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[florencebirdsong]

Continuing Sentry

Valentina de Fontaine x Reader

Summary: Trying to recreate the Sentry Project is too dangerous with the spotlight on Valentina. An alternate method is needed. Needles can’t pierce your skin so a less clinical option is the only way to go.

Or, Valentina fucks a baby into you.

Tags: sentry reader, breeding kink, manipulation, stockholm syndrome, strap-on, thoughts of worship, references to oral, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, non-con due to stockholm syndrome, no pronouns used for reader

Words: 1,911

Author's note: Valentina is in full manipulation mode here so there’s times where she’s softer than she would be anywhere else to get you to comply <3

I’ve changed my mind about whether Valentina would actually strap or not since I started this but I think this is a special exception she’d make

ao3 | masterlist

The door opens and you look up eagerly from your book, one of the few types of entertainment allowed to you. Valentina has graced you with a visit outside of the usual schedule. The fact that she doesn’t tell you to suit up immediately makes you even more excited. This isn’t about an emergency mission. She’s here to see you.

She’s carrying a box tied shut with a pretty ribbon. Excitement fills you. Valentina brings you presents fairly often with how well you do on missions. You already got a reward for your last one, the privilege to touch her, so you aren’t sure what this could be for. Is it your birthday? She said she knew everything about you and you haven’t been able to keep track of the date. She perches on the end of the bed and places the box in her lap.

“Do you remember our conversation about continuing the Sentry project?”

“Yeah. You said it was too dangerous to make another me. Everyone else died.” You aren’t meant to preen at the idea that you survived, that you were superior even before the experiment worked on you, but you do. Just a little. It’s what brought you to Valentina after all.

“Correct, which is why we’ve decided to try and make someone like you.”

You frown. You aren’t sure you like the idea. Won’t another person take Valentina’s attention away from you?

“But all the work has been destroyed,” you say.

“We aren’t continuing the experiment. At least, not in that way. The experiments were too unpredictable and pricey considering the few results. I believe it would be much safer for you to pass on your genes instead.”

“Like take my blood?” You’re not sure how they would do it since your skin is impenetrable but Valentina will find a way.

“No. Something a bit more literal.”

Your eyes widen. “You want to take my eggs?” The little you knew of the process sounded more than a little scary.

“No. If the foetus has your powers from the start instead of developing them after its birth it could prove quite dangerous.”

“Then how would you get my genes?”

“Through more traditional means.”

Traditional. You roll the word around as you try to understand her meaning. It’s been a long time since tradition has had any meaning to you. Now there’s only the ones Valentina makes. Then it clicks.

“Pregnancy,” you say dully.

“I know it’s a big ask but this would do so much good for humanity and…you wouldn’t be alone.”

“I’m not alone,” you say earnestly. “I have you.”

She smiles and gently cups your cheek. “You do. Always. And I’ll always accept you but I can’t relate to how you experience the world. How your powers affect you. I can only empathise.”

You chew your bottom lip. It would be nice to have someone truly understand how it feels, instead of only understanding from your words. You can never quite explain it. How it feels to be invulnerable, the buzzing under your skin, the thing that lurks within you.

“How would it happen?” you ask cautiously. The idea of a stranger touching you makes your skin crawl but you don’t really like the idea of a needle either.

“A few suggestions were thrown around but I thought you might prefer something less sterile.” She undoes the bow of the box in her lap.

You sit up eagerly. You don’t know what to guess like you usually try to but a present from her has never let you down before. She knows every detail of your life. Past, present and future. She knows exactly what to get you every time. 

She lifts the lid to reveal a strap-on. Your mouth dries.

“This was made specifically to be able to do the job without the usual limitations,” she says.

You don’t know what the usual limitations are and you don’t really care. “You mean you’re going to…?”

“Yes. I’m going to fuck you with it.”

You swallow harshly. Valentina has rewarded you with serving her plenty of times but you’ve never been allowed anything like this. You aren’t even allowed to touch her with anything but your tongue. Which is a precaution for her safety. You’re still new enough to your strength that you could hurt her in your excitement. The worry doesn’t stop you yearning for it.

“How does it— how would we— I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re so sweet,” she says in a condescending tone you don’t pick up on. “You’ll still need to keep your hands to yourself but I believe you’ve gained enough control to lay in the traditional position.”

You glow at the compliment. You’ve worked so hard on your control. It’s the main part of your training but that isn’t why you care so much about it. You want to be able to touch Valentina, even just to graze her skin. You ache for it.

“Are we— right now?” Your eyes flick between her and the strap-on.

“Yes. The cameras are already off. Undress and lay on the bed.”

You jump to do the commands eagerly. You’re still careful while taking off your clothes. You don’t want to risk tearing them and being forced into whatever position isn’t the traditional one but would be safer.

You hesitate at your underwear. It’s been a long time since anyone has seen you in this kind of situation. It’s nerve-wracking, especially with Valentina being the first one to see you naked outside of scientists.

Looking up is a mistake. Valentina is strapping the harness on. Her movements are confident and she has it on in moments. Her smooth skin is bared below the waist and you drink the sight in eagerly. She doesn’t take her shirt off. She never takes her shirt off and it frustrates you endlessly. You’re already so good you don’t know what you have to do to convince her. Maybe it’s to discourage you from touching or maybe you haven’t earned the privilege. At least the shirt today looks like a softer material and there’s no buttons to scrape against your skin.

“Well?”

Your eyes snap up. She’s finished as you got lost in your thoughts. Something that happens frequently and she’s usually patient with. You scramble to take off your underwear. Any embarrassment hid with the distraction of her skin and it flees completely at the sight of the strap-on standing proudly between her legs. Your eyes drop back down to it and you swallow roughly as you lay down properly. 

It feels like it takes Valentina forever to walk to the bed. Her strap bobs with every step. She climbs in between your legs and you struggle note to squirm. You have to be good. This can’t end so early. 

Two fingers glide between your soaked folds and she holds them up. Your wetness glistens in the light. She parts them and it stretches.

“I don’t think/We won’t need the lube,” she says. You’re not embarrassed. Valentina knows the effect she has on you.

Her hand moves to her strap and she guides it towards your entrance. You’ve been in here for so long without so much as a toy that you feel the stretch the moment the head enters you. It’s not bad, she hasn’t chosen a big toy, 

“Relax,” Valentina murmurs. “I have you.”

You stare up at her as you take a deep breath. Her eyes are so kind, her face soft. You slowly force your body to relax. She always takes such good care of you. 

She keeps filling you. You can’t believe Valentina is touching you. That this is happening. She’s finally claiming the deepest part of you. The idea is enough to almost send you over the edge already.

“There we go,” Valentina says as she bottoms out. Her pupils are blown. Her perfume fills your nose and her strap fills your cunt and the way she hovers over you makes you feel like you’re surrounded by her.  

She stays like that and you bask in her long enough to get needy. You try not to squirm but it’s a losing battle with her so close. Instead of filling the ache the strap has only worsened it. She’s so kind to give you time to adjust but really you’d be okay with her fucking you the second she got her hands on you. You’ve been dreaming about it for months. Now that your control is finally good enough the waiting is torture.

She clicks her tongue and holds your hips down. You still immediately. Valentina’s strength is nothing compared to yours, no one’s is, but you obey her every command like it’s breathing. Disobeying hasn’t been a thought in your head for a very long time. You also don’t want to risk hurting her. You’re pretty sure the world would end if you did.

Valentina finally, finally moves. You moan as she drags the strap out of you. Her following thrust is short and sharp. Your hands move to grab her but abort at the last second and cling to the headboard.

“Good girl,” she husks. You shudder.

She keeps fucking you and it’s so hard to be good. The plant pot on the table begins to rattle. You force your magic back down. You are in charge and you won’t allow it to ruin this for you. The headboard breaks beneath your fingers but still you don’t move. You force the power wanting to fly things around the move down. You can’t move, you can’t let your powers loose. You have to be good. She might stop if you aren’t and the need to come consumes you. 

Valentina’s long nails dig in, sharp enough to cut if your skin was capable of splitting. For the first time you hate your indestructible power. You want her to mark you with more than just your clothes. You want her to sink her teeth into you and tear. You want everyone to see how much she owns you; how deeply embedded she is [in your skin]. 

Valentina makes a low noise and the headboard becomes splinters between your fingers. You so rarely hear anything when you service her until the end and even then it’s little more than a raspy praise. Your stomach flexes but you keep your hips firmly against the bed. You want her to make that noise again. You want to be the reason she makes it but your control is so close to snapping you might break her.

Instead you memorise every hitch of her breath, the tight press of her lips when she’s swallowing a noise, the feel of her reaching the deepest part of you.

You can’t help coming even as you desperate try to prolong this moment. You cry out as your body floods with pleasure. Something warm fills you and you arch as your body responds. It feels so good. Too good. The room shakes. Things topple off of the table.

Panting, you look up at her with star-filled eyes. Her hair is messy and there’s a light sheen of sweat on her forehead. You wish you could kiss her.

Valentina looks around the room. A few things have fallen off of the table but otherwise nothing is broken and everything is in its place.

“You did well,” she praises.

 Warmth fills you. You wish you could stay like this forever.

[crsssies]

:3 behind the scenes time !!! scrapped a couple of things and I wanted to elaborate a little on the lore since i didn't get to write all of it

"Before I fix the camera. I'll make you a deal." You glance around, lack of electronics on you also an indicator of total privacy. The prototype stills. You don't have much to live for, so you gamble whatever worth you have in the form of your all-access employee card. "I know you want to leave." "I... can access that card anywhere." "No. You can only access a Head's card from one of us, and the Doctor won't be able to give it to you either. He doesn't have an omni hand." The prototype stills. "What... do you want." "I know you want to kill the humans. It's evident. Pretend to kill me but hide me." "Why... would I do that?" "I'm your biggest bargaining chip against the doctor." You laugh. "You want him to work with you? Sparing him will be fine, but holding me hostage and promising to return me will produce evident results." The prototype considers it, and you fish out a charm from your belt. "This will work."

Originally reader was going to be the one who tells the prototype about the doctor's infatuation with them but i ended up having the prototype use reader instead of the other way around

"He promised me it would keep me safe." "During the hour of joy, angel."

this was the original first dialogue when the doctor's minion finds reader in the cell!

A figure opens the door to the doctor's lair, turning back to stop and stare at each one of the cameras. The doctor is defeated, screaming out a garbled name as he died, leaving nothing behind. Nothing, except the box of crayons on top of the monitor with a name. Scratched out by something sharp, but a name nonetheless, and a map tucked between the two rows of colors. In the corner of the maze — hidden behind a series of servers you have to crouch to get to lies a figure, frozen, skin clean and temperature perfect. The figure contemplates to cut off the life support of the human, staring at the vitals and oxygen mask on her face. He looks at the enclosure with fake skies and artificial sunlight — a fridge opened full of canned food. He wonders if the human is alive or being kept alive. The scratches on her wrist match those of the doctor's minions. Terrifying feat. To think that evil incarnate could be capable of showing affection, though twisted. The figure pulls the life support, watching as the monitor beeps at the flatline. There is no confirmation that the two will end up at the same place, but perhaps it is human to hope that even in the void of pure darkness, there was something that could give light. Huh. Wonder if that's what happened to them.

og ending! originally reader was going to be found unconscious by the doctor so he puts her on life support and she never wakes up but then the story took a different turn from what i wanted originally so. whatever ig

When he presents proof of concept as the prototype had requested of him, you're given to him in perfect health. He's not sure what you've been feeding off of as there is no food below, and even if there were, he's sure the prototype would have fed it to his loyal subjects instead of whatever you were in consideration to that. You're handed off to the doctor's main body, clawed hand to clawed hand, and it takes one look from the doctor to notice that you're not quite as harmed as he thought you'd be. He adjusts the cloak over his head as he stares you in the eye, and you smile at him. "Congrats on proving it." You take his hand, paying one last glance to the prototype as he lets you leave with the figure.

Originally the prototype hands reader over but then I thought it'd be funnier if the doctor just finally accessed his main body and jumpscared her lol

ending notes:

There's hints throughout the fic but basically reader was going to be Elliot's adopted child after Poppy passed away. They showed the same passion for design and creation he did, so he took them in to raise as a successor since originally Poppy was never meant to take over the company (hence the she's too pure thing) but since reader was part of the young genius' program and elliot took to liking them they ended up raised by elliot. but also bc reader and harvey met when they were kids bc like. yknow. also bc it's so fun when sociopaths have childhood friends whom they have a weird attachment to. I might edit and bulk up the fic one day but oh well. :3

this is what you came for (blood on the game ball)

word count: 7.2k

Warnings: implied/non explicit smut, reader's Head of Design, slightly unsettling vibes

You learn things over the years of being a head at Poppy's Playtime.

One, Stella Greybur is a softie. She loves the children, which you don't particularly blame her for, and she establishes boundaries that one must not cross, and you are not to cross with her if you can avoid it. She's eccentric in her own way — perhaps not the same way the other heads are, but still eccentric nonetheless. One can find her in her office mumbling about how she regrets her involvement while gaslighting herself that it would save more than it would torture. It's a lie and everyone knows it.

Two, Eddie Ritterman is a recluse. But that's simply a front given to the rest of the company, because the truth is he's a shady ass man who runs the majority of deals behind the scenes. It takes darkness to engulf darkness, and he's no exception from that. He makes sure the company keeps and makes the money that they do. He's not a researcher, he's a businessman. His words, and it doesn't quite matter as a matter of fact, because at the end of the day, he makes sure the surgeons get the money that they need in order to continue their research.

Three, Leith Pierre is not worth the arguing. Not in the sense that you would stop arguing because you would lose, no. You could not out-argue the man simply because he wasn't willing to listen all that much. He's also money-hungry, and one of the reasons he had picked up the Bigger Bodies Initiative meant that he could pay less employees. Not one of the heads is an emotion-feeling man. Leith found joy in telling people how hopeless everything was, after all. But he was a man to keep up appearances as the successor of Ludwig, so he knew how to pretend.

Finally, Harley Sawyer is a sociopath who does not care what happens to the children or the toys. His hand is his weapon and his scalpel will bring life, but beyond his own curiosity and drive for fame, there is nothing else inside of him. His only form of joy and release lay in the creation of life — in playing god. There was no saving grace when he set his eyes upon you, and if you were selected as an orphan, then heavens kill you because your fate lay worse than it did in death under his hand.

You are not allowed to avoid anyone with your position as head of design. It was a fickle title, as you had practically taken over the creative process that Elliot Ludwig had once done, but you worked closely with the head of production that the rest of the heads did not. Your designs made their way in the end to the hands of the Doctor. You did not care as much as you'd liked to, but you would visit the orphans selected and see if they had ideas. The minds of children were simple and easy, after all. Their designs came just as easily as yours.

The avoidance of the Doctor is not something you're conscious of. You steer clear of him when you can, and you have other workers hand off papers to him when you can. When you cannot, you stare him in the eye for as long as he'll meet yours, and you ignore the look of contempt in his eye when you show the prototype for the child's design. The children had toys they wished to turn into, and it was your responsibility to make sure that their last gift of grace came to life. The Doctor does not care, and quite frankly neither do you, but you learn that the children adapt better to their new bodies if it is a design that they created. It comes as instinct — especially when you run them through the process of it all and they adapt better in their new bodies. They breathe and are conscious slightly longer.

There is still no explanation as for why, but experiment 1006 survived and lives. You do not know. You keep an eye out on it, staring through the glass as it articulates its fingers. The Doctor stands next to you, staring and staring, and you stare back at the prototype, wondering if anything is happening. The prototype does not kill the Doctor, yet, when he steps into the enclosure. It almost feels as though the child were staring back at you. You do not feel remorse, no. The child had request to be jagged at the edges in order to have an advantage when it came to killing. You had fulfilled the child's promise, and its intelligence was more than apparent in the way that the Doctor's voice was imitated, but yours was not.

You complete Log 24459 B with the prototype, blinking slowly at the figure as he stares back.

It can not stare back, yet the ghost of a soul stares at you anyway.

"It is bad to grow attached to them."

"No. It is bad to grow attached to them. It is not bad for them to grow attached to you. The same way Experiment 1166 relies heavily on you."

"You can not control him."

You did not reach your position through naivety. Contrary to what people in the company seem to believe, you are not stupid nor incompetent. You did not sleep with the Doctor to hold the position of someone in power. You wouldn't have gotten as high had you slept with the Doctor. Even if you did sleep with someone, it would have had to be Leith Pierre. You would have had to have slept with Ludwig himself if you wanted to consider sleeping your way to the top, but Ludwig would have never let his daughter end up in a position of power. She was too pure. She was to be preserved. She had to be preserved.

She had to be—

The voice of the child snaps you out, and you tilt your head. "Say that again, sweetheart?"

"I would like to be this one."

He points at the blue creature, and you ruffle his hair. "Alright, sweetheart. How would you move in him?"

"I would spin my arms." He giggles, tucked against your legs as he hums. "They would be soft to hug."

"What would you name yourself?"

"Huggy."

"What rhymes with huggy?" You hum. "Buggy?"

The child laughs. "Noooo… maybe wuggy?"

"Like snuggy wuggy?"

"Ya!!" The child gasps. "I'd be called Huggy Wuggy."

"Would you hug your friends?"

"Mhm!"

You wonder if you'll ever experience the horror of being betrayed by someone you assumed you could trust. You wouldn't know. You probably wouldn't live to know. You'd die at the hand of the Doctor before you could even live to experience it. The Doctor would make sure you're dead before you would even consider such a thought. Though, it's a shame. Your consciousness would give up before you could even consider to fight tooth and nail to become conscious in a Bigger Body.

"So... you want to become Catnap?"

"Yes... with a longer spine and a big... limbs." The boy whispers, medical wrappings all around his head.

He's still half dazed from the Prototype using him as a means to try and escape. You don't know what prompted the hand to return the boy and save the boy, but you don't comment on it. You'll ask later when you pay a visit. For the time being, you draw an abnormally long Catnap that is more bones than fur, and the boy nods slowly.

"I want to look like... my friend."

"I see." You hum. "Then I hope you become like him too."

You hand the design to the Doctor yourself this time, taking a good look at his face, head tilted as he raises a brow at you back.

"Something on my face, Head of Design?"

"No." You laugh, cheeks warm. "Just think there's some sort of beauty in the look of you tired out from lack of sleep."

"Tch." He clicks his tongue. "Get talking to that new orphan."

"I'll see what kind of idea comes from her mind."

When you leave, you miss the way Harley Sawyer's eyes linger on you for a moment longer than acceptable.

There is history that some of the workers have in the company, so it wasn't out of the question for you to have known some people from your childhood, and Elliot Ludwig was no exception. You had been selected as his successor right before his death per the development of the Young Geniuses Program, so it was interesting to meet Harley Sawyer face to face after so many years. You didn't think Leith Pierre was smart enough to hire someone Ludwig had deemed as dangerous all for the sake of more money.

Marie Payne is a girl who is both terrified and plagued with nightmares, so you give her a brighter design. You hide Catnap's design from her when you flip through the pages, and you hand her a box of crayons as you let her draw, and she tells you about how she wants to be able to stretch for the sake of hugging others, and you tap your pen against your bottom lip, considering what material you could use for that. The new plastic they were planning on creating would be nice, but you're not sure if it would be able to shrink back to its original size after it stretches out. You ought to talk to Harley about it.

"I see." You think over it. "You want to stretch?"

"Yes. That would be my thing." She whispers. "It also means I can escape if I need to."

"Mm." You nod. "I see. Well, I'll see if we can make a model for you, sweetheart. It'll be your little toy, hm?"

The orphans have a misconception that if they choose you, then they're special. No child likes being left behind, and you know that better than anyone. You revel in the attention from the children, but you're also aware that it's an awful thing to be ostracizing children because they'll be going into surgery anyway. It helps to make them bitter towards something before being put under and transferred to a bigger body. And, well, if that bitterness manifests in something, then their consciousness fights to adapt to the new body because they have something to continue living for.

"Head of Design—"

You look up at Harley, and he raises a brow at you.

"What?"

"You want me to use elastic plastic for this upcoming project."

"Correct." You show him the prototype, stretching out the arms as they snap back in place, and he scoffs.

"What kind of dream is this child up to?"

"A dream to hug everyone, Doctor." You pinch your brows. "Something you clearly did not know."

The Doctor takes the toy to examine it and scoffs.

"We'll see."

Mommy Long Legs, the toy that Marie becomes, is sent to the Game Station. You don't speak to her again, passing her on occasion when you take the train down further, and you send her a nod. One of the few good things about being the Head of Design meant that the toys knew you more or less. Playing god, dare you say it. To them, you were the creator. They could tear at you if they really wished for it, but you have given none of them a reason to.

You spend most of your days talking to the orphans and having them select toys to personalize, and for the most part, you need not to meet up with the Doctor to any extent, but on occasion you pass him in the halls when you leave new designs, nodding at him as he furrows his brows at you.

"1006 is asking for you."

"And you're telling me?"

"It is not my place to question that toy. He's far wiser than we make him out to be, after all."

"I see." You hum. "How's work been?"

"Don't start that small talk shit with me."

"Sorry. Just wanted to know. We haven't had a new Bigger Body in a while." You hum.

"We're planning one with two new orphans."

"Kevin and Matthew." You deadpan. "I can't help but think that Kevin's too temperamental to create a toy that will listen."

"We need success right now. Not anything else of the sort."

"I see." You remember Leith Pierre going off about how the investors were looking for results outside of the smiling critters that had been getting mass-produced. Proof of concept was there, so it all fell on Harley's shoulders to show results again. Doey was going to be next. The experiment had been named already. Stella had been working hard to get the two boys attached to the dough toy, and it seemed it would undergo surgery soon. Well, it wasn't really your place.

Then, a boy falls off the railing into the dough and the company adds a third into the mix. The same day that there is surgery, a third boy, Jack Ayers, is brought in, body pieces mixed in the dough machine as the Doctor sneered. It was a pain in the ass to him, but he succeeds anyway, turning Doey alive and storing him with the rest of the toys. It's one of the final big experiments that the Doctor gets to achieve, after all.

"Head of Design." He stares at you, and you tilt your head.

"Yes, Doctor?"

"One Bad Day." He smiles. "If you want to stay alive, I suggest you stay in lockdown on the fifth of next week."

You listen, because you know the man's a sociopath who means every word he says. The other employees laugh at him, and you watch as Sawyer's brows twist in annoyance. You offer something to him, so he can't afford to lose you. Everyone else, though? It didn't matter if they were dead or alive. As long as you survived or whatever. You wonder if that's what you get for... whatever this was. Maybe the Doctor likes you more than you think he does.

You could use that to your advantage. You know someone who could use that to their advantage. You're starting to get tired of this hell.

The Theater Incident occurs as over 60 victims are left for dead because of the fire and escaped toys, and your office initiates safety lockdown as you watch over the cameras. When Lockehart is sent back in for investigation, you know better than anyone that it must've been Sawyer. The warning was enough evidence, but you don't bring it up. Lockeheart reveals it to the table of Heads when the time comes, and Leith Pierre nods at you far too quickly for it to be a coincidence for you to sketch up a design to still keep him alive.

You sit through the board meeting after the incident, sketching designs for metal casings to hold onto the Doctor. It's heinous to even consider what they're considering to turn the man into.

You don't tell the Doctor. You have no need to.

The agreement is put into place and you're given a timeframe to figure out what kind of a design to give to the Doctor, but not until he finishes the majority of surgeries that are left under him. To use a man until he is done, and then the rest of the experiments could be started with a new doctor. One that wasn't him. One that wasn't suspected to be behind the death of Elliot Ludwig.

"Doctor." You smile. "Take a break with me, would you?"

"What kind of break?"

"They're planning on jarring some organs. If you had to become jarred and reduced to just a brain, which design would you pick?"

He lets you sit down on his table, flipping through a full book of designs.

"The simplest one."

"You sure you wouldn't go for something more... creative? Mobile?" You flip to another page with a humanoid robot on it, and he scoffs.

"No." He flips it back to your third design and points. "This one's most efficient. Though, I'd size it down if we were going to force it upon a child. Will I be conducting this one?"

"Maybe? I'm still confirming with the heads. Think of this as... insider info." You beam. "So? Anything to share with me, Head of Special Projects?"

The doctor pulls you in by the calf, pressing your forehead to his as he looks at you.

"I know you still dangle that charm around your neck that you take off when you come to see me."

You press your fingers to his chest, fingers sliding down to hook his belt as your lip quirks up.

"And I know, Harley, that you still have that permanent stain of red where I sit my charm."

You hand Dr. Bruno White the artistic design that you all had agreed upon during the meeting, and the creation of the Doctor began. You refuse to act as bait, forcing Leith to talk to the underlings instead and force Harley to be put under, the man caught off guard as they keep him under anesthesia, and you catch one last glimpse at the Doctor before he's put under. He's much better when he's quiet.

Too many people killed, not good for the company, and whatever other excuse they have in the book. At the end of the day, they only fear for their lives and reputation. So, the Doctor must pay.

"Doctor White."

"Head of Design."

"Preserve the heart, would you? The engineers have already designed the body." You hand him an extra sheet, and he raises a brow.

"Don't worry. It's inactive. There's no actual electricity jumping through it unless plugged in."

"I see." He pauses. "Does Mister Pierre know?"

"I'm telling him in a bit. I have a copy in my journal. You'd store the body in my office. Unplugged."

"I see."

You wonder if you should pay the prototype a visit now that the Doctor will be decommissioned into nothing more than a system. Too much access to too many things, yet somehow at the same time still powerless as ever. What can you do as a system? It would be better off to store him into a robot than a system. It's still enough power, it's just that he's too weak to be able to do anything. It doesn't stop you from clicking through his system and asking for information.

"Head of Design. Couldn't you have picked—"

"Nope." You hum. "You picked it yourself."

The doctor stares down at you as you continue sketching on your book, computers and laptops around in your room reduced to stacks and stacks of papers. You're not as stupid as to let the Doctor into your private life. You know where everything is, and you learn to live that way. All of the heads do. Almost. All of the heads. But the truth is that Leith Pierre and you are both just concerningly paranoid about the Doctor. Leith's room might as well have become a library with how much paper he uses.

The Doctor can see everything yet at the same time see nothing. It's intriguing in the way where he can look at you through the cameras of the lab, yet unable to access anything you keep on paper. You sit in his central hub when bored to converse with him, and at other times you let him sit on the phone with you while you sketch. The orphans start knowing you as the woman who goes around with a strange voice tucked on your waist. A mean voice that you reprimand and turn down to low when he starts being mean to the kids.

There are no more widely successful experiments after Harley Sawyer turns into a computer.

You continue the drawings in your hands and stories you tell the children. You explain none else, sitting down with them to draw designs and then hand them off to the surgeons to do their thing. Your world is finished. Your job was simple as that. You did not care for administrative issues or more wealth. Your job was simply found in the pen and paper of the soul. Nothing beyond that.

You complete log 25479, pulling the plug to the camera in the room when you leave, never turning back once for the experiment. Harvey would have. Paranoid. Constantly mistrusting of his experiments, only manipulating them into trusting him alone. You're not nearly smart enough to do all of that, though. You know your limits, so you stick to them. You are not an overachiever like the rest of the team.

You stick with colors from the children and staring up at security cameras for a moment too long, and quiet moments of clicking on a computer to interact with the Doctor. It's fun. It's cute, even. Nothing cute about him. He's still as vicious as always. You input questions and he spits answers with annoyance and an edge in his tone, but that's really all there is.

There's supposed to be nothing else — there is supposed to be nothing else, but you make the mistake of using the wrong disc at work, and all of a sudden the Doctor shows up on your laptop, eyes slanting into what they work look like in a sneer, and you realize what you've done. It's not much, though. Simple diary entries regarding each child and what you learned about them. Things you can use to earn trust again. The same way the Doctor and 1166 act around each other. Though, you have less malicious intentions. Perhaps you want to return to them some semblance of feeling human.

"Head of Design. Affection? How rare."

"Is it not dignified to die a noble death even when a child? You and I both know it has been better since I've started working with the children."

The computer sneers, appalled that there could even been the luxury of feeling. The Doctor never felt when he was human. It's why he was the perfect machine — to weave the brain of a sociopath to a device that could not feel either. It was a creation of apathy — the same way the Doctor was. It was much too dangerous to let him be. Too dangerous to let him do what he wanted to. You understood it as well. To show any empathy without eccentricity was to dig yourself a hole. No one wore their emotions on their sleeve in the face of Poppy Playtime. It was stupid to.

Not even Greybur herself actually wore her true emotions on her face. Her true emotions were too far gone. All she did now was gaslight herself into believing that what she was doing was right.

"It's just some diary entries." You hum.

"About everything about the children. These aren't in the database, Head of Design."

His voice makes your skin crawl, but you don't speak up on it.

"Is that so? I deemed it unnecessary information to know about the children."

"Head of Design hiding information from the company? Oh, sweetheart. This is horrible."

"Is that so?" You stare the eye in the… eye, quirking up a brow as the eye smiles, or, attempts to smile.

"What would happen if I sell you out to the company?"

"They can't fire me. The success rate of surgery has only gone up since I've stepped up into this position." You reach to shut your laptop, wincing as the electricity stings your fingers.

"Is that so? You're only a couple months my senior, Head of—"

You force back a wince and shut the laptop, unplugging the disc as you think over what to do. Now the Doctor would be able to check out all of your notes or whatever. It doesn't matter. It doesn't kill to be sympathetic as long as you're still doing your job. You can pretend you're the children's saving grace all you want, but everyone knows that at the end of the day, no one's better than the other. You're all money-hungry mongrels who'll do anything for the company as long as you're being paid nicely. The pretty penny meant more than children whom you've never met. You can fake sympathy all you want, but the seven figures in your bank account didn't come without stepping on others.

Stella can pretend she's giving the children a brighter future all she wants. It's a lie and she knows it.

You tuck the disc back into the desk, and you listen to Harley continue to rant on your phone.

You leave him in the office to meet up with the other Heads.

Success rates in surgery have dropped. It's been a painfully long time since there have been any successful surgeries, and everyone knows it. You don't speak up, having known this would have happened, and if you mention it to the Doctor, then his poor excuse of an ego would have skyrocketed. It's easier for him to be a robot for everyone's sake, but for the company's sake, it would have been better if he had stayed the head. They should have considered another way to have him complacent.

"Head of Design. I hear from the kids you carry Sawyer around."

"On the phone." You hum. We know that we can't access electronics or electricity without his consciousness anyway, so he's there for entertainment."

"Would you say the doctor has a soft spot for you?"

You think you know where this is going.

"It would be impossible to make him completely complacent."

"We can't use them." Leith speaks up. "We're not losing someone else who succeeded in connecting the children to the toys."

You lean back in your chair, and the rest of the meeting is spent deciding what to do. For starters, the Shelf has finished construction, and almost everyone has been moved down to the location. Most, if not all toys. Your job remained mostly on the surface thanks to it. You keep Harley on your phone still, but you remain virtually unconnected from everyone. Everyone, until you're summoned by the Prototype. Leith himself carries the news with a sneer. The scientists are looking for you because the prototype wants to see you.

You comply. After all. It's been a while since you've met up with the prototype.

The travel down is long and boring, and you spend most of the time chatting with Harvey on the phone, much to his annoyance, but when you do enter, you hear the quietest of "don't die"s, and you realize that it's worked. It's happened. You've done it.

You stare at the Prototype in the room, the camera deemed malfunctioning as the door locks behind you. The prototype lunges at the door to try and open it, and you stare at the Prototype.

"What did you want me for?"

"The doctor knows you."

You raise a brow, and the prototype leans down to stare at you.

"The doctor. Needs you."

You laugh, but the truth is, the absurdity is true. The Doctor has formed a bond with you after so long. You think you were correct to sell your body to him right before he lost all physical contact, and was impossible to deny that the doctor couldn't do much to you. It was something that was just in your bones. Sticking to your skin the same way sweat did on a humid day. The doctor had to work out his twisted attachment to you so he could understand it before he would kill you off. Boredom pained him, but getting to know you was a form of pastime entertainment. You know the answer better than him, you fear. The doctor was attached to you the same way Yarnaby was to him. Codependency, but still romance. Was it love? It didn't matter anymore.

"So?"

"You will become a playing card. You will survive."

"And if it doesn't work?"

"It will."

You don't see the prototype after that, but you receive note that when the scientists tried visiting him next accidentally let him escape. They lost their lives for it, and the prototype spends much of his day hiding in the facility. No one can find him. It's enough to send Leith Pierre home, forced to send emails into the facility, and you're back to letting Harley watch you type boring emails on your laptop as you rat his ear off about boring things and the children that he couldn't care less about. You notice the eye glancing at your chest, though. You make the effort to ignore the way his eye stares, and eventually, you cover the part of screen that his eye buzzes on because you're uncomfortable. He looks. He can stare. It's quite awful, but you unfortunately don't care enough for it.

Your only warning from the prototype comes in the form of a letter given to you by a lower-level employee, telling you to stay locked up in his old room during the hour of joy, and you listen. You bring enough water to not die for days and sustenance that will keep you alive enough. You have a feeling the next person to find you won't be the prototype, but you don't have much time to argue for it. He can't kill you until he gets what he wants from Sawyer. You make sure to connect that body in your office to electricity before you leave. A small plug. Nothing compared to the big one in his base station, but just enough for the body to gain consciousness and start charging.

You're given the privilege of watching the security cameras of the Hour of Joy, tucked away as your only source of entertainment lay with the television screens, but you also understand to some extent that the doctor would find you precisely because of the television screens. You're expecting his eye to flicker on at any point anyway. You've been spared the torture, but you suppose it's not much better to finally be under Harley's control.

The one who opens the door to the room isn't the hand you made a deal with. Rather, it's the Doctor's eye that stares you dead in the eye, and you laugh dryly. He must've found you through the screen. That pathetic excuse of a Doctor wanted you in his hand so bad that he decided to cooperate with the prototype like you had expected. What a rude twist of fate. Bafflingly rude, dare you say it. Yet, you survived anyway. Nothing Harley could do to you would be worse than the Hour of Joy.

"Sweetheart."

You stare at the Doctor's minion, considering if you should just make a run for it. Huggy Wuggy wasn't particularly volatile towards you, and you could most likely bolt out of the facility if you tried hard enough. But you know also that it isn't good. If you make it out, the company will make sure to erase you at the end of the day. You're not quite sure what you're clinging onto survival for. Perhaps it is human to want to live despite it all. You want to control how long you live for and how short you stay on this wretched planet for. It was agitating for you, yes. You simply weren't able to go anywhere if you follow the doctor, but it's clear you were part of a deal.

"Sawyer, I didn't know you were capable of affection." You laugh, staring up at the minion's eye.

"Yes... so be good and follow my instructions, yes?"

You glance behind the machine, really wondering if you should just have those fingers pierce through your neck and end it all, but it would be boring not to torture the doctor one last time before you meet your eventual demise anyway.

The Doctor controls his minions, but at the end of the day, you control whether or not you die.

"I want a contract."

"Papers mean nothing to me, pet."

"Then I die."

You lunge for one of the hands and snap it off with precision, holding it to your chest.

"You dare—"

"You know I do, Sawyer. So you listen or I die."

"The scraps can't hurt you, sweetheart. They're all sanded down." He sneers, and you stare at the piece that you've broken off, fate registering in your head.

"Tell me what you plan to do to me."

"I won't—" He laughs, snickering. "I won't hurt you. I simply wanted a pet."

"You have Yarnaby for that." You stare up at the screen, and he hums.

"No. No. I'm still human to some extent. I want to see someone squirm."

"You shouldn't even harness hatred for me."

"I don't."

You glance at the Doctor, and you think something clicks.

"Harley Sawyer. You still have that schoolboy crush on me? My, I would've thought you no longer wanted anything to do with me." You laugh, holding your stomach as you fall to the ground. "You have this cruel twist on what love is so now you're forcing that upon me? Oh, well heavens forgive me for being too kind to someone who's never known it. Perhaps I ought to leave you to rot in our next life."

"I will find you in that life, and I will promise you hell." He sneers from the machine, and you laugh.

"What do you really want to do to me?"

The eye squints, and you smile.

"You couldn't hurt me if you tried."

"That's where you're wrong."

You glance down at the body's chest and grin at the lack of red on it.

"Where's your signature birthmark, Harley? I'm disappointed I won't see that splotch of red on your chest if you ever do fuck me in this form."

The Doctor barks out a laugh.

"I assure you, sweetheart. You'll see that matching red on my chest. After all, were you not the one to charge a separate body for me? I have to have you in the body I can actually feel in, after all."

"Tch. Guess you're still that brainless in the face of sex. You'd never hurt me, though, would you?"

"You don't know what I'm capable of, pet."

"That's not what you whispered to me while asleep when I let you have me. You think the prototype will let you have me like this? Oh, you are so wrong—"

Your voice cuts off on the Doctor's side as he's forced back to the main terminal, buffering as he connects to the cameras nearby. When he finally does, he spots you with the prototype, its figure next to you as the two of you discuss in hushed whispers, a language that Harley can't decode. Something you used to speak in when talking with the kids sometimes. Blabbering that apparently has meaning.

The Doctor knows better than to step in, his end of the deal with the prototype not yet over as he works on the few living humans, desperate to recreate Poppy. The unintentional consequence of gambling with you. You'll be attained when he shows proof of concept. You're that final key to his god awful domain that he's set up regarding the prison. But he doesn't need to hand it over. He only needs to find you through the clues that the two feed to each other. Like a twisted mind game between predator and prey.

He finds you soon enough, crouched in your office as his main body finishes charging. You'd been in your office this whole time, only hiding whenever the Doctor would attempt to access the body. He catches you off guard as you're wiping the screen by connecting suddenly, body finished charging as the mechanical parts wrap around your waist, body towering over you as he stands to half his height.

"Pet."

"I will stab my duster through your chest compartment to kill the one functioning body part you have."

"..." The Doctor laughs in the new body, and he presses a finger onto the lower part of your stomach.

"You're alive after five years."

"I'm surprised it took this long to charge this body to full." You toss the feather duster behind you as he wraps his the clawed hand around your waist, holding you still as he hums.

"I'm hurt you didn't include my... appendage. You are into this, are you not?"

"Why would I fuck a robot, Harley? That's just sick and twisted." You avoid his gaze as he tightens his grip around your waist, rewarding him with a squeak in pain at the feeling of the claws around you, and he glances down at the red that starts forming on your skin. He lets go, though, letting you turn around to set the spray down as well.

"You did not sand me down."

"Why would? I wasn't planning on fucking you, you twisted robot."

He hunches over you, pressing the metal casing of his heart to your back as you feel the organ beat behind you, and you stop.

"What are you doing?"

"You caused this. Fix it."

"Do I look like you? I can't do sh—"

He slides his fingers down your abdomen, letting the claw test how sharp it is by sliding down your shirt, and stopping right above the hem of your pants.

"Sweetheart."

"Harvey, if you're going to be a horndog, then just get it over with—"

He presses down, earning a hiss from your lips as you wince, and you feel skin break as he pulls his claws off.

"You're quite easy to break in this form."

"You're wrong if you believe I want to live after living on such horrible food for the past five years. I might feed myself to the prototype if I have to."

"And why not me?"

"Why do you think, Harley?"

"Let's get you down to my lair first." He mumbles, cradling you in his hand as he pinches at your box of crayons and you tell him what else you want to bring. You're surprised he's being considerate, letting him grab what you need, and he lets you know he'll send a toy to haul whatever remaining supply of food you have left on the floor down eventually. This side of him is fascinating to you. You'd never expected the Doctor to show you even a semblance of affection, so for him to practically meet your every demand was baffling.

Of course, it all comes with a price, though. You refuse most of his antics, but he locks you down in his domain — in a faux apartment hidden from the rest of the maze with glass overlooking the rest of the area. You get to observe his mind in action in the central window that you get to observe from. The doctor's body is free to stand to his full height, and you sand his fingers down as he curses out your coworkers again and again. You had him bring your toolkit so he wouldn't hurt you unless it was intentional, but at the expense of taking care of a ridiculously large amalgamation of a creature. When you finish all of his fingers and polish, he articulates them as he presses a hand to your stomach to force you on the floor, watching as your skin only pales at the pressure and none else.

"Pet."

You reach for the spray on the table, and he stops you.

"You sanded my fingers down. You wanted this."

You huff, grumbling. "What's the point if I can't even kiss you?"

"Oh, quite a romantic, aren't you?" He loops a finger under your belt to pull at it, humming as he presses down on your skin to stop your squirming. "Don't worry. I'm not some dead skull you have to show affection to."

In retrospect, perhaps you should have taken a day off like Leith Pierre back when you had been warned about the Hour of Joy. You don't know what made you stay. Perhaps a lapse in judgement, a moment of weakness that the prototype knew would happen. After all, he read you just as nicely as you read him. You both knew. At the end of the day, you were both just as human as you were. The prototype was a product of circumstance whose hatred festered too far. You don't know why you were spared. You probably wouldn't return to the doctor even if you were forced to.

"Ah, ah, ah, sweetheart. Eyes on me." The Doctor grins, and your head falls back as you gasp.

"Don't you like my new additions?"

But then again, you are human.

Your fingers dig into the metal of his forearm, brows furrowing as your body buries itself in sweat. You're sure you're going to rust the body on accident, but you don't think he minds one bit. Not when your head is spinning and you're sure your wrists are going to bruise by morning. You aren't eating as well as you ought to be. There is truly not much left for you down here. You can only do so much for four years before being driven to the cusp of insanity. Maybe your sanity is only waiting to be snapped. The paranoia of being with the doctor will be the thing to kill you, and you know it. Soon, whatever apathy you feel for the Doctor will force its way through your body until it tears out and becomes that same obsession he has for you.

Maybe he'll never know that it's his strange version of love.

He can only hope you agree to become one like him before the hunger starves you.

-

A figure opens the door to the doctor's lair, turning back to stop and stare at each one of the cameras. The doctor is defeated, screaming out a garbled name as he died, leaving nothing behind. Nothing, except the box of crayons on top of the monitor with a name. Scratched out by something sharp, but a name nonetheless, and a map tucked between the two rows of colors.

In the upper corner of the maze — hidden behind a series of servers you have to crouch to get to hides an apartment. No way in, no way out. In the corner, a figure rests with a much larger version of the Doctor's bodies, compartment of the chest shattered to leave a browning heart, resting there with much fluid leaked to the ground. In its arms resides the figure, a human who lacks the movement of someone who's alive, cradled in the figure's arms. There's the smile that mirrors someone who's accepted that their end has come, and there is peace, perhaps. There’s a curiosity as to what the doctor’s final screen was on this body as well.

To think that evil incarnate could be capable of showing affection.

There is no confirmation that the two will end up at the same place, but perhaps it is human to hope that even in the void of pure darkness, there was something that could give light.

Huh. Wonder if that's what happened to them.

[clemencetaught]

ferre makes aesthetics ( 5/??? ): verse two ( lee hyuk & shin myungdae )

"myungdae, no offense, but shut up." alfred cuts in, without looking up from the latte he's making. "that guy looks at you like you're the fucking sun. he doesn't hate you."

( photos do not belong to me. credit for the portrayal of lee hyuk goes to alex @jeoseungsaja! happy holidays my dear friend <3 )

[sysig]

Challenge level: Impossible (Patreon)

[jils-things]

me when i stop caring too hard

[radio-4-is-static]

KATATOKI Teaser | Yojiro Noda x J.I.D Listen to WONDER BOY'S AKUMU CLUB here !!

[almadelsur]

💋 The Secrets One Keeps

summary: You're in love with jj but he's with kie, so in moments of pure desperation you often find yourself turning to the person he hates the most...rafe

warnings: some good old angsty pining, very very slight smut if you squint, fem!reader, one or two uses of y/n, plz let me know if I missed anything

a/n: SHE'S BACKKKK, so I've decided to completely reformat and re-post this fic with a few tweaks and editing considering i first wrote this like 3 years ago, and yes for those of you who have been asking, I fully intend to finallly continue this fic....more info on that later ;)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

JJ’s eyes change the moment Kiara steps into any room. Immediately his presence is ripped away from your immediate atmosphere, popping the little bubble you'd spent all afternoon crafting as he sprung up to greet the olive-skinned enigma that captured his affections.

“Kie!” The joy in his tone was incomparable to anything he’d directed at anybody else. Nothing could draw out such happiness from the blonde. You hated that about her.

In an attempt at self-defense, your brain shut itself off. Shielding you from processing the scene in front of you, your emotions ran cold like cement pouring down and across your neurons. It was the only way you could survive such a beating to your heart.

You figured that by distancing yourself mentally, you wouldn’t have to raise suspicion and distance yourself physically. In reality, you knew the real reasoning was your inability to stay away from JJ but the facade helped you cope.

“Hey J” she embraced him and his body relaxed around her as if she was the only source of his happiness. The only way he’d find alleviation from what he perceived as a shitty life being through her. “Sorry I’m late my parents had me running like crazy at the wreck today.”

Scattered greetings filled the air from the rest of the pogues, yet you could only focus on the way his eyes fixated on her like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Here come sit baby” he offered her the seat he had just previously been place holding. What you thought had been quality time with your best friend, presented itself to you now as momentary attention to pass the time until his actual desire arrived.

Settling herself down and offering you a wide smile, her shoulder bumped against yours gently as a sign of acknowledgment.

“Hey dude” she directed at you, but you didn’t reply. You just couldn’t bring yourself to pretend. Not today anyway. Instead, you offered her a small smile, it was minimal but it was the best you could do under the circumstances.

“Yo" A crumpled tissue paper flew at your head, jj attempting to refocus your attention on him, "didn’t you say you were gonna get some water or something?” He spoke up, the scheme evident in his tone.

“um yeah I guess” You lifted yourself up and took a few steps before jj used the opportunity to slump himself down where you had been sat and sprawled his arms across his girlfriend’s shoulders.

“snooze ya loose sucker” he joked as he turned to Kiara to start up some mindless conversation. Leaving you behind in the dust.

Your teeth gritted as you focused on making your way to the kitchen hoping the distance from the scene unfolding would lift the iron grip on your heart.

You made the fatal mistake of glancing back and you were met with the image of jj nuzzling up to kiara in a picturesque display of love. The lump building at the base of your throat indicated that it was your time to get the hell out of there before you broke down in front of everyone. 

“Shit guys, y’know what I just realized I gotta go” You spoke quickly, your tone matching your pace as you rushed to the exit of the chateau. 

“You’re still coming to the party later though right?” John B asked, not tearing his eyes away from the screen in front of him. 

“Mhm yeah sure” you opened the door ready to depart. 

“Shit I forgot about that! Me and jj are gonna be late, we got dinner at the wreck tonight.” kiara added as you stepped out, unable to control the escape of a rogue tear.

“Date night babyyyy” You heard JJ cheer before you slammed the door behind you. 

“Is Y/N okay? She seemed a bit off.” Kie nudged JJ as she questioned. 

JJ furrowed his eyebrows momentarily. Glancing out the window, he saw you jog away from the house, and a brief flash of worry flashed through his mind. As quick as it came, it dissipated. He shook his head figuring that if there had been something wrong, he’d have been the first to know. 

“Nah she’s okay don't worry.” he offered to kie.

Boy was he mistaken. 

——————————————————————

“Fuuuck me” you moaned out, sinking into him one last time. You were hot, sweaty, and heaving as you pulled him out of you.

“I thought I just did” Rafe taunted leaning back to lie down, arms crossed behind his head causing his taut abdomen to flex.

You scrambled off the bed, picking up your garments and shoving them back on your body forcefully.

“What, no pillow talk?” He tried again.

“Rafe..” you trailed off. Whenever you’d finish fucking, you’d struggle to even look at him. The self-hatred flooded your body as soon as the orgasm poured out.

“Hey you called me” he eyed you intently but you knew he didn’t actually care. To rafe cameron everything was just a game. At this point it was pretty much common knowledge. “In fact” he moved closer to you so that he could speak directly into your ear “It’s always you that calls me.”

“Don’t be a dick” you stood up and eyed your heels contemplating whether you could face the walk back in them. “You know it makes me feel like shit.” It might have sounded brutal but that’s how things were with rafe.

“Yeah, it’s like you punctuate your orgasms with self-hate.”

“I'm a pogue, rafe.” You argued back as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“So? Kooks and pogues can fuck you know.” You couldn’t comprehend why you were even having this conversation. Why now, why tonight.

“Yeah maybe, not you though.” You didn’t want to tell him the reason explicitly.

“I fuck pogues.”

“You fuck anyone.” The words came out almost instantly and without thinking, yet rafe took no offense.

“Exactly so what’s the issue?”

“The issue is, rafe.” You paused trying to find the words without actually having to say the words. “The issue is that if my friends found out they’d hate me, probably more than I already hate myself.”

He just chuckled, the look in his eyes changing as he figured you out.

“What's funny?” You challenged.

“You don’t have to bullshit me princess.” He looked up at you with a devilish glint in his eye. “You just don’t want jj knowing about your little escapades huh?” Bingo.

“He’s with Kiara.” You shrugged him off.

“Uh huh, you like him but you can’t have him.” Every word he spoke striking a nerve deep within you. “So you’re fucking me to fuck him over.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” You grabbed your heels and shoved them on, wincing as you buckled them up.

“Don’t I?” He threw his joggers on lazily as he stood, the level dynamics changing significantly. The older boy towered over you. “Where are they tonight?”

“Back at John B’s, we had a little get-together.” You crossed your arms. More often than not you usually called rafe after a few drinks left you feeling lonely. “Sorry, your invite must have gotten lost in the mail.” You attempted to jab at him with sarcasm yet he clearly held the upper hand with his line of questioning. 

“So all of them are there now?” He stepped towards you.

“Mhm,” You lied.

“Even jj?” Moving closer until your neck was craned upwards to meet his eyes.

Taking your silence as an answer, he reached up and ran his palms across your upper arms, prompting you to uncross them.

“He was uh- him and kie should be getting there soon” You mumbled.

“So would i be wrong in guessing, that might have prompted your call then?” You let yourself be guided by his movements leaning your neck further back as his hand trailed up to your jawbone.

“rafe…” you called out insignificantly.

He leaned in and pressed his lips against your neck, right over where he could feel your pulse, and pressed down.

You couldn’t help the gasp that left your mouth. Because as much as your heart belonged to jj, rafe was just so fucking good at raising your temperature.

“Round two?” He mumbled against your neck.

“Yeah..” you attempted yet it came out as a whisper. He grabbed you swiftly and lifted you, moving you across the room and throwing you down onto his bed, crawling on top of you in a predatory manner as he did so. As your back hit the bed, the ringing of your phone brought you back from the haze he had you under. 

“Wait rafe stop stop” you pushed him off and grabbed the screeching mobile, pressing it up to your ear. “Hello?”

“Dude, where are you?” The sound of jj’s voice came through over the pumping sound of music and party chatter. “Me and Kie just got back and John B says no one’s seen you for like over an hour.”

“Oh I’m uh, I had to go do something for my mom” The lie pouring out of your mouth caused rafe to chuckle which was of course met by a slap from you signaling for him to be quiet.

“Oh well, when are you getting back? I have to tell you about this date. You’re gonna be so proud of me I actually think I’m ready to tell Kie I love her” you screwed your eyes shut as he spoke.

“Yeah I- you know what I can’t make it back my mom needs me to stay and help out but uh I’ll see you tomorrow or something.” You hung up before he could even reply, throwing your phone down uncaring of its state.

“What’s wrong? They getting hitched?” Rafe spoke up from behind you.

You turned to Rafe, the fire in your veins pushing your arms to grab him, roughly pulling him back onto you.

“Just shut up and fuck me rafe.”

And fuck you he did.

——————————————————————

The next morning you woke up to the sight of rafe’s bare back. Not much of a cuddler, you figured.

Quietly you pushed the covers off and began to dress yourself back up. As you got to your shoes you sighed and shook your head, as if there was any way in hell you were going to walk home in heels. You scooped up your shoes and your now-cracked phone shaking your head, slightly ashamed at your outburst.

Without even a second glance at the sleeping body you were leaving behind, you made your way over to the door. As you turned the knob and stepped out to leave, a husky voice spoke up.

“I’ll keep my ringer on for you babe.”

You rolled your eyes looking back at him, “Fuck you rafe.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m counting on.” He didn’t even open his eyes as he answered, instead just rustling around in the bed and turning to the other side, once again facing his back to you.

You scoffed as you exited. Your internal rant clouded your vision, body on autopilot with an excellent self-navigation of the Cameron house from the countless times you’d made this exit.

“Y/N?” The gentle voice wiped your thoughts clean as the shock stilled you dead in your tracks, slowly turning to come face to face with none other than Sarah.

“Sarah” you drawled out. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s my house?” Her head was cocked to the side, equally shocked to see you.

“No I just mean- I thought you were spending the night at John B’s.” You forced the small talk, avoiding the topic of why you were here, sneaking out at 8 in the morning.

“He had to work today, did you spend the night here?” She glanced up at the door of rafe’s bedroom.

“Umm-“ There had only been two other instances where you had been at a complete loss for words. The day jj told you he and Kiara were dating, the morning after your first sexual encounter with rafe, and now this.

“Are you sleeping with my brother?!” She whisper-shouted, eyes wide as the realization hit her. Busted.

“No?”

“Oh my god!” She grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you to her room, slamming the door as soon as you were both inside. “How long has this been going on?!” Her tone was loud and her hands wild as she interrogated you.

“Just a little under a year.” You sat on her bed and looked at your lap as you spoke. Reminiscent of a child being scolded.

“A year?! Oh my god!” She repeated. “Who knows about this?!”

With that, you looked up at her desperately. “No one. No one knows so please don’t tell them.” You didn’t have to name names for her to know who you were referring to.

“Are you two like” she paused “together?” She scrunched her nose up, disgusted at the thought of her bully of an older brother dating anyone.

“No god no. It’s just sex” you were just as uncomfortable as Sarah was, having to tell her about boning her older brother.

“Disgusting.” She turned away from you with her arms crossed, looking out the window.

“Look I’m not proud of it okay? Just-“ You sighed “Just please don’t tell anyone” pleading again.

Sarah let out a long sigh and uncrossed her arms. She walked over to you and joined you on the bed, her eyes showing concern mixed with something you couldn’t quite place your finger on.

“I thought you were into jj” she spoke softly, there it was. Pity.

“Yeah well, jj is with kie and instead of sitting around wallowing in self-pity, I decided to do something about it.” As the words left your mouth, you realized how weak the explanation was.

“So you just use rafe to bang the jj out of you.”

“It’s not like Rafe cares, if anything he’s also using me.” You tried to reason.

“I don’t doubt that. But I mean, that’s- It’s not healthy, you’ll never move on if you don’t actually process your emotio-“

“Look Sarah, I don’t need to do any of that shit okay? What I have here works, when I fu- when I’m with rafe, I don’t think about jj.” Tears began to swell in your eyes “Sleeping with rafe helps me forget about everything, even if it’s only for a little while he uh- he makes me feel good.” To an extent, there was truth behind your words, while you and rafe fucked the rest of the world went away. It was only after, that the crippling self-hatred hit you along with the return of your immense feelings for jj. 

Sarah shuffled over and threw her arm around you. “That’s not good for you, it’s just momentary. It’s easy and it's a cycle, you’re never going to get better going down this path. Especially not with rafe.”

“Rafe he’s- he’s not that bad.”

“Yes he is. But i bet it gives you satisfaction fucking him knowing jj hates him. Feels like revenge right?” She’d always been so perceptive your Sarah, you hated how she could see right through you.

Tears ran down your cheek silently. “You’re not gonna tell anyone right?” You sniffled.

She gave you one of those classic salt-of-the-earth Sarah Cameron smiles, the kinda smile that would light up any room she walked into. “Takin' it to the grave babe.”

A loud beeping caused both your heads to whip towards the window. “Shit, I completely forgot I was supposed to go on the HMS with pope and jj, we were gonna chill there until John B and Kie finished work.” She rose to her feet and extended an arm towards you. “Wanna come? Or we could drop you home if you’re not up for it.”

With a sigh you took her hand and pulled yourself up, walking beside her as you mentally prepped yourself to face the blonde you desperately pined for.

“Well rise and shine campers.” jj yelled out of the window of the drivers seat.

“Y/N! Where you been dude? you totally bailed last night.” Pope was next to speak as you and Sarah filed into the Twinkie. As JJ began to drive you avoided any form of eye contact in his general direction.

“I had to go help my mom out, blackout at mine again.” You didn’t even look at pope either, instead focusing your attention on the blur of trees and houses pacing by the window as JJ sped down the winding roads.

“Isn’t that what you were wearing last night?” pope, observant as always, pointed out.

“Uh yeah, I didn’t really get any time to change cause…”

“I called her last night when I got home, I was so drunk I don’t think I was ready to stop the party.” Sarah covered for you.

“Yeah I wrapped up helping my mom out and then this one calls me talkin bout a sleepover or something so I didn’t exactly have much time to change.” 

Thankfully pope had lost interest as soon as he had asked the question, otherwise, your overcompensating ass would have been caught out straight away. You always had to add to the lie until you felt like you had sold it completely.

Keeping your eyes trained on the outside meant that jj’s frown directed at you through the windscreen mirror went completely undetected. He always knew whenever there was something up with you and right there and then he knew something definitely was.

“Hey, you okay?” He didn’t need to address you explicitly for you to know he was talking to you.

“Yeah just tired.” You shrugged him off in an attempt to distance yourself from him yet again.

He knew you were lying but he didn’t understand why, you never lied to each other. Apart from John B, the pair of you were closer to each other than with anybody else in the group. You’d been best friends since kindergarten, and since then you’d sworn 3 things to each other.

1- You’d always share your snacks.

2-You’d always be best friends even if you argued.

 3- You would never ever lie or keep secrets from each other.

Of course, as the both of you grew older the rules became more and more lax. The snack sharing was limited only to when you felt nice enough and sometimes you’d go for days without making up if you had argued particularly badly. Having kept two friendship-breaking secrets from him, the childhood rules seemed pretty insignificant by now.

“Mhm,” he responded, flickering his eyes between you and the road. “Are we taking you home to change first?”

“Yeah, I don’t know if I’ll join you guys afterward though.” You chewed down on your nail anxiously as the tension from being in the same space as jj paired with the guilt from having fucked rafe prior, suffocated you.

JJ made a face as he focused on the road, something was wrong with you and he’d be dammed if he wasn’t going to put his everything into finding out what that was.

[narcjsistx]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐈𝐄𝐖... | sae, kaiser, rin

plot: you get mentioned in one of their interviews, and he's sooo in love with you <3

✶ 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

— sae itoshi

That Sae didn't like interviews was a well known thing, even the journalists were a little worried when they discovered they had to interview him: although he was a prodigy, a talent never seen in years and years of soccer, he was objectively a thorn in the side, acidic and lethal in words as he was with his shots in the penalty area. All the journalists who had dealt with the Japanese prodigy could say, with absolute certainty, that a slap or being fired was less annoying

And today was no exception. ReAl had just won a very important Spanish cup, but one that Sae didn't actually know much about. They simply told him to be himself, and so he did: the result was a landslide victory against the Venezuelan team, 7-1. The match had been over for less than half an hour and he had already been surrounded by journalists, whom he had pushed away with little courtesy as he headed towards the locker room. But one journalist had insisted more than the others, and with a sigh, the boy had dedicated 5 minutes of his time to him

"Exciting victory today, isn't it? Spain had been aiming for this cup for years but they only won it when you had a place in the team" says the journalist, microphone pointed towards Sae. A man, a little further away, held a video camera on his shoulder, pointed towards them. Sae nods, turning away when he swears he hears someone call out to him in a familiar voice. The reporter continues talking, but Sae pays no attention: that voice sounded so familiar

"So that's a yes?" the reporter says, the microphone still pointed towards him. Sae doesn't even know what question he asked him, but the mere fact that he's still here trying to get information out of him bothers him. "What?" he asks raising an eyebrow, and before the reporter even says it, Sae knows it's about you

“Your girlfriend isn't here today, which is strange considering she's always present at your games, even when they're out of town” the reporter says, probably repeating the words he asked him earlier. Sae isn't even surprised by the question, he already knows what he wants to ask him and mentally thanks himself for not answering with 'yes' at the previous question "Is this a sign that you've broken up? There have been rumors for a while that the feeling between you two is over-"

"No. We have not broken up and at the moment, and even in the future, the option is not in mind for either of us" says the boy without thinking for two seconds, taking the edge of the microphone with one hand, so that his words they arrive very straight. The journalist is surprised

Today, for the first time since you've been together, you couldn't come to his game. You actually haven't seen each other in a while, at least a month, and all the speculation that you had broken up had reached Sae's ears. Everything seemed to fit, the perfect breakup after years of a perfect relationship and a wedding ring on the line that Sae had offered you months ago. Everything seemed to coincide with the end of one of the most talked about relationships of the moment

But the reality is that simply, for university reasons, you had to move to Italy for a few months. Sae often came to you, but couldn't stay for whole days due to training... and so, for just over a month, you hadn't seen each other. If the truth wasn't known, you would actually look like a couple who hated each other by now

“Would you tell us more about all the evidence that has been circulating for over a month?” asks the journalist, and the boy already knows in his mind that the interview will not end well if this damned journalist continues to be so interested in something that does not concern him

Sae sighs. He knows that, from your temporary home in Italy, you are watching him. He knows well that every word he is saying you are listening to him. And it's time to make things clear once and for all,or he thinks he's going crazy

"Y/n and I haven't broken up, it's not on our minds and wedding preparations are currently underway. I hate when people seem so interested in something that actually has nothing to do with them, but I understand that it's your job and that's why I'm holding back from going harder on it" says Sae in one breath "My future wife and I don't have anything remotely negative in mind for our relationship, so if you would do me the favor of mentioning her only when there really is a reason, I would be happy" says Sae, and the journalist is suddenly understanding why all his colleagues had told him to stay away from the Japanese prodigy "So, if you really have questions for me about my performance today, I'll try to answer. Otherwise, bye" he says, handing the microphone back to the man, who takes it completely speechless

The camera shows him leaving, hiding the journalist who is still speechless. The camera zoom focuses on the background of Sae's phone, which appears for a few seconds when the boy takes the phone while heading towards the locker room. A photo of you and him cheek to cheek stands out, a small smile breaking across the boy's face as you laugh. With only this proof alone, literally everybody could definitively say that you didn't break up

— micheal kaiser

Micheal was now used to interviews. Since he had actually become someone, someone relegated to Germany's biggest soccer club, interviews had become an everyday thing, like brushing his teeth or kicking the ball as hard as he could during training. He was good looking, he had charisma, he was definitely one of the most pleasant to interview on his team. If the interviewer was a woman he would crack a few jokes, something to make things more interesting. It was objectively flirting with them, but since you had officially become his girlfriend, he had put a stop to these things, out of respect for you

The room was well furnished, he was sitting on a sofa placed in front of the large windows, which gave a view of the great metropolis of Hamburg. You were with him, sitting behind the cameras on a chair placed there at random. He had insisted to the producers that you appear next to him during the interview, but it wasn't possible. His nose was still a little crooked knowing that they got you that beat up chair by sheer luck. You were his empress, the respect they had for him they had to give to you too, and it hadn't happened

He knew that you didn't really care that much, but your respect was something that, at least in front of him, they couldn't miss. But making a fuss just for this didn't seem right at the moment, at most he would have done it after finishing the interview

A woman enters the room, probably only a few years older than him, in her thirties. She looked familiar, and he wasn't sure why he had a bad feeling. The woman approaches, sitting on one of the armchairs next to him. They could have changed your chair for that armchair, why hadn't they done it?

"It's a real pleasure for me to interview you again. It's been a long time since the first time!" the woman says smiling, and from there Micheal finally understands why he felt like he knew her: a few years ago, before he even met you, he did an interview with this woman. The video had gone viral not for the questions, but for the way it was obvious the two of them were flirting with each other. Not that Micheal was really interested, it was just a habit before he met you

Before he can even say anything, a producer announces the start of the interview. The woman smiles at the camera, giving a brief introduction before moving on to a few questions: they are all things related to soccer, Bastard Munchen and the next match against Italy, which will take place in a few weeks. Micheal relaxes his nerves a little to see that nothing has to do with his private life, and turns around to see you from time to time. You smile softly at him, nodding as a sign that he's going well, really everything is going well

But Kaiser relaxed too soon, unfortunately. "Sooo, the internet world has been wondering this for a while... and now seems like the right opportunity to ask it! We're done with soccer questions anyway, right?" the woman says, chuckling, placing a stack of notes on a nearby table, picking up another. Kaiser tilts his head, and for a moment, he thinks these are the usual questions related to his relationship. Nothing new

"Our first interview was four years ago, when you weren't even dating yet. The internet world wondered for a long time if we were together!" the woman says, with a look that Kaiser recognizes: hoe. He turns to you and for a moment he reads some confusion on your face "The interview went so viral that everyone really thought it was a way to reveal our relationship to the world. But it didn't go that way, unfortunately" says the woman

If he wasn't live nationally and if the interviewer wasn't a woman, he would have already crushed her face with his fist. With what logic does she talk about something like that in front of you, his girlfriend? Where's the fucking respect they're supposed to give you but are lacking in every possible way? Everything is going wrong

“It sure would have been a fun thing to do and-” the woman says speaking casually, but the guy interrupts her “Schatz, could you come over here for a sec?” Kaiser says, shifting his attention solely to you, who finds yourself perplexed for a moment. He's breaking every rule possible, but he doesn't care. If he wants you next to him on national live broadcast, the producers will make you stand next to him on national live broadcast

You get up from the chair a little scared, walking among the producers who mentally and not curse Kaiser. You pass the woman who, with an annoyed look, stares at you. With slightly shaky legs you sit next to Micheal, who immediately grabs you putting his arm around your shoulders, pushing your hip against his. You try to smile as best you can in front of the camera, which records everything. Kaiser squeezes your shoulder slightly, and then turns his face back towards the camera "I don't rule out that that interview made me go viral everywhere for months and months, increasing my fame" says the boy "But my behavior was a bit wrong at the time, I was definitely giving attention to people who shouldn't have been..." says Micheal, and while you try to hold back a laugh, the interviewer opens her paralyzed mouth

Kaiser chuckles at the situation, then continues "The attention that I used to give to random people is now received by her, who deserves it all. The mere fact that she accompanies me everywhere is a valid reason to love her, right?" the boy says, squeezing your shoulder again, and you smile in love "She is simply better. It's not even a competition, because she would win before even starting. Maybe if my girlfriend had been the interviewer that time I would say differently now! Maybe I would have already married her, who knows" Kaiser says, and you tilt your head against his shoulder, leaning on him like you always do. You're so damn in love with him

If the producers and interviewer failed to give you respect behind the scenes and also with annoyance, Kaiser will make sure to prove your worth in front of the whole Germany

— itoshi rin

If there was one thing that distinguished Rin from his teammates, it was the ability to turn each of his interviews into a future edit that would become popular on all social media. He was famous, damn famous, every scene of his was edited by millions of people every day. His interviews, for his fans, were the best opportunity to make scenes about him

And since you had been dating, for a few years now, you had suffered more or less the same treatment as Rin. You often appeared in his interviews, you were loved by his fan base, and the edits about you that went as viral as those of your beloved boyfriend

"...the Australian defense this time had to face a much better prepared Japan than last match" says the interviewer, the microphone held out towards Rin. A match has just ended, obviously won by Japan: Rin is still sweaty, his legs slightly weak from running for practically the entire duration of the match. But he's not sick, he's simply tired and he just wants to kiss you

Of course you came to his game, taking a seat in the VIP section of the players' families. It's a habit that, as soon as the match is over, he comes to the VIP section to kiss you, but this time he couldn't: the journalists completely captured him, making it impossible to even move a few meters

"Yes. We decided to change the defense to prepare for Australia's top scorer, who couldn't do anything this time compared to previous matches" Rin replies disinterestedly, looking for you. There are just so many people, so many players or interviewers, but where the hell are you? Didn't something happen to you?

"It must also be said that Japan no longer has any problems in terms of strikers since you joined as an honorary member of the team" says the interviewer, and Rin nods without actually thinking much about what they told him. He just has a strange feeling, he doesn't understand why he isn't seeing you when it's never been difficult for him to find you in a crowd of people

"Any projects in mind at the moment? On a soccer level or on a personal level?" the interviewer asks, but Rin stops hearing him when, a few meters away from him, he sees you: you're a little lost, your gaze curious while you were probably looking for him too. It makes him somewhat tender to see you like this, but he is happy to know that all his doubts about whether something had happened to you are false

"Mr. Itoshi?" the man asks, but Rin takes a few steps forward, not enough to disappear from the camera lens, to signal to you that he's there. It doesn't take you long to notice, running like a little girl in his direction, hugging him as you wrap your arms around his neck, while he places his hands on your hips. "I couldn't find you!" you say laughing, holding onto your boyfriend who holds you close to him "It's the journalists' fault" Rin whispers, leaving a kiss on your cheek before remembering that he's in the middle of an interview. He turns just enough to see that the camera is now perfectly directed towards you, immortalizing the romantic moment between Japan's number one striker and his beautiful girlfriend. The edits will be crazy this time

You notice that the camera is pointed towards you, and a little embarrassed you try to smile without revealing the hint of discomfort "I'll be back later?" you say to your boyfriend, who before you can even finish the sentence, shakes his head as he grabs your wrist "No. You're coming too" he says walking back towards the station, squeezing your wrist affectionately. You follow him, a little embarrassed but it wasn't the first time it happened, so you had gotten used to it

Rin returns to his seat, his arm around your waist ignoring the fact that he almost slipped out of an interview. You stand next to him, your arm behind his back, smiling at the man who now knows both of them "Were you saying?" Rin asks, returning to the interview questions

"Oh, yeah yeah... any projects in mind at the moment? On a soccer level or on a personal level?" the interviewer asks again

Rin thinks about it for a moment. The plans are actually there. He must still become the best of the best, climb to the top and lead Japan to be the strongest team in the world. It simply has yet to break some of its limitations

But there are also other projects. He has to decide when to use that ring he bought more than a few months ago. He must understand when to kneel down and definitely ask you to become Miss Itoshi, his wife. These are mainly his most important projects at the moment

"I still have a lot to do, Japan has to become the most important and strongest team in the world, and maybe I will take on the role of team captain. On a personal level though... I don't know, I just want to continue what I already doing for a while… making her happy every day” Rin says, and you can swear you feel your heart explode

Your boyfriend isn't a big talker, you knew this even before we got together. But the facts speak, and he is doing exactly what he says: every day he makes you happy, and you couldn't be more grateful. His words may seem like nothing, but they mean a lot to you. You simply love him. The interviewer smiles. You turn to Rin and he leans down slightly to kiss you on the nose, making you giggle while the cameras film you

Maybe Rin could use that ring tonight, maybe?

[sunshineangel0]

can’t even make it in before they cum .ᐟ (hyung line)

i present: stray kids cumming before they’re even fully inside you because they missed you so fucking bad - part one !

genre: pure smut, nsfw, minors do not interact please word count: around 500 warnings: unprotected sex, premature ejaculation, overstimulation, begging, filthy language, possessiveness, post-tour desperation, crying, creampies a/n: they’ve been gone too long and your pussy is home and im just a needy gal with too much creativity 🧎‍♀️

BANG CHAN he barely gets the door shut behind him before he’s got you pressed up against it, breathing you in like it’s the first time. muttering shit like “fuck, i missed this—missed you so much, baby,” while his hands fumble to shove his sweats down just enough to get his cock out. he’s already rock hard and leaking, rutting up against you like a dog in heat, and when he finally sinks into your warm, wet cunt. he loses it. lets out this guttural groan and drops his forehead to your shoulder, hips twitching as he spills deep inside you barely halfway in. “fuck, fuck, i didn’t mean to—didn’t even last a second, shit.” he’s apologizing and kissing you all over, but his cock is still twitching inside, already hardening again. and you better believe he’s gonna make it up to you.

LEE MINHO cocky bastard walks in with that stupid smirk like he’s in control, like he’s not about to cum just from seeing you in his shirt. but the second your pussy clamps around him, he chokes. “you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” tries to play it cool “not my fault you’ve got a slutty little cunt that makes me bust like a virgin.” acts annoyed like you made him cum this fast. and honestly? you kinda did. he pulls out after the first spurt, kneels between your legs, and starts eating you out while still panting from the orgasm he just had. “don’t worry, baby. that was just the appetizer.” and he means it. he’ll fuck you properly when he’s hard again, which is in about 3 minutes flat.

SEO CHANGBIN binnie boy’s been edging himself the entire tour, too busy to jerk off, and your pictures were not helping. so when he gets home and finally gets your thighs around his waist, he’s done for. just the heat of you, the way your pussy parts for him, how tight you grip the head of his cock, it’s over. he cries. not even quiet about it either. “fuck, baby, i didn’t even get all the way in,” as he ruts into you pathetically, chasing his high with his cum already leaking out of you. apologizes like ten times while his hips keep stuttering into your folds, still half-hard. gives you the best oral of your life out of guilt and overstimulates himself trying to go again way too fast.

HWANG HYUNJIN whiny mess. all fluttery lashes and bitten lips as he’s trying to line himself up with shaking hands, whispering about how much he dreamed of this moment while on tour. and when your pussy clenches around just the tip, he gasps, head thrown back, trembling, cum leaking before he even pushes in more than an inch. “oh my god. oh my god. you feel so fucking good, muse.” breath hitching in his throat, body twitching with the force of it. he doesn’t stop either. keeps pushing in even as he’s still cumming, making little sobbing noises against your neck and promising to fuck you properly after. “let me stay inside. i missed you so much, please.”

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

skz general @velvetmoonlght @scarlet789 @estella-novella @nightmarenyxx @channiesluvrclub @slut4junho @bobaluvzz @channiesbaby1433 @wonniesjungdimple @yxna-bliss @m-325 @rockstarkkami @felixleftchickennugget @oceanz7 @seungminsbest @fackeraccount @takuoshuji @xoxomanicpanic @catsforlife6864 @lezleeferguson-120 @angellcvkes @lezleeferguson-120 @doliveiraa @breakmeoff @fawnoverdawn

[sugarlywhispers]

b.katsuki x reader (fem) | quirkless!reader, prohero!dynamight

a.n; I'M IN LOVE WITH THIS IDEA OKAY? I HAVE HAD IT IN MY DRAFTS FOR LIKE A YEAR ALREADY AND I NEED YA'LL TO RANT WITH ME ABOUT THISSSS<3 it's mostly enemies to lovers💕

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

"For the love of–... I'M COMING!"

It's Sunday morning. You have been expecting this day to wake up maybe mid-morning, with the gentle warm breeze coming from your open window; have an exquisite brunch that you have been planning and craving since Friday; maybe watch an episode or two of your favorite show before preparing a full spa day, with a long and refreshing bath included. That's how you have planned your Sunday to go.

But no… Apparently, someone's intention was to ruin the whole day for you while their knocks on your door were persistent and annoying at 6 freaking a.m.

You don't think about what you're wearing before stumbling towards the door, with the loud BANGS still sounding. You think of your poor neighbors next door and their newborn baby.

"This little shit," you protest, completely annoyed with this person knocking on your door like someone has died. "Someone better be dead or else…" You open the door in one strong pull and huff utterly annoyed when you encounter the person behind.

Vermillion eyes collide with yours, the intense hate and annoyance so palpable in the air it almost cuts you both.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

He tchs, rolling his eyes at you. The bile travels up through your esophagus, and you want to spit at him.

"Save the greetings, if you know what a decent greeting means… Well, considering how well you just did it, I doubt you fuckin’ know…"

The muscle at your temple twitches so hard, you believe he is actually able to see it. That would explain his upcoming smirk.

"The fuck do you want?" You repeat, not even caring or taking the time to follow this banter with him. You would normally do it, come back at him with a snarky response that would probably hurt his ego and he would answer back making you even angrier, and yada yada, nothing new to this ‘hate x hate’ relationship you had with this man in front of you. But today is not a day you planned on dealing with Bakugou-annoying ass-Katsuki.

He looks down at his hands, his fingers fidgeting a bit with the buttons on his all-black suit jacket you just now noticed he is wearing. Interesting; he never uses formal suits like this one if it isn't for a Hero Gala, and that was only once a year. Or that one time you remember he had to apologize to citizens through a TV interview with Deku because of a villain attack in Hokkaido they couldn't quite contain on time and caused a lot of material damage. You shake your head coming back to the present. Pro Hero Dynamight, a.k.a. Bakugou-annoying ass-Katsuki is standing right at your door, looking a bit nervous while playing with the buttons of his jacket, furrowing his eyebrows like he is angry even at the air he breathes.

You could have expected anything from this unpredictable man who infuriated you almost twenty-four hours a day, the seven days of the whole week. However, you were not expecting at all the words that come from his mouth after he looks up again and his eyes lock with yours.

"Fucking marry me."

Your eyes open wide. And the only thing you think of doing is punching him. And you do.

Your hands close in tight fists, and before saying anything, you punch his shoulder as strongly as you can with one. You know for sure your small and useless fist won't do any damage to this hulk of a man, but the meaning behind it it's what matters.

He simply looks at you in disbelief. "Ouch?" He smirks. He fucking smirks at you, and this time you punch his stomach, which does make him grunt and hover a bit in pain.

You attempt to close the door right at his face, but he suddenly pushes it with his hand and makes you waver a bit back, holding yourself on the door handle. He stands straight again, retrieving his hand from the door when he realizes he used more force than intended to prevent you from closing the door.

"I- umm- Shit, sorry, I didn't-..." 

You raise a hand to stop him from talking.

"Just fucking tell me what you want, so I can go back to bed and not see your ugly face for the rest of my day."

You watch in satisfaction how his face contours into full rage. And this time you smirk. 

"I fucking hate you…" He spits, and you bat your lashes at him while smiling.

"Ah, the feeling is mutual, baby."

Bakugou takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and holding himself on the door frame with strength. You're sure his hand shape will print on it, and you get more annoyed –if that's possible, but you have already learned that when Bakugou was involved, the anger was immeasurable– thinking that you will have to hire someone to fix that.

"I fucking hate you," he repeats through his teeth with his eyes still closed, but then he opens them, and his entire face changes into something you never expected to see. He looks at you, begging, "But I need you to marry me."

You look… perplexed. Again, never in your life have you ever come across the thought that those words would ever come from the man in front of you, much less towards you.

You open your mouth to say something, but the neighbor from the apartment in front of yours opens his door, standing there with his arms crossed and looking menacingly.

"Everything okay, Y/N?" His deep baritone voice asks. Bakugou turns his head and when he sees him, stands straight, head held high and you can imagine the type of defying expression on his face.

You roll your eyes. Men.

"Yes, Arisu, everything is fine. He's… a… friend," the word stung your tongue because you couldn't consider Bakugou that, even though you shared the same group of friends. But it wouldn't have been good having these two fight over something you still didn't understand what was happening; the thought of who of these two hulk men would win still was entertaining to think about. Your money was on Arisu, of course.

"Alrigh’," Arisu says, looking at Bakugou up and down before retrieving himself back into his apartment.

"The fuck this fucking extra-..." You stop Bakugou from turning and going towards Arisu by holding his arm and pulling him towards you.

"Stop it. Come inside," you demand, pulling him as he watches your hand around his bicep, "before any of my neighbors file a complaint against me thanks to your fucking loud mouth."

Bakugou grunts at your words as he lets you pull him inside. When you close the door and turn to him, you realize how big he looks in your small apartment, where there is barely space between the living room and the kitchen and two doors, one leads to your bedroom and the other to the bathroom. You want to laugh at how uncomfortable he looks.

You take a deep breath, scratching your forehead to regain a bit of patience –which was non-existent whenever Bakugou was around.

"Okay, now, explain to me what the hell is wrong with you."

"Nothing is wrong with me. More like what's wrong with you and this small thing you call apartment… When did you-..."

"Bakugou! I didn't invite you in for you to start insulting my living space!" You say more exasperated by every second he is in there. "Tell me what the hell happened to you! Why did you come here, almost tearing down the door of my place at 6 in the fucking morning, annoying even my neighbors, and then you fucking propose out of nowhere!"

His lips are held in a tight line as he watches you almost yell at him, hands opening and closing anxiously. There is silence for a couple of minutes before he says, "My father died."

You gasp, taking a step back. Wow. That's something you were not expecting at all. You get now why the black suit. And now that you look at him better, his eyes look glassy and reddish –probably thanks to how much he's holding himself back from showing any other emotion that isn't anger. And that's… sad.

Your arms immediately hug yourself, one hand settling over your chest. "I- I'm sorry…"

"Don't be," he turns a bit to the left, facing the kitchen to avoid looking at you. "Fucker was a right pain in the ass."

You choke on the laugh that almost escapes you at his words, and after you clear your throat you murmur, "Sorry." He looks at you a bit amused, the right corner of his mouth lifted a bit at your reaction.

You sigh again after a few seconds of silence, "Bakugou, what does that have to do with you asking me to-...”

"My great-grandparents are-were the funders and CEOs of TCA Technologies Corp.," your eyes open wide at the name of the prestigious company that had been ground-breaking in the creation and use of robots, before being the number one seller of technology materials to support heroes. They were high class in society, civilians and heroes. "Yeah, that's the face every extra makes," he smirks when you stick your tongue out at him.

He then looks at you up and down and immediately looks away, clearing his throat in a clear gesture of shyness. You frown confused.

"Fucking go put some clothes on."

That's when you remember you had no pants, no bra, and an old shirt that barely covered your panties. Fuck. You almost run towards your room to get changed. All of this had to be a dream… or a nightmare.

Your Sunday was entirely ruined. You know that for sure.

After you change to decent, more covered clothing, leggings and a big shirt that almost reached your knees –it is Sunday, dammit, and the hell you are gonna dress up for Bakugou Katsuki– you walk again towards the living room where you left said asshole waiting for you there. He is now sitting on your couch, his suit jacket lying over the back of it. His elbows are resting over his knees, his hands holding his head. You have never encountered a tired Bakugou, yet here he is. Looking beaten and down.

He looks up at you when he hears you approach him; his eyes are more reddish than before, kind of like when you want to cry but don't let yourself do it. That made you feel bad for thinking about him as an asshole.

"What took you so long, short-legs? Whatever you wear, you'll still stink and look ugly on it."

Nope. He is and will always be a stupid asshole.

You roll your eyes grunting as you let yourself fall on the couch, as far away from him as you can on that three-people couch, crossing your legs under you.

"Spit it out, asshole. What's all this about?"

He sighs, "My father inherited it all after my grandfather died. His whole life had been that stupid company, his and my mother's. I don't give a fuck about it, but the old hack insists that I- ow!"

You pinch him on the shoulder this time, knowing very well that if you had punched him he wouldn't have felt anything. But pinching… he did feel that.

"What the fuck was that for?!"

"Don't call your mom like that, idiot!"

"Fucking piss off, you know shit! The old hack is an old hack, she deserves the title."

You shake your head in disagreement but decide to leave that topic there considering how affected he looks by it.

"The old hack said," he simply repeats that to spite you, and you really want to punch him, "that I need to step up and be fucking CEO of that bullshit, or…"

He looks at you, and you gulp, kind of understanding where this is going.

"Or get married." You finish the sentence, crossing your arms over your chest, "But why? Those two options are completely different from one another."

"The sky will fucking fall the day I understand any-fucking-thing that comes out of her mouth. She's nuts!" He protests, arms exaggerating his words as he opens them wide, evidently showing how much stress he has, before laying back on the couch, head resting over the back of it where his jacket is. He sighs long and deeply before talking again, "My great-grandmother had a strong Quirk, but she decided to stay at home instead of being a Hero. Those were other times, ya'know?"

"I know History of Heroes, Bakugou. I'm not stupid."

He looks at you again, this time genuinely surprised, "I, umm, thought you-..."

"Have you ever thought that despite not having a Quirk, I know about heroes?"

He tchs, "No wonder why you and shitty Deku are such shitty nerds."

You roll your eyes for the eleventh time that morning, "Get to the point, shitty asshole."

Bakugou scoffs, clearly holding back a retort to answer back, then he continues, "I'm the first in generations with a strong, hero-level Quirk. Most of my family had decided to live as civilians, building this stupid company from generation to generation."

"Oh, and you are the first actual Hero in the family. You are the first one to choose differently…"

He nods in response, "It almost gave my grandfather a heart attack. Ever since my Quirk woke up, I knew what I wanted," he looks back at you, and for the first time, you admit to yourself that you're curious of knowing what he wants, what goes through his head, so you nod allowing him to continue, "I want to be a Number One Hero. I want to kick villains' asses as much and as hard as I can for as long as my stupid aging bones allow me to."

The intensity in his eyes and conviction in every word he spoke made you feel his passion. And that was… new.

"But to be that, I can't afford to waste time in falling in love and all that bullshit…"

"Then say no to your mom and the company," you offer as a solution. He snorts letting his head fall back against the couch.

"You know shit…" He shakes his head, "There's a requirement in every hero company, it says that a familiar, or a spouse if the hero is married, has to validate your mental sanity alongside a doctor to keep working as a Hero."

"I… didn't know that."

"Of course not, short-legs. You're not a hero, why would you know?"

"So, if I… If we get married-..." he nods in confirmation even before you say the words. But he says them.

"The old hag won't have to validate my status as Hero anymore, and she won't have anything to hold me back from sending her and the company to hell."

You looked serious at him, "Bakugou, you and I don't like each other. You hate me and I hate you. And you want to put your Hero status in my hands by marrying me?" You say in disbelief, almost anxious about the whole meaning of this. You stand up and walk from one side to the other as you keep talking, "Why? Because your inner kid is in rebellious tantrum mode and does not want to take the responsibility to-..."

"Shut the fuck up! You. Know. Shit!" He also stood up, shortening the distance between you two in the small living room.

"Then tell me! Explain it to me! Cause to me you only sound like a spoiled brat who doesn't want his veggies for lunch."

He looks you right in the eye, hands almost trembling in fists beside his body, and then he drops the bomb.

"My mother killed my grandfather."

You recoil a step back, "What?"

He sighs, hands and fingers running through his hair, clearly uncomfortable, "I-... There is no proof, no solid proof about it. I just- I know it was her." Again, the conviction in his eyes made you believe him. "My mother wanted the money, the luxury life being with my dad could bring her. But my dad had a brother, an older brother."

"Had?"

Bakugou simply shakes his head, "The idiot got himself in between a shooting from two villain groups. He was shot only once, and it killed him. A fucking looser…" 

You try, you really tried not to smile but failed miserably. "You are the idiot," you say fighting back the chuckle.

He smiles back, "No, I got shot several times, I even got thrown at and through walls, and I'm very much fucking alive. I'm no weak ass looser as him."

You can't stop laughing, Bakugou definitely is an idiot.

He waits until you're done laughing before continuing, "Even then, my grandfather didn't think my dad was capable of handling the company and all it meant, so he was thinking about giving it to one of his nephews. That's when, I fuckin’ know, my mother took matters into her own hands. I'm an only child. If I say no…"

"The company has to go to another familiar..." Everything washes clear now in your head, “And your mom won't allow that to happen. So she’ll lie and say you aren’t sane enough to keep working as a hero,” Bakugou keeps nodding, confirming everything you’re saying.

“That way, I’m obligated to work at the company.”

Your hand travels from your forehead and brushes your hair back. “She wouldn’t that… She’s your mom, Bakugou...”

“Haven’t you heard a fucking thing I said? She fucking killed my grandfather so the company was legally inherited by my father! Therefore, she could hold all the rights, all the stupid money! My father was a fucking dimwit who believed every-fucking-thing my mother said. She controlled him as she pleased.”

You gasp as another realization hits you, “That’s why you are an asshole to her…”

“She can fool anyone, but not me.” He declares, standing tall and proud. “I have never played her game, and I fuckin’ never will.”

You hug yourself once more, taking some minutes to assimilate all the confessions he just dropped on you. Everything feels like a script of a freaking movie or something. And there are too many questions you want to ask. But there’s only one thing you mostly don’t understand and you need the answer to.

So you look back at him, head tilting up a bit due to the height difference between you, and ask, “Why me?”

Bakugou does not hesitate in his answer. 

“You’re strong, despite not having a Quirk. And smart. You don’t let anyone dictate what you can or cannot do,” he takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours, “You have never backed down from a discussion, with me or anyone else. You don’t let anybody step on you, holding tight to your convictions and beliefs.”

You visibly gulp, feeling a little warmth in your cheeks that makes you want to look elsewhere, but you don't. You hold the connection between your eyes like dear life. And he smiles, the left corner of his mouth raising a bit.

“You have a fuckin’ strong character, you won't even shy down from me,” you suddenly feel the back of his index finger caress the right side of your jaw, where lays an old scar he perfectly recognized.

It was the scar he accidentally left when you were younger, stupider. He had picked a fight with another newbie hero –another asshole in your opinion– who kept talking shit about his other newbie hero friends. Bakugou had snapped when the guy mocked the word “whore” towards you. You have tried to separate them, earning yourself a punch on the right side of your face by this same man that has touched the reminder of that old memory.

“But above all that…” It’s his turn to gulp, eyes going up and down through your face. Is he… Is he looking at your lips? “You are kind. You care about everyone. You always try to solve everything for everyone –that’s fuckin’ annoying actually.”

You open your mouth to swear at him, stupid asshole; but he doesn’t give you time to say anything. “What I’m trying to fuckin’ say is–” he takes a deep breath, “You are… good. A good person. And you… You understand m- us.”

Was he going to say ‘me’? By ‘us’, you know he means heroes.

Your parents had been heroes before they died. Unfortunately, you were born Quirkless, so the dream of following your parents' path was decided the same day you were welcomed into this world. You have already made peace with this idea, it didn’t hurt like it used to when you were young. Despite not having a Quirk, you specialized in Quirk and training analysis, which granted you a job that most Hero Agencies wanted you for. Hence also how now your group of friends involved all heroes.

However, one thing is working with them, working with Bakugou Katsuki, a.k.a. Pro Hero Dynamight, who was the biggest pain in your ass you have ever had since the day you met him. Another completely different is actually marrying the pain in your ass.

You sigh, “I don’t–...”

“What? You want me to fuckin’ beg? ‘Cause I fuckin’ will…” Bakugou takes a step back and literally kneels before you. You protest, grabbing his forearm and pulling him back up, but he doesn’t let you move him even a millimeter. “What do you want? Whatever you want is yours. We can even sign a dam contract if you so want, I don’t fuckin’ care what it is. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

“This is not a fucking joke, Bakugou. You are asking me to marry you. What if I have a boyfriend? You didn’t even fucking ask!”

His eyes open wide, surprised. “Do you?”

You roll your eyes, releasing an exasperated sigh. “No! I don’t!”

“Then, what are you bitching about?”

You groan. “I’m bitching about the fact that I don’t know why would you put a whole big deal on me when we hate each other!”

“I trust you.”

It’s a short answer, his expression is even so neutral and sure that leaves you perplexed. Surprised at how easily he said those words.

“We don’t like each other…”

“I don’t need to like you to trust you, idiot.” It feels like he’s mocking you, but one look into his eyes and what he is saying actually feels right. He is completely sure of what he is saying. “I would even fuckin’ trust you with my life.”

He already does. Every day, at work.

Still, you can’t pass the opportunity to piss him off. “Wow. That’s deep, buddy.”

“Fuck you.”

Mission accomplished.

You laugh gently, looking at him still kneeling on the floor of your living room. The sight in itself is a miracle. A sight you won't get to see ever again from this man. But it’s not the image of his kneeling position that makes you take the decision.

It’s his eyes.

They are screaming, desperately begging for you to help him. And, damn it, he is right; you always are at the disposal of everyone when they need your help. Fuck! It is actually very annoying –but you will never admit that out loud, especially not to him.

You close your eyes, head tilting back, and take a long, deep breath.

You are so going to regret this.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

Bakugou Katsuki immediately stands up and practically throws himself at you, his whole hulk of a body surrounding you in what you have never thought would ever happen between you two: a hug.

Are you though?

[mochinomnoms]

April Fools: Telling them you're pregnant as a joke

It's April's Fools! And you want to pull a harmless little prank on your boyfriend! Hmm, there's pretending to break up...no that's mean. There's moving all of the furniture in the house 2 inches slightly to the right...but that'd be too much effort. Oh, you got it! Get a fake pregnancy test and tell him you're pregnant!

Yes, this will be extremely funny and you can think of no ways that this can go wrong! But if you did it on the first, he probably wouldn't take you seriously, so instead you opted to do it the night before as you two were getting ready for bed.

"Hey sweetheart? I have something really important to tell you..." You took a deep breath, presenting the joke pregnancy test you got from the store and said, "I'm pregnant."

multi (randomly chosen) x gn!reader

[tw/cw} - sexual humor, crack, dumbassery afoot, some softer vibes, takes place post-graduation

[note] - technically you could consider this to be implied afab reader, but it's a lot funnier if we want to imagine mpreg instead loool. I thought it would be funny to write something for April Fool's and this is kinda sorta related to what I'm currently writing in the next chapter for 2-3-6? anyways enjoy this was funny!

Also the seven guys were chosen by a wheel spinner so yaaaay

Deuce

Glass shattered against the wood floors, Deuce dropping his cup of water, making you jump. Your eyes flitted to the glass and puddle on the ground, before footsteps made you look back up and yelp in surprise.

Deuce was right up in your face, hands grasping tightly at your biceps and squeezing.

"Really?" Deuce looked like he was about to cry, a trembling smile on his lips. "We're gonna be parents? Oh...we're gonna be parents, I'm gonna be a dad!"

You immediately felt your heart clench in guilt. He looked so happy, his hands cradling your face and fluttering it with soft kisses. You didn't want to disappoint him and tell him it was a prank, but you had to as he climbed over the bed to grab his phone.

"I gotta tell Mom!"

"No wait!"

Launching yourself on top of him, you swatted his hands away from the phone, though he managed to grab it. You two then wrestled in the bed, hands pulling at the phone as Deuce looked at you in confusion.

"Why aren't you letting me call her?" Deuce managed to one up you as he finally pinned you on your back, though your hands still tightly clenched to his phone like a lifeline. "Don't you want to tell her?"

"Cause it was a prank! For April Fool's" Deuce froze, letting go of the phone and staring down at you in distraught.

"We're not having a baby then?"

"Oh baby...no Deuce I'm not pregnant, I'm sorry." You finally managed to wiggle your way up to throw your arms around him, giving him a tight hug. "I thought you might have a funny reaction, I didn't realize you'd be so happy, I wouldn't've pulled this prank if I did."

"Oh...okay." Deuce returned the hug, hiding his face into the crook of your neck as he mumbled. "So...do you want to have a baby?"

"Only if it's yours." Pressing a kiss to his temple, you tilted Deuce up by his chin and gave him a smile.

"Let's go to bed, and talk more in the morning, yeah? I love you."

"Ha, okay." Deuce gave you a tender kiss in return. "I love you too."

Ruggie

"Oh gods help me." Ruggie looked as if he wanted to both kiss you, and puke his guts out. "I don't have baby money."

You took a deep breath and bit the inside of you cheek to keep you from laughing. This was a little mean. Okay actually this was really mean, but Ruggie was giving you some very funny reactions. So you decided to keep the prank going.

"It's okay Rugs, I have a little bit saved up, we can—"

"I think I have that bracelet set from graduation that I can sell. It's from Leona so it should give us good money." Ruggie rushed pass you in your small apartment to dig under the bed and grab a lockbox.

"Oh my—Ruggie you don't need to get our emergency—"

"We should start looking at thrift shops and the nearby market for baby clothes. I can ask Nana if she has any of my old stuff, I think she might still have my crib and bassinet."

You couldn't help the snort that left your mouth as Ruggie smacked his head on the bedframe, making him turn around to glare at you.

"Hey! No laughing, this is your fault!"

"What!" You scoffed, though giggles still escaped you as he tossed the lockbox on the bed and grabbed his laptop. "It takes two to tango dumbass."

"Yeah yeah! Look we gotta get prepared, they give you free stuff at a baby shower right? We should make a registry—oooooh, make sure Kalim gets it. He'll by everything and then some."

You were now full on laughing, watching as Ruggie concentrated on some website on his laptop. Looking closure, you noticed that he already was bringing up three different websites for registries.

"Pfft! Ruggie, babe, wait—"

"You're real close with Malleus, think if we make him the godfather, he'll hook us up with a bunch of stuff from the treasury—"

"Ruggie! Stop!" Cackles were escaping your mouth as you finally managed to slam the laptop shut. Ruggie looked on in exasperation and confusion as you threw yourself on his lap.

"Ha—snrrk—It was a prank! Oooh, you should've seen the look on your face—pppft! Ahaha!"

Ruggie relaxed, collapsing backwards into the bed, and rubbed his face.

"Oh thank the heavens. I mean, I would've stepped up no matter what. But I really mean it when i say I don't got baby money."

Jade

You think you got him this time. After years of trying to pull on on him every April, you think you actually got him this time!

You thought so, until Jade had smiled and brought out a second test from under the bathroom sink. Since when did he start keeping pregnancy tests?! When he handed you the test, telling you to take another, "Just to be sure".

You were backed into a corner now, you're positive Jade knew that this was a prank. And he was going to catch you red-handed when this test came back as negative.

Which is why you were now staring down at the second test, with two red lines indicating a positive result, in utter confusion. You were positive you weren't actually pregnant, but here you were. One fake, and one real test, telling you the same thing.

And Jade? He was just hugging you from behind, you sitting in his lap on the bed, smiling into your skin as he fluttered kisses down your neck.

"How exciting, don't you think so my pearl? What a surprise, it's a good thing we double checked with two tests, yes?"

"Yeah...sure..." You mumbled, still dazed as Jade's hands wandered under your shirt and kissed up to your cheeks.

"Yes, it's unfortunate..." Jade let out a wistful sigh as he squeezed you tight against him and murmured into your ears. "That they're both fake tests, hmm?"

"Huh? Hmm...aaaaaaaaaAAAAAHHH! YOU ASS!"

Jade couldn't help but let out a laugh as you started thrashing in his hold, your arms reaching behind to grab at him.

"Oooh? I thought you'd be excited, unless you were hoping to see me disappointed? My, my, how cruel you are to me, your love!"

Letting out a sniffle, Jade looked up at you from his eyelashes with a coy, sweet look.

"Such a cruel human..."

You groaned, turning your head to kiss his cheek and murmur, "I'm sorry Jade, I'll make it up to you, okay? Whatever you want."

Honestly, you should know better than you say things like that, as Jade quickly had you pinned underneath him, a manic grin on his face.

"Whatever I want? How generous of you my pearl!" Jade brought you up to be flush against him, pressing his lips against yours in a passionate kiss, a string of saliva breaking as you separated.

"Aaah~ Sure, sure, yeah. Whatever you want..." You replied in a daze, wincing as his hands grabbed at your stomach and squeezed.

"Then let's make sure we can get a real positive and let me fill you up, yes?"

"Yeah~"

Jamil

"Uh-huh."

You stood awkwardly behind Jamil as he continued writing in his journal, as he always did for the end of the day.

"Jami...did you hear me?"

"Yep."

He put his pen down, stretching until his back gave a satisying pop, and getting up to head to the bathroom. You followed in confusion and frustration as he just reached in the drawer for a brush and started loosening his braids.

"Sooo...you heard me say I was pregnant...right?"

You crossed your arms and started tapping your foot. Is this how he's reacting to the (fake) news? You just told him you two were having a baby, and he's just...brushing his hair? Ignoring you standing there, very obviously annoyed??

"I did."

Jamil paused, looking at your through the mirror, to which you gave him an expectant look. You're pretty sure you saw him smirk as he resumed, following through on his nighttime routine, all with you glaring daggers into him.

You stood there the entire time, watching as he finally finished, rubbing lotion into his hands as he turned to you, giving you an amused smile.

"Oh, were you expecting a bigger reaction?"

Scoffing, you put your hands on your hips and hissed. "Uh, yeah? I just told you we're having a baby, and you're acting like I just told you it's gonna rain tomorrow!''

Yeah, this might be a prank, but damn it! If this is how he was going to react to such big news, maybe you two needed to have a sit down and talk about—

Jamil grabbed you by your cheeks and squeezed, making you purse your lips as he grinned down at you. He clearly found your building rage cute and amusing.

"Yeah, well, word to the wise habibi, next time you want to pull a prank on me, make sure it's not through our shared shopping accounts. I got the delivery email for your fake test yesterday."

"Oh, fuck me!"

"Oh? If you insist. Practice for when we want the real thin—ow!"

Jamil started laughing as you pinched and poked at him, face furiously warm in both embarrassment and anger.

Vil

You swallowed nervously, giving Vil a small, shy smile as he stared down at you with displeased look. He'd just finished his routine for the evening, removing his gloves after letting his creams absorb into his skin.

"Darling."

"Yes Vil?"

"If you truly wanted to pull such a tasteless prank on me," Vil reached into his vanity, where he pulled out a opened box that looked very familiar "I would expect that you'd be smarter about hiding the evidence."

"WHAT!" You flew over to Vil and reached for the pregnancy test box, which he held just out of your reach. "I threw that away! How'd you even get that?"

"The housekeeper was taking out the trash and noticed the box, though she didn't read the back which clearly states that it's perfect for pranks. Poor thing was so excited that she called both myself and my father."

Vil smacked the top of your head with the box, clicking his tongue at you as you made a sound of understanding.

"Ooooh, she told Eric?"

"Yes she did, imagine both his and my own disappointment when she called back again to tell us that it was a joke toy." Vil sighed, though he relaxed into your touch as you wrapped your arms around his waist and kissed his cheek.

"Sorry sweetie, I just wanted to pull an April Fool's prank on you, I guess I didn't think—"

You gasped, startling Vil as you pulled his face down close to yours, despite his protest.

"Hey! My face cream is still—"

"You were disappointed?! Awwww, Vil that's so sweet! We can make a baby right now, come on sweetie~"

"What?! Nonononono, I just finished my entire routine, I'll have to start over—ACK!"

Vil was swiftly silenced as you both fell into bed.

Idia

With the way Idia was staring at you, you weren't sure if he actually heard you. He was just boring into you with those bright yellow eyes of his, you could practically see the gears turning in his head.

"Ah." HIs voice was meek, squeaky, and barely audible. So he did hear you!

Idia's eyes flickered down to the test in your hands, then back to your face, then back to the test, then back to your face.

Then he fainted.

Thankfully he fainted next to your bed, so after dropping the joke test in a panic, you scrambled to drag him onto the bed, reaching for Idia's phone to text Ortho to come check on him.

Though he was in the room not even a few seconds later, his eyebrows furrowed as he spotted Idia limp in your arms.

"Idia! What happened (Name)? I noticed that his blood-pressure dropped suddenly—"

Ortho's eyes dropped to the pregnancy test on the ground, though he narrowed them and stared at you. You could make out his eyes going blank as he scanned you.

"You're not pregnant! So why do you have—oooooooh! April 1st is in an hour!" Ortho gasped in realization, as you nodded sagely.

"Yep."

"And you're trying to prank him!"

"Uh-huh."

"And then he fainted!"

"I see!" You both remind silent, eyes flickering down to Idia who'd begun shifting awake in your lap.

"...Want to keep it going?"

"Oh absolutely Ortho! Wakey-wakey Idia~"

Silver

"Oh...how'd you get one of those in Briar Valley?"

Silver looked more confused that you had a pregnancy test at all than that it was a positive one. You faltered, popping you lips as you eyed him for a hint that he knew what was actually going on.

"These...aren't common here?"

"No, though perhaps that makes sense." Silver had a gentle smile as he took you into his arms and pressed your foreheads together. "Fae are able to sense these things rather quickly, Lilia told me that it's due to their scents changing."

"Oh! I forget that fae have more sensitive senses, I guess it makes sense."

You almost forgot the original question asked, as you brought back up and showed it to Silver.

"So what do you think?"

"Hmm? Oh about the baby." Silver's smile grew as he wrapped his arms around you, eyes closed in bliss. "It's wonderful, Father will be very happy, though I'm surprised that he didn't mention anything earlier at dinner."

You cursed in your head. Of course fae can sense these things, and it was starting to click for Silver.

"Love, what's tomorrow again?"

"...April 1st."

"As in April Fool's."

"Mmmmmaaaaaybe?"

A sigh escaped his lips as he looked at you in disappointment, though you also make out small laugh under his breath.

"Did Father put you up to this?"

"Surprisingly, no. Though I'm sure he'd be pleased that I'm putting thoughts of kids into your brain."

You laughed nervously, though relaxed as Silver pressed a kiss to your forehead and guided you to bed. You both slipped under the sheets facing each other to wrap your arms and legs together in an embrace.

"Hmm...I wouldn't be opposed." He murmured, your breaths mingling as he was quickly falling asleep. "I think it would be...nice...if it's with you."

You hummed in content, letting Silver tuck his head under your chin and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

"I think it would be nice with you too."

[physalian]

How to Make Your Writing Less Stiff Part 3

Crazy how one impulsive post has quickly outshined every other post I have made on this blog. Anyway here’s more to consider. Once again, I am recirculating tried-and-true writing advice that shouldn’t have to compromise your author voice and isn’t always applicable when the narrative demands otherwise.

Part 1

Part 2

1. Eliminating to-be verbs (passive voice)

Am/is/are/was/were are another type of filler that doesn’t add anything to your sentences.

There were fireworks in the sky tonight. /// Fireworks glittered in the sky tonight.

My cat was chirping at the lights on the ceiling. /// My cat chirped at the lights on the ceiling.

She was standing /// She stood

He was running /// He ran

Also applicable in present tense, of which I’ve been stuck writing lately.

There are two fish-net goals on either end of the improvised field. /// Two fish-net goals mark either end of the improvised field.

For once, it’s a cloudless night. /// For once, the stars shine clear.

Sometimes the sentence needs a little finagling to remove the bad verb and sometimes you can let a couple remain if it sounds better with the cadence or syntax. Generally, they’re not necessary and you won’t realize how strange it looks until you go back and delete them (it also helps shave off your word count).

Sometimes the to-be verb is necessary. You're writing in past-tense and must convey that.

He was running out of time does not have the same meaning as He ran out of time, and are not interchangeable. You'd have to change the entire sentence to something probably a lot wordier to escape the 'was'. To-be verbs are not the end of the world.

2. Putting character descriptors in the wrong place

I made a post already about motivated exposition, specifically about character descriptions and the mirror trope, saying character details in the wrong place can look odd and screw with the flow of the paragraph, especially if you throw in too many.

She ties her long, curly, brown tresses up in a messy bun. /// She ties her curls up in a messy brown bun. (bonus alliteration too)

Generally, I see this most often with hair, a terrible rule of threes. Eyes less so, but eyes have their own issue. Eye color gets repeated at an exhausting frequency. Whatever you have in your manuscript, you could probably delete 30-40% of the reminders that the love interest has baby blues and readers would be happy, especially if you use the same metaphor over and over again, like gemstones.

He rolled his bright, emerald eyes. /// He rolled his eyes, a vibrant green in the lamplight.

To me, one reads like you want to get the character description out as fast as possible, so the hand of the author comes in to wave and stop the story to give you the details. Fixing it, my way or another way, stands out less as exposition, which is what character descriptions boil down to—something the audience needs to know to appreciate and/or understand the story.

3. Lacking flow between sentences

Much like sentences that are all about the same length with little variety in syntax, sentences that follow each other like a grocery list or instruction manual instead of a proper narrative are difficult to find gripping.

Jack gets out a stock pot from the cupboard. He fills it with the tap and sets it on the stove. Then, he grabs russet potatoes and butter from the fridge. He leaves the butter out to soften, and sets the pot to boil. He then adds salt to the water.

From the cupboard, Jack drags a hefty stockpot. He fills it with the tap, adds salt to taste, and sets it on the stove.

Russet potatoes or yukon gold? Jack drums his fingers on the fridge door in thought. Russet—that’s what the recipe calls for. He tosses the bag on the counter and the butter beside it to soften.

This is just one version of a possible edit to the first paragraph, not the end-all, be-all perfect reconstruction. It’s not just about having transitions, like ‘then’, it’s about how one sentence flows into the next, and you can accomplish better flow in many different ways.

4. Getting too specific with movement.

I don’t see this super often, but when it happens, it tends to be pretty bad. I think it happens because writers feel the need to overcompensate and over-clarify on what’s happening. Remember: The more specific you get, the more your readers are going to wonder what’s so important about these details. This is fiction, so every detail matters.

A ridiculous example:

Jack walks over to his closet. He kneels down at the shoe rack and tugs his running shoes free. He walks back to his desk chair, sits down, and ties the laces.

Unless tying his shoes is a monumental achievement for this character, all readers would need is:

Jack shoves on his running shoes.

*quick note: Do not add "down" after the following: Kneels, stoops, crouches, squats. The "down" is already implied in the verb.

This also happens with multiple movements in succession.

Beth enters the room and steps on her shoelace, nearly causing her to trip. She kneels and ties her shoes. She stands upright and keeps moving.

Or

Beth walks in and nearly trips over her shoelace. She sighs, reties it, and keeps moving.

Even then, unless Beth is a chronically clumsy character or this near-trip is a side effect of her being late or tired (i.e. meaningful), tripping over a shoelace is kind of boring if it does nothing for her character. Miles Morales’ untied shoelaces are thematically part of his story.

Sometimes, over-describing a character’s movement is meant to show how nervous they are—overthinking everything they’re doing, second-guessing themselves ad nauseam. Or they’re autistic coded and this is how this character normally thinks as deeply methodical. Or, you’re trying to emphasize some mundanity about their life and doing it on purpose.

If you’re not writing something where the extra details service the character or the story at large, consider trimming it.

—

These are *suggestions* and writing is highly subjective. Hope this helps!

[creatingblackcharacters]

Black Character Design Poll: Event Rules

I am an avid lover of graphs. I like numbers, I like trends and the absence thereof. I like the mindsets that make people make decisions, I like recognizing the biases, both conscious and unconscious, in sampled populations. I like how you'll always gain some sort of answer, even if it's not the one you expected (it's the scientist in me)! Best of all, I like making people question themselves! So... Why not a poll?

This is going to be a TWO-PART event. The first portion is going to ask the First Question, starting Sunday April 13th and I will stop taking submissions Saturday April 19th. The second portion is going to ask the Second Question, starting Sunday April 20th, and I will stop taking submissions Saturday April 26th.

See below the cut to find out all the details!

The goal is:

To see how different groups feel about the same character design, specifically Black audiences

To make participants question how and why their own beliefs may be affected

When I tell you "consider your Black audience when you create Black characters", that's not me pointing you to an amorphous concept- I'm talking about real people who are looking at a work! And very often, we find out that a creator's intent, versus a particular audience's perception, are not on the same page. That's not always a bad thing, nor something we can always control. But sometimes, it can reveal some lack of understanding, or biases we aren't aware of. So let's test that out! Let's have that conversation!

Submissions:

You will be submitting characters! There are three things requested in an ASK format:

A good, clear picture of Black Character from the Source Material

Black Character's Name

Title of Black Character's Source Material

DASSIT! No, I don't want leading arguments or why you love them in the ask. I will delete it. Let people make their own conclusions!

Responses:

Your options will be "Peak", "Mid", and "Nah".

Answer honestly and instinctively! If you thought it was great, choose that! If you thought it was ass, choose that! Don't let a need to "look nonproblematic" or "to be nice" affect your answer. Just take the time to consider why your opinion may be different from others. This is an opportunity to consider something new!

That being said! I'm not arguing or doing discourse with y'all in the comments or tags- I'd have to keep up with far too many conversations. Think before you speak! That thought that you think might be racist- you do not have to say it!

I will be organizing responses into three groups of viewers: "White", "Nonblack POC", and "Black". One, so that the Black voters have a little more chance to be seen (and we're not like, 97-3 every time 😅) and two, because sometimes I think people of color assume they are immune to antiblackness. I want everybody to think!

Do not send me an ask or message telling me why you're uncomfortable and why you think I shouldn't ask these questions. It's meant to bring people out of their comfort zone. Considering that you may have a different perspective on the presentation of Blackness than an actual Black person is not a bad thing, and no, it's not causing racism to have a conversation about why that may be an issue. Just don't participate.

I will add the questions and rubric in a reblog- stay tuned!

[copperbadge]

I'm getting depressingly good at identifying the formula for Pop Academic Books About ADHD.

Regardless of their philosophy it pretty much goes like this:

1. Emotionally sensitive essay about the struggle of ADHD and the author's personal experience with it as both a person with ADHD and a healthcare professional.

2. Either during or directly following this, a lightly explicated catalogue of symptoms, illustrated by anecdotes from patient case studies. Optional: frequent, heavy use of metaphor to explain ADHD-driven behavior.

3. Several chapters follow, each dedicated to a symptom; these have a mini-formula of their own. They open with a patient case study, discuss the highly relatable aspects of the specific symptom or behavior, then offer some lightweight examples of a treatment for the symptom, usually accompanied by follow up results from the earlier case studies.

4. Somewhere around halfway-to-two-thirds through the book, the author introduces the more in-depth explication of the treatment system (often their own homebrew) they are advocating. These are generally both personally-driven (as opposed to suggested cultural changes, which makes sense given these books' target audience, more on this later) and composed of an elaborate system of either behavior alteration or mental reframing. Whether this system is actually implementable by the average reader varies wildly.

5. A brief optional section on how to make use of ADHD as a tool (usually referring to ADHD or some of its symptoms as a superpower at least once). Sometimes this section restates the importance of using the systems from part 4 to harness that superpower. Frequently, if present, it feels like an afterthought.

6. Summation and list of further resources, often including other books which follow this formula.

I know I'm being a little sarcastic, but realistically there's nothing inherently wrong about the formula, like in itself it's not a red flag. It's just hilariously recognizable once you've noticed it.

It makes sense that these books advocate for the Reader With ADHD undertaking personal responsibility for their treatment, since these are in the tradition of self-help publishing. They're aimed at people who are already interested in doing their own research on their disability and possible ways to handle it. It's not really fair to ask them to be policy manuals, but I do find it interesting that even books which advocate stuff like volunteering (for whatever reason, usually to do with socialization issues and isolation, often DBT-adjacent) never suggest disability activism either generally or with an ADHD-specific bent.

None of these books suggest that perhaps life with ADHD could be made easier with increased accommodations or ease of medication access, and that it might be in a person's best interest to engage in political advocacy surrounding these and other disability-related issues. Or that activism related to ADHD might help to give someone with ADHD a stronger sense of ownership of their unique neurology. Or that if you have ADHD the idea of activism or even medical self-advocacy is crushingly stressful, and ways that stress might be dealt with.

It does make me want to write one of my own. "The Deviant Chaos Guide To Being A Miscreant With ADHD". Includes chapters on how to get an actual accurate assessment, tips for managing a prescription for a controlled substance, medical and psychiatric self-advocacy for people who are conditioned against confrontation, When To Lie About Being Neurodivergent, policy suggestions for ADHD-related legislation, tips for activism while executively dysfunked, and to close the book a biting satire of the pop media idea of self-care. ("Feeling sad? Make yourself a nice pot of chicken soup from scratch and you'll feel better in no time. Stay tuned after this rambling personal essay for the most mediocre chicken soup recipe you've ever seen!" "Have you considered planning and executing an overly elaborate criminal heist as a way to meet people and stay busy?")

Every case study or personal anecdote in the book will have a different name and demographics attached but will also make it obvious that they are all really just me, in the prose equivalent of a cheap wig, writing about my life. "Kelly, age seven, says she struggles to stay organized using the systems neurotypical children might find easy. I had to design my own accounting spreadsheet in order to make sure I always have enough in checking to cover the mortgage, she told me, fidgeting with the pop socket on her smartphone."

I feel a little bad making fun, because these books are often the best resource people can get (in itself concerning). It's like how despite my dislike of AA, I don't dunk on it in public because I don't want to offer people an excuse not to seek help. It feels like punching down to criticize these books, even though it's a swing at an industry that is mainly, it seems, here to profit from me. But one does get tired of skimming the hype for the real content only to find the real content isn't that useful either.

Les (not his real name) was diagnosed at the age of 236. Charming, well-read, and wealthy, he still spent much of his afterlife feeling deeply inadequate about his perceived shortcomings. "Vampire culture doesn't really acknowledge ADHD as a condition," he says. "My sire wouldn't understand, even though he probably has it as well. You should see the number of coffins containing the soil of his homeland that he's left lying forgotten all over Europe." A late diagnosis validated his feelings of difference, but on its own can't help when he hyperfocuses on seducing mortals who cross his path and forgets to get home before sunrise. "I have stock in sunburn gel companies," he jokes.

[aureatelys]

summer lovin'

pairing: dbf!aaron hotchner/fem!reader genre: smut w.c.: 6.7k a/n: shoutout to summer aka prime dbf season. this could technically be seen in the same universe as either of my other dbf!hotch fics but could also be a standalone, whatever you want <3 as always feedback fuels me ily

summary: After your dad thwarts your plan to have a not-date with Aaron at the drive-in movie theatre, you improvise.

c.w.: 18+ MDNI, porn no plot, dbf!hotch, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, fingering, finger sucking, interrupted blowjob so hotch gets blue balls <3, one (1) hint of sir kink at the very end, praise kink, dirty talk, kinda fwb kinda dating hotch just needs to DTR already, no y/n

read below or on ao3 here <3

You’re at least 99% sure that summer was your favorite time of the year.

You loved that you were only a short ten-minute drive to the beach and could spend the whole day in your new bikini out by the water. You loved the cookouts that your dad always threw in your backyard, the smoke of the burgers on the grill and fresh chlorine from the pool swirling in the air. You loved staying out too late with your friends, drunk and attempting to quietly stumble through your front door as if you were a high schooler again.

But your favorite part about summer? Coming home and spending time with your dad’s best friend.

You and Hotch have been having a summer fling every time you visited for the past two years. Though, you wonder if it could still be considered a fling anymore if it lasted for more than one summer and the two of you would meet if he had a case in your state, no matter the season.

This summer was no exception. Your dad had been promoted last month, which meant that he was called into the office at least every day, thus leaving the house empty for your lonesome self.

“It’s fine,” you had said, waving him off. He had been worried that you felt like he wasn’t spending enough time together as you were only really able to see each other once a year due to your busy schedule. “If I’m bored, I’ll just drive over to Aaron’s place to bother him.”

He didn’t know that you already had your keys tucked into your purse and nothing underneath your dress, so he rolled his eyes and laughed, telling you to not to bother him too much.

Aaron’s schedule often didn’t allow time for you to spend as much time with him as you wanted, so it wasn’t entirely your fault that you had to jump at any opportunity that presented itself. It’s not like you were able to drop down to your knees and scoot in between his thighs underneath your kitchen table when he was over for dinner like you often did at his apartment, his expensive belt unbuckled and his large hand pushing down at the crown of your head.

You would almost feel bad at occupying all of Aaron’s free time if he didn’t clearly express that he didn’t mind, often accompanied with a half-smile he would try to hide and tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

Now, it was the first week of August and you were starting to panic.

Your entire summer flew by you, now nothing but a blur of warm days by the pool and Aaron’s head in between your legs. You seriously don’t think you’ve had this many orgasms since you were a teenager and you went to a Spencer’s to buy a vibrator for the first time.

You’ve been trying to ignore that nagging anxiety that’s been slowly forming since the middle of the summer, but now it was a full-fledged nuisance. Now, you were just that desperate enough to spend as much time with Aaron as possible before you had to go back home to your lonely little apartment to work your lonely little job.

You try to ignore the fact that you were even willing to forgo the mind-blowing orgasms that often followed being in his company. Or the fact that you had started to think about him in non-sexual ways, such as wondering whether he had eaten that day or whether he was able to ask Jack about his science fair project that he wasn’t able to help with.

You’re laying out by the pool and scrolling on your phone, skin warm from the afternoon sun and clad in your cutest bikini, when you get the idea. Or, rather, Instagram gives you the idea in the form of multiple typos and an oversaturated picture.

It’s an ad for a local drive-in movie theatre that you didn’t know even existed announcing what they were featuring for the end of summer. Their last movie was allegedly tonight, a late showing of Grease, and claimed they still had several tickets available.

As if on cue, you hear the telltale crunching of gravel of Aaron pulling up into the driveway. A wicked smile splits your face. It was like a sign from God, or gods, or whatever the hell was out there as they served the perfect date night idea to you in the form of a badly photoshopped ad on your phone.

Your dad was still home, working at the kitchen island, but you knew that Aaron had timed it perfectly where only ten minutes after he showed up, your dad was going to get a call asking for him to come into the office. You’re going to wave him off, saying that you were fine with learning how to occupy yourself, and Aaron would claim to head out a couple minutes after him after dropping something off in his office down the hall. Most times, your dad’s car would have just barely disappeared down the street before Aaron’s spinning you around by the hips to bend over that same kitchen island and shucking your denim cutoffs down your legs.

It was the same routine that you’ve had all summer. It was nearly foolproof.

When you step through the doorway and into the kitchen, you act surprised when you spot Aaron already leaning with his hip against the stove, deliciously toned arms crossed over his sturdy chest as he was already deep in conversation with your dad about something or another.

Your dad looks away to type something painstaking slow on his laptop and Aaron takes the opportunity to raise his eyebrow at you, lazy gaze taking in your and your bright pink bikini. You bite back a smirk when his eyes get stuck on your chest, your nipples undoubtedly stiff and poking through the damp fabric at the superior air conditioning of the house.

“Hey you,” you say, feigning nonchalance. You come to stand by your dad and lean forwards on the kitchen island, inadvertently pushing your breasts up. You smile when you notice Aaron’s jaw clenching as he tries not to let his eyes stray lower than your face. “What are you doing here?”

He clears his throat and your smile grows wider when you spot the vein in his neck pulsing. “Just came to drop some files off for your dad.”

Aaron’s always coming over with papers and files that you know nothing about the contents of. You wonder if they must actually be important since he’s been using that same excuse nearly every single day for the past two months.

“Yeah, yeah,” your dad mutters, still focused on the fluorescent blue screen with his reading glasses precariously hanging on the tip of his nose.

You were nearly bouncing on the balls of your feet with excitement; any second now, your dad’s phone was going to ring and he’s going to be swept away to the office. Now was your perfect chance to bring up the movie with him where only a couple of minutes later, he’ll give you an apologetic look and ruffle your hair, telling you next time with a regretful tinge to his voice. He would have no idea that you had plans to drag his best friend with you instead.

“Dad, what are your thoughts on going to this drive-in movie a couple blocks away here in a little bit?” you ask, biting at your bottom lip to prevent breaking out in giggles. “I’ve never been to one.”

Aaron’s shuffling through the files, seemingly lost in thought, but you knew he was watching you out of the corner of his eye, interest piqued. He’s grown familiar with your antics and the way you seemingly always had a plan to appear busy when you knew your dad was going to be out. To not raise suspicion, you had said.

“Never been?” your dad finally raises his head up from that, eyes wide as he glances at you, and then Aaron. “Can you believe that?”

He chuckles, a low sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “Somehow, I can.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, if the movie’s soon, we should probably get ready and head out,” your dad says, completely ignoring you. You elbow him in the side and he elbows you right back.

He slams his laptop closed and groans when he gets off the bar stool, knees popping in the process. When he’s making his way to his bedroom to get ready, you frown and glance repeatedly at the clock. They should’ve called him about ten minutes ago.

“Hey dad,” you call out. “Are you working today?”

He’s in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt when he turns around, confusion written all over his face. “No, sweetie, I thought I told you that I decided to call out today,” he says, chuckling to himself. “Good thing you brought up that drive-in thing because I had nothing planned. Let me change and we can go.”

You may be a bit dramatic but you swear you thought the walls were caving in, anxiety causing your heartbeat to spike in rhythm as you tried to subtly pick your jaw off the floor and be casual. “Oh? You didn’t have to do that, dad.”

He doesn’t even bother looking back at you. “Of course I had to, we’ve barely seen each other all summer! Now come on, let’s get going.”

And then he’s disappearing into his bedroom with the click of a door and you’re stuck with the realization that not only are you going to be spending the next two and a half hours in the back of a car with Aaron, but also with your father sitting right next to you.

You’re still staring at the polished wood of your dad’s bedroom door, the heavy weight of Aaron’s eyes on the back of your head. You could already see the amused twist of his mouth, the slight worried furrow in his forehead that would ultimately give him away.

This wasn’t the first time your plans were thwarted by your dad and your inability to plan accordingly, such as when you had to spend the afternoon by the pool in your bikini and not nude like you had initially wanted, but you still felt a bit lousy.

When you finally face him, you were surprised to find him wearing a fond, yet exasperated expression. It melts his usual hardened appearance, making him appear younger and like the man you’ve been messing around with all summer.

He pushes himself off the kitchen counter and approaches you. Your heart thumps erratically in your sternum, something that’s been occurring a lot recently, but you chalk it up to the way Aaron’s sleeves stretch over his biceps or the way the dark red shade of his shirt makes his stomach appear softer.

He quickly leans into you and your heart skips, impossibly thinking he was actually going to kiss you with your father in the same room.

You’re not sure whether you were disappointed or relieved when he’s kissing the crown of your head, brief enough for you to get a taste of his cologne before it’s immediately ripped away from you.

“Go get ready,” he mutters, voice low and soft so there wasn’t any chance for your father to hear him. “We’ll make it work.”

-

Fifteen minutes later, you’re strapped into the backseat of Aaron’s Range Rover, since he has more trunk room than either of your cars, a pile of blankets and snacks on the seat next to you, and watching out the window at the bright lights of the streetlamps as you pull into the parking lot of the theatre.

With the sun setting over the horizon, painting the sky in a picturesque orange and purple hue, came the cooler summer breeze blowing through your rolled down window. The tempting aroma of buttery popcorn and fried dough filled the car as Aaron drove between the numerous rows of cars to find the perfect spot.

You felt on edge. You’ve been nearly silent for the entire duration of the ten-minute drive as they continued to talk about work, as if the entire point of this outing was to definitively not talk about work, yet you didn’t mind.

You found Aaron entirely too distracting today. Every time your father was preoccupied, he was meeting your eyes through the rearview mirror, silently raising an eyebrow whenever you would smile innocently at him.

He knew you were up to something—he was able to read you as soon as you bounded downstairs in that strappy plain white sundress, the lace hem barely brushing your thighs, and smelling like his favorite perfume. You had smiled him just as innocently then too, ignoring the rush of heat that flooded your veins when his eyes darkened and his jaw tightened.

The spot he had pulled the car into was towards the back, close enough where you got a good view of the screen, but secluded enough where you wouldn’t be bothered by the loud concession stand or the group of teenagers laughing several cars over.

You immediately bounced out of the car as soon as it was set in park, arms filled with the numerous blankets you found laying around the house to set up in the backseat. You let Aaron push the backseats down and watch with a grin as he steps away. As smart as they were, neither your dad or Aaron would have the forethought to set the ugly blankets on the bottom and the fluffy and more comfortable blankets on top.

You clamber up into the trunk, sitting right in the middle with your legs splayed out and your sandaled feet hanging over the edge. Although you were secretly glad that Aaron convinced the two of you to take his car for the extra wiggle room, you weren’t going to give him that satisfaction.

Aaron climbs in next to you, groaning at the way his knees pop and the way his back isn’t fully supported as much as he would like. Even with how roomy the car’s trunk was, his jean-clad thigh still brushes against your bare one where the hem of your dress has ridden up.

You expect your dad to follow, with similar old man groaning and bones popping, probably even knocking against your shoulder with his hip, yet an exhilarated thrill runs through you when he says, “I’m going to get some popcorn, did you guys want anything?”

You clear your throat and make yourself appear busy by grabbing a spare throw blanket to throw over your bare legs, ducking your head to hide the devilish smile that threatens to form. “Nope, I brought all the salty and sugary snacks I could ever need.”

“I’m alright, thanks,” Aaron says, polite as ever, as if he couldn’t sense your desire to jump his bones at that very second.

Your father shrugs before leaving you two, just as the lights in the parking lot cut off and the only way you were even able to see your hand in front of you was from the giant screen and the glow of the bustling concession stands behind you.

You’re tempted to scold him, remind him what his doctor had said about cutting back on butter, but you honestly couldn’t pass up this opportunity to spend a couple minutes alone with Aaron. It didn’t help your case when you saw how long the concession line was, nearly wrapping around the entire carnival-esque building, so you knew you had more than enough time.

You really were initially planning on actually watching the movie, maybe grabbing his hand to hold underneath a blanket, but he just looked so good in a casual setting and not wearing those unfairly tight suits he often wore whenever he would pick you up outside the house, smelling like dried ink and lukewarm coffee.

You watch out of the corner of your eye as Hotch scoots down a bit in his seat, actually relaxing for once, as the movie starts. You wince at the way the music blares, a bit louder than you were comfortable with, and shuffle a bit closer to the furnace that is Aaron, pressing the length of your body against his.

He stiffens. His breath catches when you throw your blanket over his legs, now concealing both of your laps, and your chest brushes against his arm. He can probably tell by now that you decided to forgo a bra.

“Just making sure I don’t hog the blanket,” you say with a smile when he glances at you.

He seems to believe you, not expecting you to pull any funny business when you were surrounded by so many people, as well as your father in the near vicinity.

Which is absolutely silly on his part, considering how often the two of you had hooked up in his car on the side of the road.

You take a deep breath, the smell of butter and the faintest whiff of Aaron’s cologne filling your lungs, before you pull the corner of the throw blanket over your shoulders and place your right hand onto the meat of Aaron’s thigh.

You have to stifle a giggle when he nearly jumps out of the car, head nearly bumping against the roof. You can sense the stern words threatening to come out when he turns to you, something about how you’re in public and how now wasn’t the time on the very tip of his tongue.

Yet you keep your eyes trained on the screen, pretending to be completely enraptured as the opening credits end and transitions to the front of the high school and definitely not being distracted at how perfectly firm his thigh was even through the thick fabric of his jeans.

He doesn’t say anything, maybe assuming that you were just feeling a bit extra touchy-feely like you do when you haven’t seen each other in a couple of days. He would call you needy, but you considered yourself grateful with what you got.

He decidedly does not say anything and turns back to face the screen.

Your heart is racing, blood in your ears nearly drowning out the noises of the people in the parking lot annoyingly reciting each line of the movie one after the other. You shift in your seat, thighs brushing against each other underneath your dress, and you try not to think about why this whole scenario was actually getting you riled up.

You wait a couple more minutes, enough to where you felt Aaron’s thigh slowly relax underneath your palm, before you begin to slowly trail it upwards.

The rough fabric of his jeans against your hand was strangely soothing, warm from the heat of his skin seeping through. The pads of your fingers slide along the inner seam and you allow a manicured nail to scratch against it before gently squeezing your hand around his entire thigh.

You keep your eyes fixed straight ahead; however you’re no longer taking in the movie as you’re too aware of the way Aaron’s breath deepens or the way he imperceptible spreads his thighs apart underneath the blanket.

When your hand reaches his crotch and you feel the very sizable bulge of his half-hard cock straining against his jeans, heat crackles down your spine, adamantly pooling in between your legs. You felt a strange surge of power and experimentally squeeze your hand around the length of him, coaxing a groan that Aaron tries to bite back. Your mouth waters.

He leans down until his lips were barely brushing against the shell of your ear, the low timbre of his velvet voice causing another flare of desire to burst in your chest. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you say, giving him one final squeeze, your thumb briefly brushing against the very tip of his cock. You lay your palm flat against the bulge and wonder if precum has stared leaking through his boxers yet.

“Nothing?” And then it’s his turn to snake his arm underneath the protective guise of the blanket, over your chest, and away from prying eyes to place his own hand on your bare thigh.

Your heart rate kicks up, face suddenly feeling heated in a way you couldn’t blame the summer heat for. Aaron’s hands have always been ridiculously large, with thick fingers and rough skin mottled with endearing age spots. They were one of your favorite things about him, especially when he put them to good use.

Like he is now.

He’s squeezing the flesh of your thigh, causing you to grip the fabric of his jeans at the inseam, breath growing heavier. He doesn’t bother teasing, completely aware of the time restraint and the fact that you were surrounded by a third of the town, and when his fingertips brush against your pussy, he expects to find your favorite pair of light blue lace panties.

When he brushes against your skin instead, he pauses. You inadvertently hold your breath, not so subtly spreading your thighs apart underneath the blanket. Your left knee pokes out from the edge.

“It doesn’t look like nothing since you’re not wearing anything underneath that dress of yours.” And then he’s yanking your thighs further apart and dragging his fingertips along the seam of your pussy. He avoids your throbbing clit and takes his time to barely dip into your dripping entrance before he’s spreading your wetness in between your folds.

You have to bite back a gasp, your grip tightening where you still have a handful of denim. You resist the urge to arch your back into his touch, instead scooting down in your seat so Aaron would be able to effortlessly thrust one of those deliciously thick fingers inside of you. Your sandal dangles precariously off your foot as it hangs over the edge of the trunk.

“It’s hot out…” Your voice sounds weak even to you, your breaths coming out ragged as you attempt to cant your hips up in an effort to get Aaron to touch you where you’re nearly throbbing for him.

He hums before he’s sliding his middle finger inside of you, causing your entire body to jolt and your jaw to fall open. You bring your legs up, planting your feet onto the truck and allowing the blanket still on your lap to shield your… activities from anyone if they decided to stroll by. You squeeze your eyes shut and let your head loll onto Aaron’s sturdy shoulder.

If anyone decided to look over at the two of you, they would assume that you were a couple, albeit an odd one, casually cozying up during a date night at the drive-in movies. There were plenty of couples in the parking lot, the singing and lines being repeated back quieting down as the crowd became enthralled with a movie they’ve seen a hundred of times.

The next song in the movie plays, effectively drowning out the filthy sounds of your pussy as Aaron effortlessly slides another finger inside of you, still narrowly avoiding your clit. You let out a low moan under your breath and Aaron has to shush you.

“You have to be quiet, sweetheart,” he mutters, as if it was the easiest thing in the world and not like you were living out your horniest fantasies with a man old enough to be your father.

That thought, dirty and sinful, causes you to clench around his fingers and for you to bury your face in Aaron’s neck to quiet the wet gasps that threaten to come out of you.

You think Aaron chuckles at your reaction but you can’t even bother to be mad because his pace increases, and the indecent sound of you somehow getting wetter, his palm slapping against your clit and just barely giving you enough stimulation has your thighs trembling.

You thank every God that ever existed that Aaron was left-handed as he steadily thrusts his fingers in and out of you, curling his fingers just so to hit that spot that makes you nearly cry out, but it’s not enough.

You have to muffle your noises against the skin of Aaron’s throat, the strong clean smell of his cologne mixing in with sweat had your mind spinning, stoking at the arousal that was building faster and stronger with each second that passed.

“Aaron…” you whimper, abandoning where you were pathetically attempting to rub his cock through his jeans to take a hold of forearm.

He doesn’t stop. In fact, your grip on him seems to make him go faster, deeper. He tilts his head to press his lips to your forehead and then quietly asks “Are you going to come for me, honey? In front of all these people?”

You whine, shaking your head and burying your face further into him, words catching in your throat and desperately hoping he would know exactly what you needed. 

He makes a faux sympathetic noise. “Your pussy needs a little bit more, doesn’t she?”

To your absolute horror, he slowly takes his fingers out of your pussy and you make a pitiful noise, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes at the utter confusion and annoyance swirling in your chest as you lift your head up from his shoulder.

“Wha—”

He brings his free hand up to your face, glowing with an array of flashing colors from the screen. You’re barely able to discern the dark glint in his eyes, pupils wide and his lips parted as he breathes heavily. “Suck.”

Before you could even think, realize that you’re only a couple feet away from strangers and that any of the people walking back from the concession stand could pass by you, one of them possibly even being your own fucking father, you’re meeting his gaze and obediently parting your lips to let him slide two fingers into your mouth.

You can feel the corners of your lips stretch, accommodating the girth of his fingers, his skin tasting clean with a faint hint of your lavender soap he used before you left and his rough callouses brushing against your tongue. You make sure to swirl your tongue over his fingers sloppily despite knowing you wouldn’t need it, have never needed it, because Aaron was able to have you dripping down your thighs with just one word.

You hollow your cheeks, peering up at him from underneath your eyelashes, and your clit throbs painfully when he wordlessly slides his fingers deeper into your mouth.

When he pulls his hand away, a trail of your saliva follows, connecting your spit-slick mouth to him. The vulgar sight causes your face to heat up.

“Good girl.”

The praise nearly lights you from the inside out, your thighs instinctively parting wider as his wet hand dips underneath the blanket to caress your folds again.

You’re completely drenched, your inner thighs sticky with your arousal, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you were leaving a wet spot on the blankets underneath you.

You pay that no mind, completely unable to, as Aaron easily slides the two fingers that was just in your mouth into your aching pussy with a wet noise. He immediately starts fucking into you, his thumb circling your throbbing clit at a maddeningly steady pace, now focused on pushing you over the edge as soon as possible.

A strangled moan erupts from you, caught off guard at the onslaught of pleasure running hot through your body, and Aaron is immediately tilting down to capture your lips in a kiss.

You’re distantly aware that he hasn’t kissed you at all today, not even while he’s been fingering you in public underneath a blanket, and the revelation nearly causes a rise in unseated annoyance to spark in your chest if it weren’t for the fact that you felt your muscles tensing and your lower belly coiling with your impending orgasm.

His mouth is hungry against yours, tongue sliding into yours as he easily swallows the steady stream of your moans as he fingers you faster, rubs your clit a bit rougher.

When you pull away, chest feeling tight at the lack of oxygen, you manage to let out a high-pitched whine against his lips that you hope understands as your hips roll up to meet his thrusts, not even caring if the lewd wet noises of your pussy was audible over the movie.

“You better come before your dad gets back.”

The low tone of his voice simmers through you as he’s curling his fingers, nearly grinding them into you, and you’re biting your bottom lip to muffle your moan. Your pussy clenches around him, hips stuttering into his thrusts as you come so hard you swear your vision blurs around the edges.

He continues to fuck into you, letting you ride it out, and you have to push his wrist away while your ears were still ringing as your oversensitive clit begins to throb. You felt sluggish and like you’re one second away from melting through the floor of the car, your entire body limp and sated.

You barely wince when he slides his fingers out of you and discreetly wipes your leftover slick onto the blanket you both were sitting on. You lean your head back onto the headrest, tilting slightly away from the warmth of Aaron’s body as you desperately hoped a cool breeze would pick up and magically blow into the trunk of the car and onto your heated face.

Aaron reaches over your body for the forgotten bag of food, rummaging for the bag of salted pretzels he knows you packed because he knows you’re seconds away from begging for a snack. However, him straightening up and twisting his body into yours reminds you of the very sizeable shape of his hard cock visible through the crotch of his jeans.

Embarrassment floods through you as you remember that, despite your initial plan to pay attention to Aaron and tease him, it had totally backfired and you were the one who still got off. Despite him always assuring you not to worry about him, it just didn’t feel right, and plus, you wanted to.

Just like you expected, when you grab the bag of pretzels to toss aside to place your palm on his crotch where he’s still hard, he puts his hand over yours to stop you. “It’s okay, you don’t have to.”

You roll your eyes and knock his hand aside. “I want to.”

And then you tuck your legs primly underneath yourself and duck underneath the blanket, situating yourself until you were essentially kneeling over him and your face was merely inches away from the bulge in his jeans.

Aaron makes a strangled noise that you can barely hear over the sound of the movie still playing, but he doesn’t stop you as you’re expertly popping the button of his jeans open and dragging the zipper down. With some shuffling and maneuvering, his jeans and boxers are bunched around his thick thighs and his cock is out, curving against his stomach and flushed an angry red.

The heat of him is palpable, his heady musk stronger now thanks to the blanket over his lap, and you lick your lips, your cunt pulsing from arousal again. When you wrap your hand around him, his cock twitches and you can see Aaron’s hand fisting the edge of the blanket.

You could tell he was on edge, probably surprisingly closer than to he expected from just fingering you until you bit your lip raw and surrounded by a crowd of people. You smile wickedly at the thought that he was getting off to this just as much as you before you’re tilting your chin up and parting your lips over the head of his leaking cock.

You hear a muffled noise, most likely Aaron refraining from groaning out loud, as you open your mouth further to accommodate the girth of him as he slides deeper into you. You squeeze your hand around the base of him as you lower and lower until the head of his cock brushes against the back of your throat, your lips meeting your fist.

Aaron curses quietly, his breathing turning ragged as he tries to keep his hips still so he doesn’t make you gag, letting you take your time despite his own judgements.

You know he was expecting your usual teasing—kitten licks at the head to savor his precum or the flat of your tongue tracing the vein along the underside of his cock. But it must have been over 15 minutes already and, as much as you want to leisurely lick and suck him until you were dripping wet again and your jaw got sore, you’re running out of time.

You unfurl your fist around the base of his cock to place on the bare skin of his thigh and begin to bob your head, rivulets of your drool leaking out of the corners of your mouth and coating him.

He seems to understand because he’s sneaking a hand underneath the blanket to cradle the back of your head, keeping you steady, before he’s lifting his hips up to start fucking into your mouth.

Something simmers at the base of your skull, your eyes fluttering shut, as you let him take control in that seamless way he always does. Submitting to him was always exhilarating, making you feel drunk and like you were a second away from floating out of your body with just one look, one large hand wrapped around your throat.

It happens now as you concentrate on making sure you didn’t gag, trying to open your jaw further so he could continue using your mouth whichever way he wants. The sounds of the movie and the audience singing along filters through your brain and out your ears, the only thing you’re aware of being your harsh breaths and the filthy crude noises of his thick cock hitting the back of your throat.

Aaron grunts, barely audible over the movie, and his hips begin to stutter, his fist clenching and unclenching where he still has a grip on the back of your neck. You swallow around him as best as you could, mentally preparing yourself for the first spurt of his come hitting the back of your throat and wondering if you could get away from sitting on his lap and angling his cock inside of your aching pussy for a little bit.

You don’t hear the sound of the car door opening until Aaron’s grip on the back of your neck tightens, essentially stilling you with your lips still wrapped around his cock.

“Shit, can you believe I got to the front of the line and I forgot my wallet?”

Aaron hums in response, though it sounds strained to you. His muscled thighs are tense, as if anticipating this was the moment that your father would discover his daughter was sleeping around with his best friend by his cock in your mouth.

Your ears burn as you slowly lift yourself off of him, making sure you swallow to refrain from any lewd noises from your mouth. You and Aaron seem to have the same idea as you stay hunched over his lap, hiding out of your dad’s eyeline, the thick blanket covering you.

There are sounds of him rummaging around the seats, even checking the middle console, and then he’s making a triumphant noise and closing the console shut. You’re not exactly sure why his wallet was in the console of Aaron’s car, but there were evidently more important matters as you watched his cock, right in front of your face, soften with each passing second.

“Where’d that girl get to now?”

Aaron clears his throat and you have to bite your lip to hide your smile when his cock twitches. “She had to go to the restroom.”

A sigh. “Well, I better go back and get in line. You sure you don’t want anything, Hotch?”

There’s a tinge of frustration when he speaks again “I’m good, thanks.”

You could almost imagine the noncommittal shrug your dad gives before you hear the slam of the car door being shut and his whistling along to the song on the screen that gradually fades away.

Aaron’s hand finally leaves your neck, silently telling you that the coast was clear. You’re not sure if you’re wanting it back or not, but one glance at his cock, nearly completely soft, has you holding back a sigh.

When you finally sit up, you’re sure you look like a mess. The neckline of your dress was probably pulled down a little too low still, your hair frizzy and tangled from his hands, and your lips swollen and puffy.

However, when Aaron glances at you with a soft expression, the start of a smile tugging at his lips and his thumb coming to swipe at the corner of your mouth, you felt like the prettiest woman in the city.

“I guess we’re done for tonight, huh?” you ask, attempting to pass it off as a joke but your voice sounds weak even to you.

“I’m okay with that,” he says, voice gentle and not like he was trying to hold back his moans merely two minutes ago. He tucks himself back into his jeans and you have to lift the edge of the blanket up to make sure that he had gone fully soft. When he’s done, he studies you, an unreadable glint in his eyes that causes your heart to flip in your chest.

Before you could say something idiotic, something that would disrupt the easygoing nature of your undefined relationship, he raises his arm to rest on the back of the seat. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the slight flex of his bicep and the shine of his fancy watch against his wrist, shamelessly admiring the way it glints underneath the light.

When you tear your gaze away from the sudden filthy thoughts revolving that specific watch, he’s raising an eyebrow at you, and then, “Come here.”

A giddy smile erupts on your face before you could help it. You try to suppress a squeal as you shuffle closer into Aaron’s embrace, letting the warmth of him bleed through his shirt as you press your cheek into his shoulder, wrapping an arm around his middle to intertwine your fingers with your arm that you have curled around his back.

He’s so soft, with his belly rising and falling with each breath and the way he brings his arm down from the back of the seat to rest around your shoulders, pulling you further into him. You’re not sure if the sense of calmness that overcomes you was from the comforting scent of his cologne or the orgasm his fingers just brought you to.

A girly type of excitement fills your chest at the fact that you were cuddling him so publicly, such a rare event that has only happened when he’s come to visit you when out on a case. You know he can see your smile out of the corner of his eye, the way you try to wiggle further into him as if you’re trying to crawl into his skin, but he stays silent. 

The two of you sit in silence and, surprisingly, watch the movie, with you singing along and Aaron shaking his head at you. You know he’s mouthing along to the lyrics, you just can’t quite prove it.

You hear the distinct off-tune whistling from your dad and scramble to put a respectable distance between you and Aaron.

His hand shoots out to grab at your wrist and you ignore the way arousal licks up your spine at the way his fingers easily dwarf yours and how unbearably attractive he is when he leans in to whisper into your ear.

“Maybe you can come over tonight after the movie to finish what you started.”

You bite back a smile, noticing how it wasn’t exactly a question, but rather a concise demand. You also knew that Aaron can be impatient, especially after he didn’t get a chance to finish in your mouth like he wanted to, and that you were most definitely going to pay for it later.

“Yes, sir.”

taglist <3: @kiwriteswords @solardrop @knitmeatardis @mggslover @maeintree @pastelpinkflowerlife @storiesofsvu @actualdeemon @khxna @ssa-writerminds 

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Epilogue

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and his lover :) That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, suggestive language, finally some fluff lol A/N: I missed writing for Error!! God, deliver me from the shackles of schoolwork and capitalism pls (I wanted this, I wanted this....) Enjoy! <3

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue (-> spin-off)

“When I look at you, I can't believe it's true You're all I ever dreamed of, and you love me (And you love me) And you love me.”

The two of you are holding hands as you make your way to the new café that just opened on 6th Avenue, near Darlington Square, your fingers woven into his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

You’ve heard great things about the place, and not just the usual noise from clickbait-y blogs desperate for engagement, but from people who actually know what they’re talking about. The hipster types—the new-age purist fucks who claim they can taste the "notes of apricot and the warmth of an abuela’s love" in a single origin Santuário Sul pour-over, brewed with beans ethically scoured from the mystical depths of Carmo de Minas or whatever.

You think they’re full of shit. But for all their unbearable pretentiousness, they’ve never steered you wrong. So.

It still feels… unreal sometimes. Sylus, here, beside you. Present, in a way he never could have been before. In a way you two could only think of as a passing pipedream, not so long ago.

He’s here. Solid, tangible. And so, so warm. 

His thumb traces soft circles against your knuckles, an absentminded caress that sends a shiver up your spine. He does that a lot—little touches here and there, like he’s committing the texture of your skin to memory. Like there’s still a part of him that can’t quite believe that you two exist in the same space now. In the same plane of existence. 

And maybe you’re just as bad; sneaking glances at him whenever you could, half-expecting him to flicker out like a glitch in the system. Like some cruel error will right itself and erase him from this reality at any given moment, when you least expect it.

He never does. 

He’s still with you. Always with you. 

And day by day, the knot in your chest loosens; not all at once, but in slow, steady increments. Like frost clinging to the soles of your boots, melting under the first touch of spring. Day by day, the small voice in your head—the one that whispers warnings of borrowed time, of happiness slipping through your fingers—slows to a mum. 

Not gone, not yet, but it's quieter. Fainter now. Sounding more and more like the lingering echoes of a bad dream.

(You hope that one day, when you look into Sylus’ fathomless grey eyes, the reflection staring back at you will be filled with certainty. Of this. Of him. Of what you have. Nothing else.)

And whenever reality hits you – and what a novel thing it is, that this is what you now consider reality – it steals the very breath from your lungs. 

It’s an exhilarating kind of happiness; the way it makes you feel as if your heart's too big for your ribs, too much for your mortal body to contain. It spills over, bright and absurd—almost to a ludicrous degree, honestly. 

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to it. The utter magnitude of your bliss. 

And he’s just as lost in this as you are—though you suspect he’s just a tad better at making it less obvious.

He never strays too far away from you. He stays close to your orbit, always within arm’s reach; his fingers brushing against yours when they can, as if he doesn’t quite trust himself to let go. Your personal shadow.

It’s more than just physical proximity. There’s a gravity to him now, almost on a molecular level, like he’s in the very air you breathe. Inescapable, even if you tried.

(Not that you’d ever want to.)

Sometimes you think you’re not even consciously doing it, but when he moves, you move with him. You lean into him as if by instinct, finding the curve of his body and the spaces in between as though it was made just for you. It’s a rhythm that feels both thrilling and comforting, the kind of closeness that makes your heart thump a little faster; your cheeks a little redder. 

“Sweetie.”

Sylus’ voice breaks through your thoughts. It settles over the buzzing noise in your mind, soothing as ever. As it always has.

Has it really been four months?

You still find yourself mesmerised by the way he’s easily integrated himself into your world. His world now, too. All six-foot-five (!) of him; impossibly tall, broad-shouldered, and so naturally magnetic. 

It’s in the way he carries himself—not unlike the way he’s always done, back when he was no more but your impossible, sentient character. That presence is still there, the one you always thought was larger than life. But it's slightly more subdued now, toned down into something less intimidating. Something less… exorbitant. 

Something just for you.

And then there’s also the fact that he’s stupidly, ridiculously handsome.

It’s unfair, really. As if it weren’t already enough of a miracle that he’s here, real, flesh and blood, he had to step into this world looking just as breathtaking as his video game counterpart. And hey, maybe you’re a little biased, but you think the changes that came with his mortality only made him all the more perfect in your eyes.

Sure, you miss the silver hair from time to time. And occasionally, your brain still expects the sharp contrast of crimson when his gaze cuts to yours—only to be met with a monochromatic grey, deep and electrifying as a thundercloud in mid-July.

But then there’s everything else. The way his chest rises and falls under your palm, the steady heartbeat that lulls you to sleep at night. The way his hair sticks up in all the wrong places in the mornings, no physics engine rendering it down to a smooth perfection. The scratch of stubble when he steals kisses from you throughout the day, because body hair is a thing now (thank god). 

The off-key singing when he’s taking a shower—

Oh. Nevermind. 

The little imperfections that weren’t designed to be attractive but somehow make him even more so.

He isn’t all clean-cut lines anymore, no longer a carefully-crafted fantasy meant to appeal to an audience. There’s a rawness to him now, something that’s inexplicably human. He’s just some… guy. 

Granted, an extremely hot guy, but still. 

Just himself. Just Sylus.

And maybe… maybe, that’s what makes this version of him the most beautiful of all.

Because he’s yours. Completely and wholly yours.

“Sweetheart, we’re here.”

There’s laughter in his voice. You blink up at him, only to find that look in his eyes—amused and endearingly fond. You realize, a beat too late, that you’ve been spacing out for the last couple of minutes. 

Sylus tips his chin toward the double doors a few metres away, and he feels the way you startle slightly. 

You give him a sheepish smile. He merely chuckles, squeezing your hand in response. 

He’s used to this, revels in this. The way your mind drifts so freely when your hand is in his. It’s not unlike the way you used to depend on him, back when his existence was confined to a screen. 

But now, in this corporeal form, he can be more than a voice in your ear—do more than just watch from the sidelines. 

He can pull you back when you get too close to the curb, for one. Tuck you into his side when the cold bites too sharply at your skin. He can prevent you from walking straight into oncoming traffic whenever you get too lost in your own head… because of course you would. Carefree thing that you are.

He likes seeing you at ease; so completely trusting of the man who, in the grand scheme of things, has only truly been here for a fraction of a year.

As if he’s always belonged by your side.

Oh, how he adores you.

He’d take care of you forever, if you let him. His little dove.

You two enter the café, and immediately, your eyes are drawn to the eclectic décor of the place. It’s almost like you’ve entered a fever dream—or what you can only describe as a frankensteined aquarium. 

Circular faux windows line the stone-clad walls, imitating a sort of subterranean oceanic sanctum, drowning the space with an atmospheric blue. There are hanging lamps reminiscent of jellyfish floating at sea, casting vivid hues of bioluminescent purples and pinks across the room; the mix of colours gives off the illusion of something sunken, almost psychedelic. An abundance of plants of varying sizes can also be seen at every corner, from the creeping ivies to the potted lilies, as if they’ve simply sprouted into existence.  

The main kicker, though, is that – aside from the predominantly nautical motif – the owner seems to have a strange fondness for… the cabaret? 

Framed photographs of harlequin girls wink from gilded edges, and there’s a signage in cabochon lettering that looks like it belongs outside a burlesque theater rather than in here. It spells out a cryptic phrase in a swirling font, in a language you don’t recognize.

You’re still trying to process the visuals of it all when you register the familiar notes of Paradise Circus filtering in through the speakers.

…They’re committed, you’ll give them that. 

"Woah," you can’t help but say, momentarily disoriented by the overwhelming interior of the unassuming—or at least, from the outside—café. "This is… definitely something."

Sylus glances around, his lips curling into a wry smile. "Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting a full immersion," he remarks dryly. "I was wondering what all the fuss was about. Glad to see they didn’t oversell it."

You snort. “I hope good coffee is part of the experience.”

You both amble toward the counter, third in line behind a girl with a bob cut who’s swaying to the music in a pair of silver bell-bottoms, and a shorter fellow wearing a flatcap and trench coat like he’s on the damned set of Peaky Blinders.

Clearing your throat, you quickly glance up at Sylus—just to see him watching you with a knowing look, an eyebrow arched.

You roll your eyes, pressing your lips to suppress a smile. Judgemental little shit. 

"It’s possible we missed a dress code somewhere," he says drolly. 

“Shh,” you hiss at him, trying to keep your voice low—or as low as you can manage—trying your hardest not to laugh. “You’re wearing leather pants. You don’t exactly have the fashion high ground here.” 

Sylus pinches your side in retaliation, and you swat his hand away. 

Tommy Shelb—rather, the cap wearing twenty-year-old-something dude—gives the two of you the stink eye, clearly unimpressed by your not-so-quiet banter. You can’t help but think that maybe he’s the type to take himself a little too seriously.

After a few minutes, you two are next in line.

You’re looking up at the hanging menu—an aged wooden board with elegant yet slightly smudged calligraphy, suspended by fibre twine that gives it a rustic feel without making it look too tacky. Your eyes skim past the more familiar offerings before landing on something called The Drowned Saint. 

It’s intriguing. You’re intrigued. 

Why not?

“Ready to order?” an easygoing voice asks, prompting you to tear your gaze away from the menu.

The barista in front of you is tall, with large, square glasses that sit slightly crooked on his nose, like they’ve been knocked askew one too many times. It gives him a friendly, bookish vibe, the kind of charm that might fool you into a sense of security… if not for the sly look in his eyes. 

Something that spells mischief. 

“Oh, hi—yeah, can I get The Drowned Saint? Just, uh, a regular.” You say, glancing down at the silver name tag pinned to his shirt.

… Red. Does everybody in this establishment need to have a certain degree of quirky to them...?

“–-and a strawberry muffin, too.” 

“And for you?” The dark-haired man seems to size Sylus up, his gaze sharpening with something you can’t put a name to. “Sir?”

There’s a pause. It makes you peek up at Sylus, and you’re surprised to see the same look of quiet consideration on his face.

You shift your weight awkwardly, glancing between the two men. Um.

Finally, Sylus lists his order in a measured tone. Red hums noncommittally, grabbing a paperboard cup from the stack behind the counter.

"Alrighty, and can I get a name for that?”

“... Silas.”

A snort; followed by a barely-restrained cough. 

Your brows lift. Okay. What’s this guy’s damage?

“Riiight, so do you spell that with an ‘I’?” There’s a deliberate smirk playing on Red’s lips. “Or maybe a ‘Y’? Sorry, still getting the hang of–” he makes a vague gesture with his fingers, “all this.” 

You squint, getting a little annoyed by the whole ‘cool guy’ act. Fucking hipsters, man. “Look, it’s not that complicated. It’s S-I-L–”

You feel the light press of Sylus’ palm at the small of your back—a silent reassurance while he cuts in, unperturbed. “It’s alright, sweetie,” he murmurs by your ear. 

Then, without looking away from the irritating barista, he languidly pulls out his wallet. There’s something almost amused in the way his brow lifts, the barest flicker of challenge. “Write it however you want.”

Red, looking unruffled for the most part, is already jotting something down on the cup. There’s no visible reaction; just that same ever-present ghost of a smile, which you’re starting to find… kind of weird, to be honest.   

After paying, both of you move to the side, settling into the wait. You narrow your eyes at the flamboyant man who's busy humming something upbeat under his breath as he moves effortlessly behind the counter. Steam rises in the air while he works the espresso machine like he’s done it a thousand times before. 

You wouldn’t be surprised if he started twirling a milk frothing pitcher mid-pour, like a performer in some kind of latte circus act. He seems like the type.

Finally, Red pings a tiny brass bell by the pick-up area, the tinkling chime almost mocking. “Order up,” he calls out, flashing the two of you a toothy grin. “Enjoy, lovebirds.”

Sylus scoffs, unimpressed. He doesn’t respond—just picks up the tray in one smooth motion, nudging you toward an empty table near the centre of the room, right below a floating indigo anemone. 

He pulls out a chair, and you drop into it with a huff. “The fuck was that guy’s deal?”

He takes his seat across from you, unbothered. To your surprise, instead of the ire you expected to be written on his face, he looks more fascinated than anything. 

He studies you, eyes flickering with something you can’t put your finger on. 

“Does he remind you of anyone?”

You frown. The question throws you. “Huh?” Your brows knit together, head cocking sideways in confusion. “Wait—you know him?”

He gives you an indulgent smile, but doesn’t say anything. He picks up his cup, gaze dropping briefly as he turns it in his hand.

Do you know him?

Sylus watches you, patient, the faintest curl of his mouth betraying nothing as you mull it over. It’s as if he’s waiting, trusting you’ll make the connection yourself without his help. But how would you know the owner of a newly-opened café—if he even is the owner? (He sure carries himself like he owns the place.)

You wrack your brain, trying to pin him down. Where else would you know a roughly six-foot-tall guy with dark, wavy hair and shifty-looking eyes the color of a dead aubergine? 

He’s certainly… a character. And he doesn’t pass off as local—maybe foreign, or at least mixed—so should be easily recognizable, right? 

Yet, for some damning reason, nothing’s clicking. 

It’s in the way he acts too, you think. The easy arrogance, the look of mirth lingering in his expression, as if he’s in on some inside joke you’re not privy to. It’s nagging at you, like an itch in the back of your brain. You’ve seen him before, right? 

You’re pretty sure you have… but for the life of you, you can’t figure out where.

“I mean, like, he does look kind of familia—” Wait.

Oceanic décor. Dark irises that glint into a near-violet hue under the dim, overhead lights. 

Red. 

Reddie.

The realisation hits you like a ton of bricks.

“Wha—no.” You spin your head around so fast it almost gives you whiplash. 

And as if he’s already expecting it, Rafayel meets your wide eyes. 

He gives you a wink. 

Holy fucking shit. 

“So he found a way out, as well,” Sylus muses, his large hand comically dwarfing the coffee that he’s back to examining. When he meets your stunned gaze, he casually flips the cup around, revealing the name scribbled on the sleeve.

‘Sylus’ 

And just right below: ‘still got here first lol ;)’

You let out a sharp exhale, the dots starting to connect in your head. “Did you know?” Your voice pitching higher than you intended, brows scrunched up as you look at the calm man in front of you—the nonchalance to your overreaction. “Is that why you wanted to come here?”

He picks up your strawberry muffin, tapping the excess crumbs off the edge of the plate. “I had my suspicions,” he admits, cupping a hand beneath the pastry, angling the muffin closer to your face. “Ahh, baby.” 

With no small amount of frustration, you take a bite, your eyebrows still furrowed as you chew. The flavors don’t even register on your tongue as you try to wrap your head around this… unexpected development. 

Of course, that’s putting it lightly—inside you’re freaking out. What does this mean? When did this happen? Two of them now?

Are you losing it? Again?? 

It’s too much to process in one go. You’ve just come to terms with your very own freak of nature, thank you very much. 

Sylus tuts gently, dabbing a napkin at the corner of your lips. "No need to stress over it, my love," he rubs his thumb on your lower lip to draw your focus back to him. The corners of his mouth curl into a small smirk when he sees you nibble on it absentmindedly. "Careful now."

Suddenly, your ears pick up a voice calling out, “Raf!” from behind, and you glance over your shoulder just in time to see someone step out from the small kitchenette. 

They’re wearing a navy blue apron over a glittery top, carrying a square pan of what looks to be a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls. 

On the taller side, standing only a couple of inches shorter than Rafayel, sporting a silver nose ring. Their hair is in a split-dye, parted down the middle, and styled into intricately braided space buns—likely a labor of love from the man himself. 

“Ah, that must be his partner,” Sylus notes idly.  

Rafayel reaches for the tray with all the confidence of someone who has absolutely no plan beyond offloading the weight from their lover’s hands. His partner, quicker and clearly wiser, snatches it away at the last second with a knowing look. "Cutie, I was about to get that," he whines in protest, lips forming a pout.

"And yet here I am, actually getting it," they reply dryly, maneuvering the steaming buns out of his reach.

Undeterred, he makes another attempt; only for them to sidestep, holding the tray higher like a seasoned veteran at dealing with his antics. 

Rafayel huffs but refuses to back down, making for another grab. This time, faster. 

He gets his fingers around the edge of the baking tray—only to hiss in pain and immediately jerk back. "Just let me– ow, fuck, hot!" 

His partner gives him a long, unimpressed stare. "You don’t say."

"You could’ve warned me," he accuses, shaking out his hand with all the theatrics of a man in peril. 

"I did. With common sense," they deadpan, but you detect a hint of laughter beneath the monotone.  

That earns a full-blown scowl, but it’s betrayed by the way his eyes soften—something unmistakably fond in the way he watches them, as if their amusement alone makes the now-forgotten burn worth it. 

You don’t miss the subtle shift in his posture; the way his shoulders loosens, the telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth like he’s biting back the urge to grin.

After a few more playful back-and-forths (one of which involves Rafayel attempting a truly ridiculous reach-around that gets his wrist lightly smacked in retaliation), they finally place the cinnamon rolls into the glass display, arranging them alongside the rest of the baked goods.

It’s the ease between them that sticks with you. The way he casually fixes the strap of their apron, how they don’t even flinch when he brushes a stray crumb from their cheek. 

It’s an old, familiar rhythm—one that speaks of something long-established. The kind of comfort built over time. Like it's already habit. 

It makes you smile. 

(In your periphery, you catch Sylus smiling, too.) 

You exhale a long sigh, sinking back into your chair, only now noticing the weight you’d been carrying—the one you hadn’t even realized was there—finally lifting off your chest.

Questions swirl in your mind, most of them aimed at the busy couple manning the counter. The hows and whens. The adjustment period. The hardships. 

And, honestly? Just the need to have someone to freak out with and scream say, Can you actually believe this? 

… But you suppose it can wait. There will be time for questions, for stories, for untangling the mysteries of it all.

For now, you’re just going to enjoy a normal weekend afternoon with your very normal boyfriend.

After all, they’re not going anywhere. Nor will the two of you.

- -

An errant thought pops into your head.

Before you can stop it, your mouth blurts out: “You think Xavier’s ever gonna come out of the game, too?”

A beat.

Sylus freezes for a split-second before his gaze locks onto you, wry and amused—like he’s debating whether he heard you right. 

You get the bad, bad feeling that you’ve made a mistake somewhere.

He lets out a throaty chuckle. “Xavier, huh?” he muses, almost patronizingly, eyes alight with an intensity that makes you squirm in your seat.

The nervous little action doesn’t escape his notice.

“Look at the time, kitten.” His voice drops an octave, deceptively calm and even, but there’s an undercurrent to it that has you squeezing your thighs together. “I think we’ve stayed here long enough. Don’t you?”

Uh-oh.

End A/N: Ok, so I’m a big, fat liar who lied about not including anything about the silly lil fishman ≽^-⩊¬^≼ I’m anal about spoilers if you haven’t noticed. 

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