubbing the back of his neck. “Harry’s supposed to help with the table settings, but he doesn’t know what’s what. Can you explain it to him?”

Sophie froze. “What?”

“You’re the only one who knows the layout,” Anthony said, completely oblivious to her hesitation. “Just go over it with him, yeah?”

“Anthony—”

“Please, Soph,” he interrupted, giving her a pleading look. “I need to go check on something else, and I’m running out of time.”

Before Sophie could argue, Anthony disappeared, leaving her alone in the kitchen.

Sophie found Harry in the dining room, standing awkwardly by the long table that had been set up for the reception. He had rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, revealing the tattoos on his forearms, and was holding a small stack of plates.

He looked up as she entered, his expression shifting from curiosity to something softer.

“Hey,” he said.

Sophie forced a smile. “Hi.”

Anthony’s request echoed in her mind, and she sighed, stepping closer. “I hear you need some help.”

Harry chuckled, setting the plates down. “Apparently, I’m terrible at table settings. Thought I’d be better at it, considering how many fancy dinners I’ve been to.”

Sophie raised an eyebrow. “How are you bad at this?”

“Do you want the long list of reasons or just the highlights?” he teased, his dimples making an appearance.

Despite herself, Sophie felt a small smile tug at her lips. “All right, let’s get this over with.”

She moved to the table, explaining the arrangement in a brisk, professional tone. Harry listened intently, nodding along and occasionally asking a question.

“Got it,” he said after a while, picking up a napkin and folding it into a neat triangle.

Sophie arched an eyebrow. “Not bad.”

“See? I’m not completely hopeless,” he said, grinning.

As they worked side by side, the silence grew heavier. Sophie could feel Harry glancing at her occasionally, but she refused to meet his gaze.

Finally, he broke the silence.

“Sophie,” he said softly.

She paused, her hands stilling on a stack of cutlery. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice earnest.

She frowned, turning to look at him. “For what?”

“For everything,” he said. “For leaving. For not staying in touch. For… all of it.”

Sophie’s chest tightened. She opened her mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come.

“I know I let you down,” Harry continued, his green eyes filled with regret. “And I hate that. You meant so much to me, and I just—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair.

“Harry,” Sophie said, her voice quieter than she intended. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do,” he insisted. “I’ve been carrying this guilt for years. I need you to know that I didn’t forget about you. I couldn’t. You were always there, in the back of my mind.”

Sophie stared at him, her heart pounding. She wanted to believe him, but the hurt from their past still lingered.

“It’s not that simple,” she said finally, her voice trembling. “You can’t just say sorry and expect everything to go back to the way it was.”

“I know,” Harry said, his gaze steady. “But I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

Before Sophie could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway. Lizzie appeared in the doorway, her eyes flicking between them with barely concealed curiosity.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, though her tone suggested she wasn’t sorry at all. “Anthony needs you both outside. Something about the seating arrangements.”

Harry stepped back, giving Sophie a small, almost apologetic smile.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice gentle.

Sophie nodded, following him out of the room.

As they stepped into the crisp afternoon air, Sophie couldn’t shake the feeling that this day was far from over. Her emotions were a tangled mess, and Harry’s presence only made it harder to keep everything in check.

And when Harry glanced at her, his expression filled with something she couldn’t quite name, Sophie knew one thing for sure:

This wasn’t the end of their story.

It was only the beginning.

————————

like and reblog if you liked it and follow me to not miss my future content - I will very much appreciate it! Lots of love, A.

[extinctlesspains]

I really loved the salesman imagine.could you write one where the reader and the salesman had a romance.But he gives a card sending her to the games.Feeling and hurt and betrayed she does her best to survive and she ends up winning along with Gi-hun.now three years later the reader goes to visit Gi-Hun with her 2 year old daughter.(she had found out she was pregnant after the games)she walks in on Gi-hun and the salesman during Russian roulette 

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑒 [𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑛]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛᴇᴅ: ʏᴇs ᴏʀ ɴᴏ

☆ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴛʜᴇ sᴀʟᴇsᴍᴀɴ x ᴀғᴀʙ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

☆ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ᴀɴɢsᴛ

☆ sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴀ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ ʙᴇᴛʀᴀʏᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴍɪɴɢ sᴀʟᴇsᴍᴀɴ ᴡʜᴏ sᴇɴᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟʏ ɢᴀᴍᴇs sᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴇs, ᴅɪsᴄᴏᴠᴇʀs sʜᴇ’s ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇʙᴜɪʟᴅs ʜᴇʀ ʟɪғᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇʀ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ. ʏᴇᴀʀs ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ, sʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴғʀᴏɴᴛs ᴛʜᴇ sᴀʟᴇsᴍᴀɴ ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴛᴇɴsᴇ ᴇɴᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ᴀᴛ ɢɪ-ʜᴜɴ’s ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ, ᴄʜᴏᴏsɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ʜᴇʀ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ʜɪs ᴍᴀɴɪᴘᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs.

☆ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs: ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ, ᴋɪssɪɴɢ, ᴠɪʀɢɪɴɪᴛʏ ʟᴏss, ᴀʀɢᴜɪɴɢ, ᴄʀʏɪɴɢ, ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ɢᴜɴ ᴛᴀʟᴋ.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

It all started with a simple game.

You’d been on your way home, drowning in stress and overdue bills, when a man in a sharp suit approached you at the train station.

“Care for a little fun?” he asked, holding up a red and blue envelope.

At first, you wanted to refuse. But his easy charm—and your desperation—drew you in. He explained the slap-match game, and soon you were caught in the strange, exhilarating rhythm of winning and losing. By the end, you were breathless, laughing despite the sting on your cheek.

“Not bad,” he said, handing over the cash with a smile that felt too warm, too genuine for a stranger.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him after that. When you ran into him again a few days later, he acted like it was coincidence.

“Maybe it’s fate,” he teased.

Soon, he was everywhere—buying you coffee, walking you home, and making your life feel just a little less heavy. He made you laugh, listened to your frustrations, and looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

One night, after weeks of growing closer, you found yourself in his arms. You’d invited him in after a long evening, your walls lowered by exhaustion and the warmth of his presence. You were full of ecstasy after that night. The way his lips kissed your neck, the way his thrusts were so sensual.

“You’re special, you know,” he murmured as his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back.

“Do you mean that?” you whispered, scared to hear the answer.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

His words were your undoing. That night, you let him see all of you—your fears, your flaws, and your dreams. For the first time in years, you felt safe.

The illusion shattered when he slid the card across the table.

“What’s this?” you asked, staring at the embossed logo. Circle, triangle, square.

“A chance to change your life,” he said, his tone eerily calm.

You frowned, a pit of unease forming in your stomach. “What kind of chance?”

“It’s a game,” he explained. “An opportunity to win enough money to solve all your problems.”

“Why are you giving me this?” Your voice wavered, the trust you’d built with him suddenly fragile.

“Because I care about you,” he said, his gaze steady.

His face softened, but he didn’t retract the card. “I believe in you, Y/n. More than you believe in yourself.”

His words felt like a betrayal wrapped in a compliment. Against your better judgment, you took the card, driven by desperation and the hope that maybe he was right.

The games were worse than you could have imagined.

Every death chipped away at your soul, and every betrayal reminded you of his. But you refused to break. Gi-hun became your lifeline, his determination and kindness pulling you through when you felt like giving up.

“We’re going to make it,” he promised one night, his voice steady. “We have to.”

You survived, but at a cost. The prize money felt like blood money, and the nightmares lingered long after the games ended.

A month later, you discovered the pregnancy.

At first, you were terrified. The thought of raising a child alone, of explaining where her father was and why he wasn’t around, felt overwhelming. But when you heard her heartbeat for the first time, everything changed.

You named her Hana, meaning “flower.” She became the anchor that kept you grounded, her laughter a reminder that there was still beauty in the world.

When she was born, you held her close, tears streaming down your face. “You’re my miracle,” you whispered.

Hana grew into a bright, curious toddler who filled your life with light. But you couldn’t shake the shadow of her father—the man who had once made you feel safe and then abandoned you to the wolves.

Two years later, you decide to visit Gi-hun. He had become like a brother to you, someone who understood the darkness you’d endured. As you climb the stairs to his apartment, Hana babbles in your arms, clutching her favorite stuffed rabbit.

But when you reach the door, the sound of voices stops you cold.

“Are you sure about this?” Gi-hun’s voice, tense and uncertain.

“I never force anyone,” a familiar voice replies.

Your heart races as you push the door open.

Gi-hun and the salesman sit at the table, a revolver between them. The salesman looks as composed as ever, while Gi-hun is pale and trembling.

“What the hell is going on here?” you demand.

The salesman looks up, his eyes widening slightly as he sees you—and the child in your arms. “Y/n.”

Gi-hun stammers, “It’s not what it looks like—”

“You’re playing Russian roulette!” you snap, your voice rising. “How is that not exactly what it looks like?”

The salesman’s gaze flicks to Hana. “You have a daughter,” he says softly, putting the pieces together.

“Don’t you dare,” you hiss, clutching her closer. “You don’t get to talk about her. You don’t get to act like you care.”

“I do care,” he says, standing slowly. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You lied to me,” you spit. “You used me. You sent me to those games knowing I might die.”

“I gave you a choice,” he says, his voice calm but firm.

“You gave me a death sentence,” you fire back. “And now you’re here, dragging Gi-hun into your twisted games? Haven’t you done enough damage?”

The salesman’s jaw tightens. “It’s not that simple.”

“No,” you say, your voice shaking. “It’s exactly that simple. You destroy people’s lives and pretend it’s for their own good. But you don’t get to do that to us anymore.”

He looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nods, his eyes lingering on Hana one last time.

“Goodbye, Y/n,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

As the door closes behind him, you sink into a chair, trembling.

Gi-hun reaches out, his voice filled with regret. “I’m sorry—”

“It’s not your fault,” you say, cutting him off. “He manipulates people. That’s what he does.”

Hana wriggles in your arms, her tiny hand brushing your cheek. “Mama,” she says softly, her voice filled with love.

You press a kiss to her forehead, tears slipping down your face. “We’re okay,” you whisper, more to yourself than anyone else.

Gi-hun watches you, his eyes filled with both guilt and gratitude. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

“For what?”

“For saving me.”

You meet his gaze, your resolve hardening. “We save each other.”

[nameuserlee]

Sylus — Night of Secrecy 💋❤️

❤️- Screenshots -❤️

❤️ - Kindled scene below the cut + my thoughts/rambling -❤️

.

.

.

Uhm. Wow. Just, wow. My sincere congratulations to Sylus and MC, the kiss card finally came and so did they, hallelujah.

I still can't believe this card is real, though. I'm genuinely dizzy, and I mean that in the best possible way. Because it’s sooo perfect. 10/10. No notes. Would swipe for again in a heartbeat.

I didn’t really know what I wanted their first kiss to look like. But I know that whatever I could’ve imagined wouldn’t have been nearly as good as this was. Now let me yap about this!

MC finally gets to bring Onychinus' leader to her place! After learning he needs a place to crash for 3 days before leaving for “business”, MC very generously offers her apartment as a safe house, both to keep him close and to figure out where he’ll be going since he won’t tell her (for her safety, of course).

And my god, these 3 days of them living together are the cutest, most domestic thing I’ve ever had the pleasure to read.

Shopping for groceries together, getting him his own pair of house slippers, him using (all of) her body wash. Sylus being in her space feels right, despite the smaller doorframes and treacherous bathroom cabinets.

(Grown ass man needs us to blow on his boo-boo. ADORABLE.)

But nevermind how cute this is, the situation is still unusual. Sylus and MC’s worlds kinda clash, despite how well they now get along and how much they care for each other. They are both aware of this, and no matter how fun this little play-pretend is, it’s going to have to end soon.

On their drive to the supermarket, Sylus prompts MC with a question: “When you’re in danger during a mission, do you think of anyone?” And the exchange that follows means a lot to me.

“But after my dirty work is done, I’ll wash my hands before going home.” I need this line tattooed across my forehead.

Sylus can’t leave his life back in the N109 zone, but he also doesn’t want to give up MC. And above all else, he wants to keep her safe. He tries to keep her away from his actual “business” as much as he can (which explains why he refuses to tell her where he’s going after their 3 days together).

If it weren’t for the N109 zone being risky for him to stay in right now and MC very conveniently proposing her place, he definitely would’ve found somewhere else to crash.

And so his best way to protect her while indulging their desire to see each other is to promise to “wash his hands before going home.” Whenever he gets to come back to her, he is not bringing his work to her. He will not allow himself to carelessly “taint” her life with his lifestyle. Very sweet, very thoughtful, very mindful (are we still saying mindful in 2025?) .

I’m gonna fast forward to their last night together/the kindled scene because I fear I could talk about every single line in this card.

Where to even begin.

BEST PROMPT IVE EVER SEEN ARE YOU KIDDING ME??

MC initating the kiss means everything to me. Thinking back to their first meeting, it’s him forcing her to resonate with her. Now, she’s pretty much the one who sets the pace in their relationship, which leads to this beautiful first kiss. It’s just too good.

“You really don’t want me to leave?” NO SIR SHE WANTS TO CLIMB YOU LIKE A TREE SHE WANTS YOU BAD and there’s no more denying it. She’s been worried sick throughout the whole card about him, trying to make the most out of their time together, and now that’s down to the last hours, she wants it all.

And when things start to get heated, our consent king doesn’t only ask her once, but TWICE if she wants to do it.

And it’s soooo HOT!

In the kindled, he hopes MC hasn’t changed her mind, since she kinda nudges him away right after saying yes. He wants this to happen just as badly, but no matter what he’s always, always going to put her first, and so he checks in again with her.

Is this the bare minimum? Well yes! But I still think it’s worth noting. Especially if, again, we compare to how cold he was with her at the beginning of the relationship and how he was forcing her to go along with what he wanted.

Consent is sexy, asking for confirmation is hot as hell. 12/10 would smash again.