#everything is fine!!!!!! until its not!!!!!!!!!

[cameronsbabydoll]

Ex husband rafe where you are both at the park with your son and he falls. Maybe he needs stitches or something not too intense. Reader is freaking out in the moment and rafe calms her down. Later in the night the rolls kinda reverse and rafe admits to you he scared he was and its readers turn to calm him down. Maybe he even cry’s or is trembling…🙈I tried to send this before but I don’t think it went through ❤️

cw: medical talk and injuries and blood!!

you were at the park with your son, the afternoon sun still warm and soft over everything. rafe had met you there halfway through — unannounced, of course — just acting like it was normal to show up without warning, like he hadn't done it a hundred times before.

but your son was thrilled. and you were tired. so you didn’t argue.

everything was fine until it wasn’t.

one second he was running full speed toward the slide, and the next, he was tumbling. a bad fall — loud, fast, face-first onto the wood chips.

you completely froze, “o-oh oh my god — sweetheart—!”

you were already halfway across the park before he started wailing. you dropped to your knees, heart thundering, arms shaking as you tried to inspect the scrape across his brow, the blood trickling too close to his eye.

and then rafe was there. steady hands. calm voice.

“hey—hey. let me see him. breathe, mama.”

he was pulling his shirt off, folding it fast to press to the cut. “it’s not deep. i’ve got him. you hear me? i’ve got him.”

you were crying. embarrassed. he was the calm one — rafe. the same man who used to lose it over a dent in his car.

you rode together to urgent care, your son sniffly in raafe’s lap in the backseat while you drove like your life depended on it.

he only needed a few stitches. he was brave — brave in a way only little boys with both parents in the room can be. rafe cracked jokes. called him “tough guy.” never let him see him flinch.

but that night, after he was asleep and the adrenaline had finally worn off, you found rafe on your back porch with a beer in hand and a far-off look in his eyes.

you were the one who sat beside him now. quietly. no fight left in you.

“i didn’t like it,” he murmured, voice tight. “seeing him like that. bleeding.”

you glanced over at him, the moonlight catching on his sharp jaw and clenched teeth.

“i know,” you said softly.

he swallowed. didn’t look at you. “felt like... i don’t know. like i couldn’t do anything. and i always can, y'know? fix things. control shit. but that?” He exhaled, hard. “that wrecked me.”

you rested your hand gently over his.

“he’s okay,” you whispered. “you did everything right.”

a long pause.

“i didn’t think i’d lose it like that,” he admitted. “not after all the crap we’ve dealt with. but that scared me.”

you turned his hand over and laced your fingers through his, the way you hadn’t done in years.

and for a moment, there was no bitterness. no games. no broken marriage between you.

just the two of you — two scared parents, soft in the quiet, holding each other together.

[wild-jackalope]

summary :: virgin sex with your sinister boyfriend, Mark!

warning :: rough, virgin sex, p in v woo, fem reader, relationship is def fucked up, 'I can fix him', sex hurting, missionary, not my usual smut so lmk if its any good, smut w/ no plot, fucking u will make me stronger!! - sinister Mark, dub-con (?)

note :: inspired by stuff written by @slutla love that b, go read her stuff

He hadn't knocked—he never really did. You just looked up and saw him. Floating in the centre of your room like it was his.

"Mark?" His name slipped out soft and gasped, a flicker of fear in your throat. The feeling settled in your stomach when the black and yellow registered.

That look on his face—you knew it. The specific knot in his brow, the strained frown. It wasn't tender sincerity, it never was.

I'm about to feel you up like you're my personal doll. The look said.

It had become your role, unspoken but absolute: be there.

Take him in. Soothe the ache in his skull with your soft body. Let him bury everything he didn’t know how to say beneath your bruising skin.

He moved without a word, kneeled at the edge of your bed, and pushed your legs apart. His mouth met yours with intent and a surprising reverence.

You tried to soak it up as much as possible, tasting the crumbs of love through his lips. Kisses like that made it all worth it—to you at least.

It was a needed reminder that Mark loved you.

His tongue swiped across the cavern between your lips, a claim.

Affection had crept in over time. Mark had never known kind love, Nolan was a cruel father who only offered praise when shown incredible power and his Mum had passed at such a young age he likely didn't hold any memories of her cuddles. You knew that well, it being a piercing reminder that kept you tethered to him.

Mark didn't care for casual touches, curt kisses or cuddles at night.

The feeling of you opening your lips to let him in and letting loose a moan which you couldn't hold back was what he preferred.

"Fuckin' missed you," he murmured, his guttural words vibrating onto your lips.

Mark shed the tight fabric of his mask, tossing it across your floor.

He stared down at you with dark eyes shaded by frantic hair, jaw tight and face littered with a light flush alongside red cuts.

"Mark..." you frowned, taking his face in your hands.

He took your wrists, holding them with a pressure that made it hard to move your fingers. "I'm fine."

He hated words. He preferred to hear you sob.

He returned to the feverish exploration of your mouth, releasing you only after guiding your hands to his hair. Clear in what he wanted: your touch.

Your fingers dipped through his messy hair, nails running along his scalp in long, gentle rakes. They trailed down his neck and across his shoulders. A tremble passed.

"God," he grunted, closing the minuscule space between you to have you compressed to the place where he longed for you the most.

Hungry fingers devoured you, sliding under your shirt and chasing the desire to feel your flushed flesh.

Then one had dipped lower, between your legs.

His palm cupped your heat, holding you there and feeding off your startled reaction. This was new territory. You were familiar with the feeling of his hand palming the fat of your breasts, or the squeeze of his hand against your thighs until he left bruises in his wake.

But his middle finger pressing into the indent of your clothed sex was entirely new, and it made you shrink beneath him.

"This your first time?" He asked, no hints of affection lacing his question only something territorial and dog-like.

"Yeah," you nodded once and swallowed thickly.

Your eyes peered down without thinking, catching on the obvious bump over the base of his suit, demanding to be freed of the trapping fabric.

A grin grew across his face, both satisfied and threatening. "Cool."

He let the pressure of his palm sink in further into your heat, his other hand pressed into your ribs and keeping you still against the plush bed.

"You gonna let me?" He asked, too casually.

"Do—do you want to?" the way you considered him was so sickeningly sweet. He puffed an amused exhale.

"I wanna hear you say it."

He didn't care for consent, he wanted devotion.

You nodded, slow and dizzy. "Yes, I want to have sex with you."

His lips fell to yours with a crashing passion again, his tongue already fighting to explore yours.

"Marhk—" his name muffled in your mouth, enunciation taken by his hasty exploration of your spit-soaked cavern. You weren't sure if he was too taken up in the lust of it all, or if he did hear and just didn't care.

You attempted to recline your head back, but Mark only followed you until you were wedged between him and the bed. Then, you took his burly shoulders in your hands and pushed against him.

He stilled, annoyed.

"What."

"I love you." You said, offering a weak but certain smile.

He kissed you harder, like a punishment for your empty words. "I know," he muttered, "that's why you'll take it."

His fingers slid under your pants and underwear, finally dragging along your bare slit. The first direct touch made you jerk, a helpless cry punched out of your throat.

"That's right," he exhaled, a breathy chuckle in his chest, "I wanna feel how much you love me."

He teased you for a moment longer—circling, dripping, spreading—until he decided it wasn't torturous enough. His fingers hooked around your bottoms, yanking them down your thighs in one strong pull.

You barely had time to breathe before he was stripping himself too, dragging his tight suit down to his waist, the shade of his cape no longer shielding your body. You closed your legs, unwilling to bear the naked humiliation.

But it didn't matter, because Mark pried your legs open with casual strength, like your legs were made up of nothing but thin bone.

Between the open space of your legs, you caught a glimpse of him—already hard, already glossy with pre.

He coated his tip in your slick and your body jolted in reaction. Which only had Mark forcing you further into the bed in an attempt to keep you still.

Then—without a breath of warning—he pushed inside.

He'd only glided against your insides halfway before you constricted at the sudden, alien pressure.

"Mark!"

But he continued, slowly, surely, concealing his thickness inside you. “Shit, that’s too much for you?” He asked, pressing his thumb to your clit.

It was. He could feel it in the violent tremble of your insides, and the way blood soared through your veins with how quickly your heart pumped. Your body was fighting him, but you weren't going to stop him.

You forced down the ball building up your throat with a swallow. "No, I'm okay," you assured.

His thumb began moving against your clit, drawing slow, deliberate circles. The only sign of softness.

"Don't lie to me," he muttered, "does it hurt?"

"Y-Yes."

The admission, the way you look up at him with something fragile in your eyes jolted his dick, and it throbbed against your constrictive insides.

It caressed something broken in him, something that made him press deeper into you. He leaned over you like a shadow and kissed you again, muffling your gasp as he started to move.

The first thrust felt like agony, his length forcing itself inside you and slowly sliding out before stuffing you again. Each rut of his hips jolted your body, but his hand kept you firm against the mattress.

You cried out, every blow to your insides shooting a stinging pain across your abdomen that followed with a quick aftertaste of pleasure.

His lips crushed yours, devouring every gasp and whimper. He kissed with teeth, with tongue, with the kind of force that sent your head spinning. His tongue grazed against your lower lip, before he sucked on the tender skin, leaving a bite sharp enough to leak hot blood, which he smoothed over with a slow, filthy lick.

You couldn't even try to keep up with him.

No one else could take him, not Cecil, not the guardians, not even his father, but you could—like this. Flushed and abused below him.

You could take the bruises, the nasty words, because you loved him. You loved him. It satisfied something deep and cruel inside him.

"Fuuuck." His head dipped to your shoulder, his lips still sweet with your metallic blood. "Let me go faster," he groaned, the words quavering against your shoulder.

"Okay," you nodded, squeezing your eyes shut in preparation.

"Yeah? Can I?" He asked—but it wasn't really a question, just a sweetly dressed demand to hear you say you wanted him to wreck you.

Each thrust that drilled into you after was a broken reminder that you were his, a reassurance that your body would remember him long after he'd pulled out and disappeared into the sky.

The previous pace had teetered near too much and now, with the quick smacks of skin and the way Mark's tip surged against your nerves had reached an overstimulating point, the pain and pleasure forced you too quickly over the waves of your climax.

Mark felt it—the full body shake and the throbbing tightness of your insides. The way you clenched around him in rhythmic waves.

Your nails clawed his shoulders, leaving desperate, white lines. Your eyes welled with shining tears and they escaped you in burning streams.

Mark skipped a thrust, only for a heartbeat to let you overwhelm his senses. Though he'd never say it aloud, Mark thought you looked beautiful.

When he threw his hips into you again, your next orgasm followed quick and hot behind your first.

This time, the sucking of your inside threw him over the edge, too.

You felt a new warmth pool inside you, sucked in by the twitching of Mark's dick. He groaned through clenched teeth, milked of his climax far too soon.

He pushed into you as deep as he could go, one final time, forcing his cum to dribble out of your stuffed sex. It had been tinted a light pink, mixed with specks of your blood.

You could hardly feel the tension that first strained your insides, just a numbing buzz left in the wake of Mark's quick thrusts.

He didn't speak, but his hand, rough and warm lifted you from its bruising entrapment of your body. You gasped, a space in your lungs that you hadn't known was stolen by the pressure filled again.

"Breathe," he muttered.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breathing.

He only stared at you, eyes dark and feral. As if daring you to say you loved him.

You took his cheek with a shaky breath and pressed a weak kiss to his lips, raw and filled with sincerity. It was confession enough.

[contentloadingandstuff]

Itsy Bitsy Spider... - Arlecchino x Male!Reader

A/N: A spider-inspired, spicy fic for our one-and-only Father. Enjoy! A/N: One more fic and I promise that I'll make the third masterlist. That should be enough fics for it not to be an empty, depressing page. CW: Some smut, predator-prey themes, Arlecchino is scary - but that's fine because Y/N is up for it.

Before you, there was only Bambi. It was quite an… uninteractive creature that never returned any affection - simply lacking the brain power to comprehend its situation - but, at the same time, required little maintenance. Arlecchino always thought that this would be her ideal relationship model - a partnership where she wouldn't have to devote too much attention to her lover, who could live without her perfectly alright. 

Well, Arlecchino didn't anticipate all the new emotions you would stir up in her frigid heart. But that is exactly the thing with love, is it not? One can never plan for it, as experiencing that feeling in its true form changes them. It wasn't different with her and Arlecchino would soon come to understand that a husband is, surprisingly, not the same as a pet spider. 

Because you offer more. So, so much more. More opportunities, more emotions, desires she did not realise until she had you just where she wanted. 

It is an experience like no other, having a pet man. Bambi was a pet, yes, but it was like her - a predator, only a lesser one. She treated her not as a lifegiver that she was, but as a matter of circumstance that was temporarily tolerated, but would be bitten if it got too close. But you? You sweet, little boy. No matter what her hands did to you, how much blood her teeth drew, you will always lean into her touch like the good husband you are. Grateful, patient, positively adorable in how timid you are.

Father is used to intimidating people with nothing more than her tone, a stray glance or just her general disposition. She intentionally takes on this kind of appearance for work matters, but she doesn’t enjoy scaring anybody that does not deserve it. 

You, of course, are quite the opposite. You, the silly boy you are, decided to capture the heart of the most dangerous woman, the most cold and ruthless of predators in all of Inazuma. With your oblivious smile and honest courtship you stepped willingly into her life, and now - you will pay the price. 

Arlecchino never understood what true, romantic love, true desire is. Of course, she was convinced her scarred heart was above these feelings. But when the first months of dating passed by, when she first received a simple gift from you, when she woke up to freshly brewed coffee, when she sat there, flustered as you fussed over her injuries and lectured her about safety… When she held you in her arms, her source of unprompted kindness and non-judgmental comfort, she realised something. Turns out she was not, in fact, immune to feeling. And when these emotions, stirred deep inside her and swirling around your lovely person tug at her heartstrings, why wouldn’t she give in and show them? After all, you don’t seem to mind…

Home is the only place where she can unwind, let her hair down and express herself. There are a lot of things constantly weighing on her mind, so it’s no wonder Arlecchino tends to be restless and in serious need of some rest and relaxation. Good thing she has this handsome, caring man to come back to. A warm bowl of soup, a massage of her sore feet, sometimes a bath with you gently rubbing the shampoo in her beautiful hair. She is eternally grateful for this attention, but you, on the other hand, know that your attempts at calming her down are hopeless. Because when Peruere is tired, stressed, frustrated? That’s when the hunger rises. 

A tired Arlecchino hungers for you. You and only you. Your voice, your hands, your chest, scent… Everything. Her hands are all over you whenever she gets the chance, searching, exploring, sizing you up for what’s to come. Soon enough her lips follow suit and, before you know it, your wrists are crushed in her iron grip. Helpless.

She never understood why spideresses don’t just mate and eat their males. Why all this nonsensical fluff? Why let him put in effort and tolerate him when you’re just going to devour him whole anyway? But seeing you beneath her, eyes wide with desire and nerves, feeling your skin crawl, your heartbeat and breath quicken… It made her understand. It’s just fun. 

It’s fun to scare you. Fun to glare at you with a sadistic smile, watch all these scenarios of what’s to come rush before your eyes. Endlessly entertaining to drag her clawed finger across your defenceless thigh and feel your eyes tracing it like a snake, ready to pounce. Short or tall, muscular or lean, confident or shy - it doesn’t matter as every man erodes before her, just as every trapped insect fears the spider, crawling across the web towards them. She’s the greater predator - inhumanely strong, devilishly smart and deathly beautiful. When her hands trace your Adam’s apple, you know she is strong enough to hurt you, really hurt you. But amazingly, you stay still. You may tremble, your skin may crawl, you might even beg for mercy - and yet, you never pull away. More; you come to her. You offer yourself before her, at her feet, just like a fly willfully ignorant of the web ahead of it. You are prey - prey not of nature, but of choice. The perfect lover. 

You might not escape her clutches or resist her, but Arlecchino likes you completely helpless all the same. Ropes will bind your wrists, neck, ankles, even hips if you wiggle and cry, begging her not to break you. She has no intention of hurting you, of course, but Father’s man must be durable. He must be able to welcome pain and stay still when she has her fun. Besides, it makes you look all the more adorable when your body reacts to her. She loves it, especially how expressive it is. Your hands are her favorite. Tied, they clench around the ropes when her fingers slip beneath your waistband and tremble oh so adorably as your voice cracks under the intensity of her touch. And these thighs, shaking as she mounts you… They encourage her not to be gentle. 

While she might not eat you up like Bambi ate her many suitors, you will feel her teeth as she goes down on you, sinking her sharp canines into the delicious, sensitive skin of your neck. You always squeal and whine like the helpless boy your are when she catches your nipples with her teeth, shortly going down to caress your stomach with her slick tongue, soon sinking further and wrapping around your thighs. They clamp down and pull your skin, leaving purple-red hickeys on her way to your most tasty of spots. Try to close your legs, protect your delicate manhood - it’s of no use. She licks her lips, gazing you straight in the eyes as she opens them, feeling no resistance. Soon after her lips wrap around your warm masculinity, her tongue and teeth will soon conduct a delightful melody of tortured sounds from your throat.

And then, the main course. By the time your poor, overstimulated body cries for mercy, she’s already putting your legs up and sliding herself down on your abused cock. Don’t expect her to be satisfied with one, measly orgasm - Arlecchino has a Harbinger’s stamina, so better hold on to your binds tightly. She will quickly plunge her desire-consumed mind into blissful, mindless coupling where the only things are your helpless whines and your dick perfectly striking her cervix with every powerful squat. When she needs to catch a break, she’ll simply lean forwards and plunge her teeth into your neck, grinding herself on you as you plead and struggle. Each time your mind is sure you will either be ridden to death or consumed by your thirsty mistress, but don’t worry - she’ll stop when you pass out. It’s not fun when you’re not begging. 

Binding you is a favorite of hers, but gagging you is a definite no for Father. Playing with you is not fun when she can’t hear the noises you make. The pleas for mercy and incoherent whines form arias and elegies she plays on your body, an instrument she’s become intimately familiar with. She plays you to her liking and knows how to elicit every tone, every lyric. Her tongue circling your ear will give her a trembling, high chain of whines, two fingers gliding up and down your head sounds out deep, regular moans and her teeth teasingly poking your nuts makes you sing pleas. 

There is a reason dog toys make noises. A predator has no fun without the squealing of her prey…

While you lay lifeless on the messy, wet bed, Arlecchino stretches and feels the moonlight on her naked body. It’s a refreshing experience, a catharsis for her instincts. But don’t worry, she tends to her partner. If you can stand, she’ll take you for a nice, hot bath, playing with your hair and stroking your body as your wrung out body drifts away to sleep. “You did well,” she’ll say, “good boy.” If you’re in no condition for anything but sleeping, you’ll wake up with her tightly curled around you, arms hiding your handsome face in her bosom - where nobody will dare to look, where nobody will hurt you, take you away from her. 

You’re her toy. Her boy. Her man. Her love, pleasure and home. 

But when you awake, remember to prepare the bed - for you know not the hour nor the day when the spideress hungers…

Thanks for reading!

[gogolstoelicker]

Hii saw ur shenhe! reader fic and really liked how its written is it ok to do a igninihyde + diasomnia with raiden ei like reader? 🥹

Ignihyde + Diasomnia with Raiden Ei!MC

a/n: random but i dont have any motivation to play genshin until i saw albedo came back😍🙏 also i lowk forgot how i used to write these

Due to your dedication to eternity, you're wary to the idea of a change. However, you show curiosity rather than disdain when it comes to new things.

Having lost many of your of your loved ones over the centuries, you're driven by a fear of further lost. Even when you locked yourself in Plane of Euthymia, you could not truly escape loneliness.

Idia:

who told this clown to overblot w all those high tech stuff💀⁉️ cause one zap of lightning n hes out like a light

"game... set..." "🌩⛈️⚡️⛈️🌩"

u didnt even let him finish n the entire thing blue screens😔

honestly he cant even get mad at u. its fair, who even waits for their enemies to finish talking before they strike anyway??

thats how he ended up w bandages but thankfully they have all the latest technologies to cure him fast

he found it kinda funny how little you know about technologies

u self isolated?? yeah he could tell😂

but since he gave u a tv, he cant let it go to waste just bcs u dont kno how technologies worked

so, unfortunately, he needs to explain everything to u one by one

the only problem is that he underestimated how much a boomer u r

his explanations is fine, u can catch a few things

but when he starts using one of his lil slangs.... hooboy

"ROFL cant believe someone so op is THIS clueless abt basic stuffs" "ruholf???????? ou pee???? what???" "oh geez..."

visuals of ortho, u and idia in that living room

unsurprisingly, he understands how u feel at the loss of ur twin sibling. i mean, he did lose his younger brother

he sympathise w u a lot on that part id say🤔cause like u self isolate after ur sibling's passing?? he pretty much isolate himself after his brother's passing too

so like dont worry bro🙏🙏he might not comfort u (he cant even make eye contact w u without breaking a sweat) but he'll tell u some of his coping mechanisms

Ortho:

hides his snacks from u cause ur ass gobbles down any sweets😔he doesnt want to go buy smth from the vending machines cause u took everything of his

ur supplier

by that, i meant he supplies sweets n desserts for u

it started as him saying sorry for all the bs that happened but then it turns into a lil habit

also hes ur translator if someone like idia or cater starts using one of their youngsters slangs

he gave u the full definition completed w examples whenever u asked🙏one of these days u might even start using the slangs!!

omg meemaw tryna be hip😢dont hurt em now!!

"whats cooking ortho? i hope youre not having a skibidi day😊" "oh geez😨" man they rlly r brothers😔

he tries to fight off the cringe whenever u start trying out the slangs but never tried to stop u

go uh... you!!😔dont mind the fact that hes cancelling noises rn....

idk if he needs to charge but in case he does, youre there🙏youre his emergency, portable charger

Malleus:

kind of like a powerbank

honestly hes very sympathetic abt ur loses n why youve pulled away from society + afraid of changes bcs of it

hes one of the dudes actively encouraging you

he invites u to hangouts (w idia) so u could explore the world n see what youve been missing out on

dont worry abt money bro hes here🙏if u want to try that new looking sweet out, just go take it, he'll help u pay for it!!

Lilia:

he was out on his usual late night walks, u were there on ur usual late night meditation

after that it turns into an everyday thingy

time is kinda weird for the both of u since ur both immortal n have lived for a very long time, so malleus sleeps late bcs of it while u dont need to sleep tbh

sometimes u would join him on his walks, sometimes he would join u to meditate

it turns from that to u joining his club meetings from time to time

u guys would wonder around campus to find gargoyles n he would explain them to u while u much on some dango n nodding ur head

u picked up very quickly on the differences between a gargoyle n a grotesque, much to his delight

since u could forge weapons n have tried ur hands in creating things, youre more than happy to join him in his little activity of making a gargoyle

u gave one of that to him for his birthday btw

u swear, the sun was shining much more brightly for the next week after

honestly, he wasnt aware u didnt kno how to cook

so when he saw lilia n u in the kitchen, he thought nothing of it

"maybe mc is trying to stop lilia🤔" oh how wrong he was

victim #1 of eating that thing u called food

after that, he tried to ban the two of u from using the kitchen

n honestly, since the both of u r quite isolated, its like a learning process for the two of u abt the outside world

since its a learning process for the two of u, u guys decided to always invite each other out on little outings to just basically enjoy the changes and familiarise urselves w the world

its the both of ur lil adventure!!😈😈lilia sneaked photos of the two of u btw (he showed it once u guys r back)

also who says u cant strike down a dragon during his overblot?? youve striked down a giant snake before and split islands, this is nothing to u⚡️🤛💪

he dragged u to the kitchen one time cause he thought it would be funny

he excused it as smth smth to help u get used to changes smth smth

"but i dont know how to cook..😥" "fear not!! i shall be your coach!"

cue the both of u burning the kitchen down (and almost the entire school) with ur lil chef hats

it was then presented later to the three usual victims, who r all fighting back tears (grim ran away before yall could make him try💀)

if lilias cooking was bad, then coupled w urs, its horrendous. the worst of the worst. they can even see smth twitching in the food😥n is that a smoke coming out of it in the shape of a skull????😨

the both of u looked kinda proud so no one was able to say anything (sacrifices were made) (n its in the form of the diasomnia's toilet)

u r both old old, so u got along pretty well despite the personality differences

any of the three sat w u guys n here goes peepaws w their "back in my days..." stories

in a way, u guys could understand each other a lot

he lost his friends, u lost ur friends. he witnessed the horrors of war, u witnessed the horrors of war

so like, u guys could understand n comfort each other better than anyone else🤔

he understands its hard to accept the loss you've faced, n he fully encourages u to get out of ur shell more now that youre trying to face n accept changes

he would even pull u to the light music club so u could try little things n maybe expand ur interests

speaking of, he tried to make u some dango after u mentioned in passing how much u liked it

Silver:

do NOT consume it or u might actually have to replace ur teeth💀🙏 his food comes w special effects

u?? barely noticed him

he would be asleep in random places n u would just step aside n continue walking to ur destination without a second thought

if he looked injured u wouldve stopped but he looked so peaceful so u just 🤷‍♀️ n walked off

sometimes when u wanted to have some alone time, he would be there in the forest or batony garden or whatever

honestly hes very peaceful to be around so u dont rlly mind his presence much

n honestly u enjoyed the animals that would surround him

u would absentmindedly pet them as u much away

whenever he saw lilia drag u into the kitchen again, alarms starts blaring in his head

like "is that... FATHER N MC?? IN THE KITCHEN??🚨🚨🚨"

hes convincer #1 in trying to get u guys to GET OUT n leave those kitchen equipments alone

"guys we're all not hungry do not worry. pls put the pans down. put the chicken down too. no NO"

he doesnt even know how lilia roped u into this

cause u used to be like "i cant cook😢" and now youre all like "maybe i can cook🤔(no)"

he very much invited u to join him n sebek to train together

youre strong as hell n he would like to improve himself in any way he can to be a better knight

he very much understands why u turned the way u r after ur loses and tries to give u words of encouragement

kinda uses the training together as an excuse to have u go out more n interact w people

Sebek:

youre thunder, hes thunder HELP.

his unique magic wont work w u around. literally one word n his magic is gone since you quite literally control every single thunder there is

his face when u striked malleus down😔

like he wants to stop u cause hey!! thats his lord but at the same time like hm🤔malleus does need help atm

hes VERY conflicted abt it n it is why hes just making faces n letting u do whatever

honestly youre pretty much his 2nd mentor by now😭

like youre so strong, u can control lightning at will n u defended ur nation before?? yeah youre helping him w training

he tries to spar w u from time to time so he can see the areas he needs improvements in

also victim #3 as ur n lilias food testers

he almost passed out btw pls feel sorry for him

he wouldve said smth but like 😭he respects lilia so much, n youve very much earned his respect too so he cant just?? say the food is ass when yall prepared it

so he just swallows it down while making faces LMFOAOAOAOA

"y yes... this is... very good!!" he says, trying his hardest not to hurl

he then absolutely destroyed the toilet after

also he tries to limit ur sweet intakes

"isnt this ur 10th dango?? n its just morning!!" "but desserts!!🥺" "NO BUTS"

starts a lecture abt how youll ruin ur teeth n upset ur stomach

u w ur replacing teeth argument

he was MORTIFIED btw. never speak of those words to him ever again

hes kinda awkward when u told him abt ur past n allat n how youre pretty much trying to change after u realised how much ur actions impacted ppl

very loud abt his encouragement but also isnt sure if he had said the right thing to u LMFOAOAOA

"BUT U TRIED UR VERY BEST TO CHANGE !! N U ONLY DID WHAT U DID CAUSE U CARE!! YOURE VERY STRONG N AMAZING!!"

^his word ECHOES btw thats how loud he was

he means well dw</3

[drewsctover]

something meant to be.

you lost faith in yourself and in the world, but destiny is already written — and when you least expect it, happiness finds its way to you. 𓈒 ⭒ ݁ .

warnings: none !!! maybe just reader overthinking and almost having an anxiety meltdown.

prologue.

chapter one. 𓈒 ⭒ ݁ .

it’s your first day, and joel’s not even home.

what kind of dad hires a nanny to take care of his daughter and doesn’t bother to be there to meet her — y’know, the person who’s going to look after the most important human in his entire life every single day? jesus. this man is insane.

you’d never leave edward alone with a nanny before getting to know her really well. like, stalk her on social media and check her astrological-sign. you’d have to be absolutely sure she’s a good person.

edward... god, stop thinking about him. you cannot have a panic attack on your first day.

when you stepped into joel’s apartment, it totally caught you off guard — clean, organized, almost suspiciously perfect. spacious and immaculately decorated, with these big windows overlooking a postcard-worthy view of kelowna — a small town in canada where it’s always cold, but people are warm, smiley, and weirdly eager to help strangers.

the dark hardwood floors, sleek grey couch, black-and-white furniture — it all screamed modern minimalism. like, straight out of a high-end magazine. pretty? sure. but also cold. impersonal. it didn’t feel like a seven year old little girl actually lived there too. poor ellie.

you left the living room behind in silence, your eyes trailing down the long hallway toward what you assumed was ellie’s bedroom — thanks to a cute snoopy plushie hanging on the doorknob. you let out a slow breath, trying to think of a gentle way to approach.

since losing your son, you’ve done everything you could to avoid children. that sharp, unbearable ache in your chest always finds a way to show up when you see one.

he could’ve been that age. he could’ve had a room like this. would he like snoopy too?

damn it. fet it together.

your brother warned you it wouldn’t be easy — that you'd want to turn around and bolt back to the comfort of your own home. but you didn’t think it would be this hard.

it’s fine. you’ve got this.

you walk up to ellie’s door and knock softly. on the other side, you hear a grumpy little mumble, followed by hesitant footsteps. then, the door creaks open — just a sliver.

a tiny face peers out, eyes squinted with suspicion.

“you my new babysitter?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, sizing you up from head to toe. she looks bored. maybe mildly annoyed.

you nod and smile. she’s so stinkin’ cute.

“yes, ellie, i’m your new babysitter,” you reply in a whisper to match hers. “joel, your... dad...” the word sends an odd little chill down your spine. weirdo. you don’t even know why. “he told me on the phone that you’re really good at making new friends, and that you’d play with me until he gets back. can i come in?”

she doesn’t answer right away. her bright blue eyes watch you through the crack in the door. then, with the slow, deliberate movement of someone making a very important decision, she opens it the rest of the way.

she just stands there for a second, staring at you with this funny little expression, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders, chubby fists clenched like she’s bracing for battle.

“okay,” she says, her voice suddenly softer, gentler — none of the earlier suspicion in sight. “you can come in…”

she steps aside and you walk in, carefully, trying to keep your emotions in check. and thank god — the inside of her room is nothing like the rest of the apartment.

it’s full of life, not like a hospital room.

colors everywhere. dolls and toys scattered across the floor. stuffed animals lined up on shelves. crayon drawings taped to the walls. it’s messy, but in that magical way only a kid’s room can be.

he could’ve had a room like this...

your thoughts are cut short when ellie grabs your hand and pulls you down onto a pastel yellow shag rug in the middle of the room.

she’s shy, clearly, maybe a little worn out. but then she casts a quick, hesitant glance toward a little open box of nail polish sitting on her bookshelf. you catch the tiniest glimmer in her blue eyes — and that’s your cue.

you scoot a bit closer and sit beside her.

“these are amazing, ells! did you paint your nails all by yourself?” you ask, genuinely impressed.

“i did,” she says, her voice small and quiet. but you spot the ghost of a smile starting to tug at the corner of her lips. “but daddy always says i make a mess.”

“mess is part of the fun! i’m totally clumsy with nail polish too,” you admit, because honestly, it’s true. you reach for a little white bottle and hold it up, eyes wide. “this one matches my dress! will you show me how to paint?”

and just like that, her ghost of a smile becomes a full-on, toothy grin.

“okay. but don’t mess it up, okay? i know how to do it right.”

your heart basically melts right there.

she scoots in close and offers you her tiny hand. you gently place yours on top of hers. ellie picks up the bottle from the floor with both hands, carefully, and leans in like she’s working on a masterpiece.

and while she paints, you notice it.

your heart’s no longer racing. the lump in your throat is gone.

if she looked up at you now, she’d probably laugh at the dumb, starry-eyed expression you’ve got on your face.

ellie is magic.

you’re so glad you took this job.

hours pass like soft echoes in the apartment — cartoons fade, laughter quiets, ellie drifts into sleep — and now it’s just you and the dim hum of the fridge, the ticking clock, and the hush of your own breath.

you’re curled into the corner of joel’s gray couch, legs tucked under you, wearing one of ellie’s forgotten scrunchies like a bracelet and still smelling faintly of bubblegum polish.

and then, the door clicks.

you freeze, barely turning your head — like movement might break the spell — and in steps joel, finally home.

he looks… tired. worn around the edges in a way that feels permanent. his flannel’s half unbuttoned, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and his hair’s a little damp, like he ran a hand through it too many times or maybe got caught in the rain. there's a weight to his presence — not heavy, exactly, just undeniable.

when his eyes land on you, there’s a flicker of confusion. then something else. curiosity, maybe.

you sit up a little straighter, brushing your fingers over your knee like that’ll make you look less… like a person who just had her heart melted by a tiny human and is trying not to fall apart about it.

damn it, joel, you didn’t tell me your daughter’s a heart-stealer.

“hey,” you say, your voice a little softer than usual. “ellie’s out. like, out-out. didn’t even make it to the second bedtime story.”

joel raises an eyebrow as he walks farther in, tossing his keys in a bowl by the door. “that’s a record. she usually tries to negotiate at least three.”

you laugh under your breath. “yeah, she offered me a deal. if i let her watch tangled twice, she’d go to bed early.”

he chuckles. the sound is deep, low, warm in a way you weren’t expecting. “smart kid.”

“she is,” you agree. “and funny. and bossy.”

“that she is,” he mutters, like it’s a badge of honor.

you’re both quiet for a moment, the kind of pause that stretches just a little too long but doesn’t quite cross into uncomfortable. he leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you like he’s trying to figure something out. like you surprised him.

and yeah, maybe you’re watching him back. maybe your stomach does a tiny, ridiculous flip when he smiles — just a twitch of his lips, crooked and lopsided.

you’re not supposed to notice stuff like that.

but you do.

“thanks for taking care of her,” he says, quieter now. “i know it’s the first day. that’s not always easy.”

you offer a small, genuine smile. “honestly? she made it easier than i thought she would.”

and then he nods — slowly, like maybe that means something to him — and says, “still. appreciate it.”

you nod back, heart doing that low thrum thing it hasn’t done in a while.

joel glances toward the kitchen, then back at you — a little hesitant, like he’s debating whether or not he should say what he’s about to say.

“want a coffee?” he asks, casual enough, but there’s something curious in the way he says it. like he’s testing the waters, seeing if you’ll stay just a little longer.

and for a second — just a second — you almost say yes. you picture the two of you sitting at the table, mugs in hand, the soft clink of ceramic filling the quiet, maybe talking about ellie, or life, or… whatever this little buzz in your stomach is.

but you take a slow breath, offer a soft smile, and shake your head.

“i’d love to, but… i should head home. first day and i’m already wiped out,” you say, rising slowly, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

“of course,” he nods, understanding — though something flickers behind his eyes, something that might’ve been disappointment. just a flicker. “i get it.”

you walk toward the door, and he follows, opening it for you. the warm yellow hallway light spills into the apartment like it’s gently nudging you out.

“thanks again,” he says, his voice a touch lower now, eyes meeting yours. “for everything with ellie. and… for taking the job.”

you smile, soft and genuine. “thank you for trusting me.”

you both linger there for a beat, maybe two. like there’s something else hanging in the air — something that wants to be said but refuses to take shape.

so instead, you just say:

“good night, joel.”

and he answers, steady and quiet:

“good night.”

you take a few steps down the hallway, and it’s not until the door clicks shut behind you that you realize you’d been holding your breath.

your heart’s still steady.

but your stomach… your stomach hasn’t quite caught on that this was only day one.

authors note. HELPPP i can't believe i posted this fr WHAJSBD like it says on my pinned, english isn't my first language so pls bear with me if there's any mistakes lol <3 hope u guys like it !! 🥺 if u wanna be on the taglist just lmk in the comments !!!!

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom. Mature content.

A Voice in the Dark

Before he met Sherlock, John had no special opinions about voices. Not entirely true. Some voices could make his brain explode; if they were shrieking, and he hated whining with a vengeance.

When John first laid his eyes on Sherlock, he looked so young. Hence the shock of that deep baritone. In John’s (stupid) opinion, young people, people looking like Sherlock, shouldn’t have a voice best described as dark, melting chocolate. But that was Sherlock Holmes for you, a contradiction in every sense of the word.

***

Much sooner than John expected, he dared to make a move. If he’d been brave enough, he’d done it that first night at Angelo’s, because by God Sherlock looked so beautiful in the candlelight. Somehow though, John sensed it wasn’t the right time. Sherlock wasn’t ready. And he was working. He’d made it quite clear how important The Work, was to him. 

So, John waited patiently, until the opportunity arose.

Sherlock told him he sometimes did not talk for days on end. That was a blatant lie. The man never knew how to shut up. Which suited John just fine. Mostly. Listening to Sherlock’s voice was John’s favourite thing. It didn’t matter what he was saying. Mostly, he didn’t want an answer from John anyway. The great detective needed a sounding board, and apparently John was a considerable upgrade from the skull Sherlock had used in the past.

***

A week after John shot the bad cabbie, he started to drop the occasional remark about Sherlock’s appearance, touched him briefly when he passed him; everything transpired securely inside the flat. Sherlock got flustered enough as it were, and John didn’t want to spook or embarrass him when others were around.

The evening Sherlock addressed the matter, he’d been supine on the sofa for hours, not speaking a word. John missed his voice like a lost limb. He sighed relieved when the dark voice weaved its way to John’s mind and heart.

“John?”

“Yes, Sherlock.”

“Why do you…”

It was clear Sherlock had lost his nerve, but John didn’t want to wait any longer. The tension between them was a tangible thing at this stage, and the good doctor needed release, lest he combust.

“Touch you and – “

“Yes. I don’t understand. Do you…like me…that way?”

The man’s insecurity almost broke John’s heart, so he stood and walked over to the sofa where he crouched down.

“Haven’t you observed how I can’t take my eyes off you? That I close my eyes when you speak. How my steady hands tremble when you’re near me.”

“I have, but I didn’t trust my observations. No one has ever…”

“You can absolutely trust them. The question is, do you want me to continue, or do you want to take it further?”

“Further,” Sherlock whispered.

“I was hoping you would say that,” John replied in a hushed voice.

He lifted his hand to cradle Sherlock’s face, tilting it just so. Sherlock looked transfixed, his eyes roaming John’s face, resting on his lips. John leaned in, Sherlock closed his eyes, and parted his lips slightly. The sight made John’s inner organs sing with joy and arousal.

The kiss was soft and as tender as John could manage. He wanted to put every feeling he had for Sherlock into it. A moan woke him from his reverie, and then large hands pulled him closer. John deepened the kiss, teasing a bit with the tip of his tongue. The grip around his shoulder tightened, and John threw caution to the wind and devoured those plush lips as if his life depended on it.

“Take me to bed,” Sherlock murmured when they parted for air.

“God, your voice. Do you know how much I love your voice?”

Sherlock, having momentarily composed himself, smirked and nodded. A lovely blush graced his neck and John was desperate to taste it.

“Bed,” he commanded like the captain he was, and Sherlock was more than willing to abide by it.

***

“Do you know how gorgeous you are?”

John’s eyes took in the naked consulting detective, adorned with several hickeys and love bites. The flush was back, and John chased it down, licking and kissing, while his hands teased the peaked nipples until Sherlock all but sobbed.

“John, please. I need…”

“Talk to me, love. What to you need? Don’t be shy, sweetheart.”

The endearments, John realised, made Sherlock squirm and a shy smile formed on his lips.

“I need you. I’m so hard, it hurts. Whatever you want, John. Just…please.”

“Oh, love. Where’s your lube?”

Sherlock just waved a hand, the other hand moving towards his throbbing erection. John caught it easily, sucking two of his fingers, while simultaneously searching the bedside table for the preferred bottle. With a slurp, John released the long digits, and drizzled a generous amount of lube into his hand. He was just as aroused as Sherlock, but he had more experience and his iron will was legendary.

A relieved sigh escaped them both when John wrapped his hand around both their cocks.

“Oh, John!” Sherlock exclaimed. “Whatever you do, don’t stop.”

“Goody, yeah?” John inquired.

“An understatement,” Sherlock panted. “Harder. I need more.”

“Alright, sweetheart,” John cooed and quickened the pace and tightened the grip.

Moments later, Sherlock erupted like a volcano, and the sounds he made, pulled John over the edge as well.

Later, John learned that Sherlock was the clingiest cuddler he’d ever come across, which pleased him immensely.

“I like it when you call me…those names,” the detective murmured into John’s neck.

“Mm, I could tell. You blushed adorably every time,” John told him. “Now, will you talk to me until I fall asleep?”

“Anything for you, John. What do you want me to say? Do you want a story, or shall I just prattle on about inane things like – “

A tiny snore from the lovely doctor, shut him up.

“Rude,” Sherlock huffed, but his besotted smile fooled no one.

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

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[xoln04f1xo]

Fluff

Pairings: OP81 x Reader

WARNINGS: Mental health struggles, depression, anxiety

WC: 3.5k

Divider Credit: @enchanthings-a

You didn’t mean for it to get this bad again.

It wasn’t like there was some grand trigger, a breaking point you could point to and say, “This is when everything fell apart.” It was more like the slow accumulation of dust - too subtle to notice until one day you couldn’t breathe.

Your days blurred. Mornings felt like cliffs, steep and cold and impossible to climb. Food lost its taste. Messages sat unanswered. And every time someone asked “Are you okay?” you smiled a little too quickly and said, “Yeah, just tired.”

But Oscar knew.

He always knew.

He didn’t press. He never did. That was one of the things you loved most about him - he didn’t try to fix you, didn’t come armed with platitudes or solutions. He just stayed.

The first time he noticed the shift, he brought home your favorite snack without comment. The second time, he quietly canceled a dinner you didn’t have the energy for. And the third, he simply pulled you into his arms while you stood in the hallway trying not to cry over absolutely nothing.

Today, though, you hadn’t even gotten out of bed.

You lay cocooned under the duvet, eyes open but distant, watching dust motes float through a beam of morning light. You heard him padding around the flat - muttering something about breakfast and weather apps - but none of it felt real. You felt like you were underwater, watching life happen above the surface.

Then the door creaked open.

“Hey, love,” Oscar said gently, stepping in. His voice was soft, like he was trying not to startle you. “You didn’t get up.”

You wanted to respond. Wanted to say something funny, or at least convincing. But your throat felt like it had been closed off with string, tight and impossible to loosen.

Instead, you blinked once.

Oscar crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “I made toast,” he said. “With honey. Thought you might want a little bite.”

You didn’t move.

He didn’t take it personally. He never did.

After a moment, he leaned over and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Do you want me to stay here for a bit?”

You nodded - just barely.

That was all he needed.

Oscar slipped under the blanket beside you, kicking off his socks and curling toward your still form like gravity was pulling closer. His body was warm against yours, a stark contrast to the chill under your skin.

Neither of you spoke.

There was no pressure. No questions like "What's wrong?" or "When did it start again?" Just his arm sliding gently across your waist, his forehead resting against your temple, and the occasional light-feather kiss to your hair.

You felt your chest start to ache - not in a painful way at all, but in that fragile, full way that comes with being truly seen.

"I know it's hard," he whispered eventually, his breath tickling your skin. "And I know it probably feels like everything's slipping away again. But i'm here. Even if you don't want to talk. Even if all you want to do is lie here."

You swallowed around the tightness in your throat, finally managing a whisper. "I'm sorry."

Oscar pulled back just enough to look at you, his brow furrowing. "No. No don't be sorry."

Tears welled up before you could stop them, thick and hot and frustrating. "I just... I don't know why it's like this again... I was doing fine... and now i'm not... and i feel so..." You cut yourself off, words crumbling into nothing.

"Hey," he said softly, wiping away the tear from your cheek with his thumb. "Listen to me. You don't have to explain it. Your brain's having a hard time, that's all. It doesn't make you weak, or broken, or any less incredible."

Silence fell again, but it was softer now - less suffocating. You turned slightly, pressing your face into his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat. It felt safe here, grounded. You didn't have to perform. You didn't have to pretend. You could just be.

Eventually, he ran a hand slowly down your back. “I was thinking… maybe later we could go for a little walk. Just to the park and back. No pressure if you’re not up for it, but the air might feel nice. What do you think?”

You didn’t answer right away, but the idea of leaving your bed didn’t feel as impossible with Oscar beside you. It was like he carried a little bit of light, enough to scatter the darkest corners.

“Maybe,” you whispered.

“That’s all I need,” he said with a smile in his voice. “A maybe is good.”

He stayed there with you until your breathing evened out, until your muscles stopped trembling. His arms didn’t waver. His voice, when he spoke, was a gentle thread anchoring you back to the world.

“I love you,” he whispered eventually. “On your good days, your bad days, and all the blurry ones in between.”

You didn’t say it back right away.

Not because you didn’t feel it - but because the words would’ve made you cry again. Because it was too much, in the best way. Because you were still learning to believe that kind of love could be yours.

But you tightened your fingers around his shirt and held on.

And that, Oscar knew, was enough.

It took a few hours. More than a few, honestly.

Oscar didn’t say anything when you didn’t move after lunch. He just left a glass of water by the nightstand and tiptoed around the flat, cleaning up quietly, like someone keeping the house warm for a friend going through a storm.

You stayed wrapped in the blankets, your limbs heavy, the dull ache of exhaustion pressing down on every bone. But his presence helped. It always did.

Around 4 PM, the light outside turned golden, spilling through the windows like something out of a dream. You watched it for a long time. It made you feel small, and somehow, that was a comfort - like the world was big enough to hold this heaviness, even if you couldn’t.

Eventually, you pulled yourself up to sit, your legs dangling over the edge of the bed.

Oscar peeked into the room the second he heard movement. “Hey, sleepy.”

You gave him a small, tired smile - your first one in days. “I think I’m ready… for the park.”

His expression didn’t change into something too bright or relieved. He just smiled back, like he knew exactly how much strength that simple sentence took.

“Okay. No rush,” he said, and then disappeared for a second to grab your hoodie - the big one with the worn cuffs that smelled faintly like him and comfort. “But let’s bundle you up. It’s kind of chilly out there.”

You took it wordlessly, slipping your arms into it, and let him help pull the zipper halfway up.

“I packed snacks,” he added, like it was some great adventure. “And a flask of hot chocolate. Because I know you secretly like it more than tea.”

You huffed a soft laugh, the first real sound out of you all day. “That’s not a secret.”

“Well, now it’s a confirmed preference. Very official.”

He kissed the top of your head, grabbed a blanket to throw over his arm, and the two of you headed out into the soft hush of late afternoon.

The park wasn’t far - just a ten-minute walk through the quiet back streets near your place. The air was crisp but not biting, the kind of weather that made your cheeks cold but your heart a little warm. Trees rustled softly, birds chirped like they had no idea the world could feel so heavy.

Oscar kept his hand in yours the whole way.

He didn’t try to make conversation. Didn’t force you to talk or explain. Instead, he swung your joined hands gently back and forth like you were kids on a playground. Like joy didn’t have to be big or loud - sometimes, it could be found in the way someone held on.

You found a quiet bench tucked under a tree, not far from a little pond where ducks drifted lazily across the surface. Oscar spread the blanket across the wood before you sat down, always thinking of the little things.

“Sit, sit,” he said, motioning you over. “This bench is now officially a cuddle zone.”

You snorted, more air than sound, but it felt like a laugh, and he lit up at that.

The two of you sat close, your shoulder pressed against his, his arm wrapping around your back like it was made to hold you.

For a while, there was nothing but silence - and for once, it wasn’t heavy. It felt like breathing room.

Oscar poured you a cup of hot chocolate from the flask, careful not to spill any as he handed it over. You took a sip, the warmth curling through your fingers, the sweetness resting on your tongue like a reminder that small comforts still mattered.

“Look,” he murmured, nodding toward the pond.

A little family of ducks - a mum and three ducklings - wobbled across the grass, tripping over each other, fluffy and chaotic.

“They’re so dramatic,” you said softly, watching as one of them nearly face-planted into a clump of wet leaves.

Oscar grinned. “Peak performers. That one’s definitely the Max Verstappen of ducklings. No chill.”

You let out a real laugh this time, surprised at the sound of it. It echoed a little too loud in your chest, like your heart wasn’t used to the rhythm.

Oscar looked down at you, eyes crinkling in that way that always made you feel like maybe everything really was going to be okay.

“You know,” he said quietly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, “you don’t have to pretend to be okay around me. Ever. But I love seeing you smile.”

Your throat tightened again, but not with pain this time. With gratitude. With love.

“I’m scared it’s going to get bad again,” you admitted.

Oscar didn’t flinch.

“It might,” he said honestly. “But we’ll get through it. Just like we’re getting through this.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, letting your body rest against his, letting yourself believe him.

“Even when I’m a mess?” you asked.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Especially then. You're not a burden. You’re my favourite person. Mess and all.”

You sat there until the sun dipped lower in the sky, turning the clouds pink and gold. The ducks wandered off, the wind picked up a little, and the chill started to creep back in. But you stayed warm.

Because Oscar held you like he meant it.

Because his love wasn’t the kind that faded when things got dark.

Because here, in a quiet park with your fingers wrapped around a warm cup and your heart wrapped in his steady hands, you felt - if not okay - then at least safe.

And for the first time in a long while, that felt like enough.

By the time the two of you got home, dusk had slipped into evening, painting the sky with soft shadows and fading lavender. The air was cooler now, and Oscar tugged you a little closer as you walked, the blanket still draped over one arm, the empty flask tucked into the crook of the other.

You felt… not fixed. Not healed. But lighter. Like you’d exhaled for the first time in weeks.

And all it took was one afternoon. One hoodie. One Oscar.

He kicked the door open with a gentle nudge of his foot, letting you step inside first.

“I vote for pajamas and couch nest,” he declared the moment he locked the door behind you.

You turned to look at him, eyebrows raised. “Couch nest?”

Oscar grinned like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Blankets. Pillows. Snacks. Possibly a terrible movie. Optional foot massage.”

That pulled another small smile out of you, your cheeks aching from the unfamiliar motion. “You just made that up.”

“I absolutely did not. I take couch nesting very seriously. You’re talking to an expert.”

You laughed softly, and Oscar leaned down to kiss your cheek before heading to the living room, already grabbing cushions off the chairs.

You changed slowly into pyjamas - thick socks, his oversized hoodie again, soft cotton bottoms - and by the time you padded out of the bedroom, the couch had been transformed. Pillows lined every side. Three blankets were layered on top. A string of fairy lights you didn’t even realize he’d put up twinkled gently around the curtain rail.

“You are ridiculous,” you murmured, staring at the cozy chaos.

Oscar popped up from where he was adjusting the last corner of a blanket. “I know,” he said proudly. “But I’m your ridiculous.”

That made something flutter in your chest.

You climbed onto the couch, letting him pull you into the nest like you were precious cargo. His arm found its place around you instantly, and you tucked your head into the crook of his shoulder, your legs draped across his lap. He rubbed soft circles into your calf without even thinking about it.

The movie he put on was some low-stakes animated thing - talking animals, goofy humour, predictable plot. But it didn’t matter. You weren’t really watching it. You were watching him in the glow of the screen, his eyes soft and warm every time he glanced at you, like you were the most important thing in his world.

And maybe you were.

After a while, your eyes started to droop. You blinked slow and heavy, head tipping forward.

Oscar noticed immediately.

“Hey,” he murmured, brushing your hair back gently. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Just tired. But like… the good kind.”

He smiled, then leaned down to press a long, slow kiss to your forehead. “That’s good.”

You curled closer, burying yourself into his side, fingers toying absently with the hem of his shirt. “I’m scared it won’t last,” you admitted quietly.

He didn’t rush to reassure you. Didn’t drown you in forced optimism. He just squeezed you a little tighter.

“It doesn’t have to last forever,” he said gently. “Just long enough to get to the next good moment. And I’ll be here for all of them. The hard ones, too.”

You nodded, eyes prickling again - not from pain this time, but from something softer. Gratitude. Safety. Love.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t a grand speech or a moment from a movie. It was real. Quiet. Steady.

Oscar Piastri didn’t love you in loud declarations or over-the-top gestures.

He loved you in the way he folded your hoodie and left it on your pillow. In the snacks you didn’t ask for but always appeared. In the way he waited for you to come back to yourself, and never once tried to rush the process.

And now, he loved you in silence - his hand rubbing slow circles into your back, his chest rising and falling in time with yours, his body curled around you like a shield against the world.

Your voice was barely more than a whisper when you said it, but it didn’t need to be louder.

“I love you, Oz.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he tilted your chin up gently, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand, and kissed you - not deep or passionate, just a soft press of lips that said me too in a thousand quiet ways.

“I love you,” he whispered back. “Always. And I’ve got you. Okay?”

You nodded, the words catching in your throat.

And in the glow of fairy lights and the low hum of cartoon voices, you closed your eyes. Your body relaxed, breath deepening, your chest finally settling into something that felt like peace.

The next day might be hard. The one after that, too.

But for now, wrapped in warmth and his love, with your head on his chest and your heart slowly stitching itself back together - you let go.

Because you were home. And you were safe.

Oscar's POV

Click here for more!

[ghostlycamil4]

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝑈𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝑂𝑙𝑑 𝑅𝑜𝑜𝑚

★彡[ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴘᴀʀᴛ]彡★

When Bakugo’s mom told him he had to come home to celebrate his dad’s birthday, he knew he had no way out. Mitsuki Bakugo didn’t ask for favors; she gave orders. And this time, not only did she want her son there, but she made it clear you had to come with him too.

“Don’t even think about showing up alone, Katsuki,” Mitsuki’s voice had boomed over the phone. “She’s part of the family too, got it?”

The plan seemed simple enough: spend the weekend eating, cutting cake, and taking long naps in front of the TV. Nothing too wild. But everything changed the moment they stepped inside the house.

“Alright,” Mitsuki announced as she greeted them, crossing her arms. “Katsuki, your usual room. You, darling,” she said, turning to you with a much softer smile, “you’re sleeping in the guest room.”

“What the hell…?” Bakugo muttered, raising an eyebrow at his mom.

“Got a problem?” Mitsuki shot back, challenging him with a raised brow.

He opened his mouth to argue, but a discreet pinch to his side from you made him grunt and shut up.

“Fine, Mrs. Bakugo,” you said with a sweet smile. “No problem.”

Bakugo shot you a glare as he gathered his stuff grumpily, like a rebellious teenager being punished. He stormed up the stairs two steps at a time, grumbling in barely contained anger. When he opened the door to his old room, another growl escaped his throat.

The room was frozen in time: All Might posters, a shelf full of dusty comics, and in the middle of it all, a tiny bed that, at one point, might’ve been comfy. Now, his feet would hang off if he stretched too much.

“What the hell this is?!” he yelled, throwing his suitcase on the floor.

You leaned against the doorframe, holding back a laugh.

“This is damn a trap!” he complained, flopping back onto the bed. The frame creaked under his weight.

“Oh, I didn’t know it bothered you so much to not sleep next to me,” you teased, stepping into the room.

“Shut the hell up!” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your smile widened. It was hard to take his anger seriously when his hair was all messy from the fall, and his expression looked more like a pouty kid than a fearsome pro-hero.

Without thinking much, you walked over to him and, in one smooth motion, sat down on his lap. Bakugo immediately tensed, like he was about to protest, but his hands instinctively grabbed you, settling on your waist.

“It’s not that bad,” you murmured, running your fingers along his jawline. “Could be worse.”

“Oh yeah? How?” he spat, though his voice had lost some of its edge.

“They could’ve made you sleep on the couch,” you replied with a light laugh, leaning in to brush your forehead against his.

Bakugo let out a low grunt, this time much less irritated, and leaned his forehead against yours. Up close, his red eyes seemed much warmer, glowing with a playful gleam.

The kisses started innocent, just small playful touches on the corners of your lips. But with Bakugo, innocence didn’t last long. His demanding mouth found yours, pulling you into a hungry kiss, full of desperate need. His tongue brushed against yours in a possessive glide, demanding your surrender, while your breaths mixed in soft pants.

His large, warm hands didn’t waste any time slipping down your back, touching you with firm, determined caresses. He grabbed you by the waist, pulling you sharply until you were sitting completely on him, his rock-solid body pressing against yours.

Bakugo let out a low growl of pleasure when his hands moved lower, shamelessly landing on your ass. He squeezed it with force, as if it was his—because to him, it was—molding the flesh between his fingers without a second thought while he continued to devour you with kisses.

“Damn...” he murmured against your lips, his voice hoarse with desire. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

His lips trailed down to your neck, leaving wet kisses and small bites that made your skin tingle. At the same time, his hands kept roaming your curves, caressing you with a dangerous mix of tenderness and barely contained hunger. Especially on your ass, which he kneaded with a devotion that made you sigh in pleasure.

Every time you shifted slightly on him, seeking more friction, Bakugo let out another approving grunt, his hands holding you even tighter, his lips claiming every inch of exposed skin as if he wanted to mark you as his.

The kisses grew more intense, spilling into desperate touches and murmurs full of desire. Your legs still over his lap, your fingers playing with the edge of his shirt while his lips found yours over and over, between soft bites and muffled laughs.

“Damn, you like teasing me.”

“Me?” you responded with fake innocence, leaving a small kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Could it be that you're just too easy?”

“I’m gonna—”

He never finished the threat. Suddenly, footsteps sounded in the hall, firm and way too close. Both of you froze, as if caught stealing in the middle of a crime scene.

Bakugo’s reaction was immediate: his face paled slightly, his eyes widened for just a second—Shit, it’s my mom!—and without thinking twice, he grabbed you by the waist and shoved you off his lap like his life depended on it.

“Hey!” you managed to complain in an urgent whisper as you fell flat on your ass with a muffled thud.

Bakugo barely threw you a warning glance, then put a finger to his lips to signal for silence. Then, like a reflex, he grabbed your arm and dragged you under his bed.

“What the hell, Bakugo!” you whispered furiously, the cramped space making you smack your forehead against one of the low bed slats.

“Shut up!” he hissed at you in a fierce whisper, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and adrenaline.

It was ridiculous: just minutes before, he had been whining about being treated like a kid... and now he was hiding you like a teenager caught breaking the rules.

"I can’t believe this... I’m a damn Pro-Hero, and I’m hiding my girlfriend like I’m fifteen," he thought, sweating cold as he heard the doorknob turn.

The door opened slowly, and who stepped in wasn’t Mitsuki—much to his relief—but his dad, Masaru Bakugo, wearing his usual calm expression.

“Katsuki,” his dad greeted, poking his head into the room without suspecting a thing. “We need to go grab a few things for tomorrow. When you’re done settling in, there’s dinner in the fridge, alright?”

Bakugo nodded stiffly, crossing his arms with all the seriousness he could muster.

“Alright…”

Masaru smiled, about to leave, but then seemed to remember something.

“Oh, and Y/n?”

For a moment, Bakugo nearly had a heart attack. Cold sweat ran down his neck. From the floor, you could see his jaw tighten, his red eyes darting quickly as he thought of an excuse.

“In the bathroom,” he blurted out quickly, as naturally as someone who lies every day.

Masaru nodded, not giving it much thought.

“Okay, see you later,” he said with a friendly wave before closing the door quietly.

Bakugo waited several seconds in complete silence. Only when he heard the footsteps fade completely did he let out the breath he had been holding.

He crouched down, lifting the mattress slightly and poking his head out toward you.

“Can I come out of hiding now, boss?” you whispered sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, but there was a slight curve at the corner of his lips, a smile he couldn’t hide even if he wanted to.

He extended his hand to help you out from under the bed, and when you were standing, you didn’t miss the chance to laugh softly.

“Weren’t you the one who didn’t want to be treated like a kid?” you teased, smug.

Bakugo snorted, crossing his arms like it would protect him from your teasing.

“Tsk! It’s not the same, damn it.” He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his cheeks still slightly flushed. “I’m not giving my mom a damn reason to lecture me all night.”

“Sure, sure…” you moved closer to him with a mischievous smile, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Still, it was cute seeing you panic.”

“I’m not cute!” he protested with a grunt, but his arms had already slid around your waist, pulling you back into him.

彡[Masterlist]彡

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

[ckret2]

it's Post Meta About Obscure Characters hour. let's talk about Scaramouche, and the Hidden Depths to his Secret Ambitions.

Canon facts:

Scaramouche is Aku's #1 (and then #3) assassin, and there's a leader board confirming that this is objectively true

Scaramouche has Aku's phone number

Aku's willing to take a collect call from Scaramouche

Scaramouche knows how to sneak into Aku's fortress

Conclusions:

Scaramouche isn't just some freelance bounty hunter; he's basically Aku's employee and regularly reports directly to him.

He probably doesn't just pick up what jobs he likes; Aku probably assigns them.

Canon facts:

Scaramouche spends several days waiting around specifically for Samurai Jack to arrive so he can kill him.

due to Scaramouche's broken phone, Aku's unaware of the outcome of this wait—if he even knew about it

Very shortly after that, Aku tells his scientists that he totally doesn't care about killing Jack anymore, and if they wanna send their giant beetle drone after him, fine, but it doesn't matter to him.

He shortly after voices the hope to his doppelganger-therapist that somebody could get rid of Jack, but he doesn't seem to know of anyone who can.

Conclusions:

if Aku can't think of anybody who can kill Jack, but also doesn't know Scaramouche lost to him—then he must already think his #1 assassin doesn't stand a chance.

so Aku didn't send Scaramouche after Jack

Scaramouche decided to kill Jack all on his own

and since Aku's shooting down offers to assassinate Jack, Scaramouche is probably lowkey defying his will to do this.

Canon fact:

when Scaramouche finds out Aku's forbidding visitors, he ignores Aku's orders to leave—twice—until he gets his attention.

Conclusion:

yeah, Scaramouche would fearlessly defy Aku's will if he thinks Aku will appreciate the results.

Canon facts:

Scaramouche has been working for Aku long enough to make it to the #1 position

yet, he's never encountered Jack before

when he decides to fight him, he burns down an entire village near Jack's location, and then waits

Conclusions:

Scaramouche has been preparing for this battle for a very long time.

He's put a lot of effort into setting things up to go perfectly, including choosing (and slaughtering) their battlefield.

Canon facts:

When Scaramouche meets Jack, he isn't anticipating the changes in his gear.

As soon as he's introduced himself, he tells Jack to whip out his magic sword.

He's very focused on that sword's status as the sole thing capable of defeating Aku—enough so that, when he learns Jack lost it, he immediately drops everything to try to tell Aku about it, and then spends the rest of the series bringing the news to Aku.

He has a tuning fork dagger that makes any (metal/stone) objects it hits explode

When Scaramouche explains how the blade works, he insists no one plays the blades like he does.

It's the sole time that he seems to fully lose his temper, in spite of the fact that at that point things are going well for him and the rest of the season is a lot more frustrating for him.

Because Jack had two blades, he was able to use the second blade's explosion against Scaramouche; but the first blade exploding took him by surprise.

Conclusions:

Scaramouche challenged Jack with one goal in mind: to destroy his sword.

He fully believes (and Aku clearly agrees) that if Jack doesn't have his sword, he's no longer a threat.

His plan was to lure Jack into battle, bait him into drawing his sword, and shatter it with his dagger.

It doesn't matter if Jack knows what the dagger can do on the second swing, if the first swing successfully destroyed its target.

Scaramouche came there perfectly prepared to take on the version of Jack he expected to meet.

He fully expected to prove that he was the better swordsman.

Even if a lost sword is good news for Aku, Scaramouche is pissed that Jack's missing sword robbed him of his chance to prove that he'd out-strategized the infamous samurai.

Conclusion to the conclusions:

That casual attitude he greets Jack with is a facade. Scaramouche spent a long time hellbent on executing the perfect plan to neutralize the threat Jack posed to Aku—even if he had to defy Aku to do it.

[mykingdomforapen]

the tree of life | 时光代理人 (Link Click)

Summary:

“Stop it,” Lu Guang said hoarsely. “You’re just being cruel now. Cheng Xiaoshi is dead.” “That is what you know,” said the owl. “But what do you understand?”

Excerpt:

The day before Cheng Xiaoshi died, he flung himself onto the sofa on which Lu Guang sat reading. His eyes were crinkled with mischief and life.

“Can I tell you a story?” he asked.

Lu Guang, who was deeply entrenched in another, more sophisticated story, grunted.

“Does it have to be now?” he asked.

Cheng Xiaoshi sprung himself onto his knees, his arms folded over the top of the sofa like a dog looking over the window in wait of its owner.

“It’ll be short,” he said. “I promise!”

Cheng Xiaoshi’s stories were never short. He habitually lost track of his own plot midway through a sentence, wandering to whatever shiny thought caught his interest instead, before remembering the point. Lu Guang was in the thick of the novel’s climax, and he could feel an emotional catharsis working its way to the surface in only a matter of pages.

“Save it,” Lu Guang said. He squinted at the page. “I’m busy right now.”

“Tch!” Cheng Xiaoshi poked him hard on the cheek, to which Lu Guang scowled. “Fine, fine, whatever. When will you be done?”

“Never, if you keep talking.”

Lu Guang made a show of turning the page, even though he had absorbed next to nothing of its contents.

Cheng Xiaoshi hummed. He rested his cheek against his folded arms, his eyebrows arching as he craned to look over Lu Guang’s shoulder to the book he was reading. Lu Guang narrowed his eyes in an attempt to narrow his attention, which was difficult when Cheng Xiaoshi’s presence, much like a noontime sun, hung over everything.

“It’s just,” Cheng Xiaoshi piped up. “I was just thinking, about that one time when you were showing me this one book you loved. This is so random, okay, so–I was upstairs looking for one of my hats but I found that book, right? So do you remember when I was sick and–?”

“Cheng Xiaoshi,” Lu Guang said testily.

Cheng Xiaoshi scowled, clearly believing that he could have gotten away with it.

“Okay, okay!” he said. “Just–don’t forget to remind me to tell you, okay?”

“Fine, fine,” Lu Guang said hurriedly. “Just give me an hour or so.”

Cheng Xiaoshi slithered off the sofa and distracted himself with scurrying over to Qiao Ling’s. Now that the photo studio was blessedly quiet, Lu Guang buried his nose into the rest of his novel with veracity.

The climax was all-consuming, and it startled Lu Guang with its metaphors and meaning. He was left in its haze for hours, and outlined the anatomy of its auteurship aloud with intensity during dinner, when Cheng Xiaoshi asked what was so interesting about it. He had not remembered his promise to remind Cheng Xiaoshi to tell him what had been on his mind until late at night, when Cheng Xiaoshi was already mumbling in his sleep in the bunk below.

Tomorrow, Lu Guang thought to himself as he settled into his sleep. I’ll ask him tomorrow what it was he wanted to tell me.

And then the car struck.

Read More

[axescryinwater]

Hi! I had this idea and thought you might be the perfect person to bring it to life: a Bucky Barnes x Reader fic where Reader finds an old journal of Bucky’s from his early post Winter Soldier recovery days. She reads it without meaning to at first, but what she finds inside is raw and heartbreaking. stuff he never talks about. Maybe they’ve been growing distant lately, and this gives her a look into just how much he’s been struggling. Would love if it ends with her wanting to comfort him but him not being ready to let her in yet. Quiet, emotional tension, please!

I READ YOUR DIARY EVERY LINE.

it starts with dust. not metaphorical, just actual dust.

you’re cleaning. or pretending to. rearranging the living room like that’s gonna fix the silence that’s been creeping in between you and bucky like fog under the door. you’ve been feeling it for weeks now. how he’s been moving quieter, speaking less, disappearing into rooms with the kind of stillness that makes it hard to follow. you don’t even remember the last time he touched you without pulling back like his hands burned after.

so, yeah. you’re cleaning. touching all his stuff like you’re trying to find a thread back to him. and then a book falls. black. beat up. spiral bound, barely hanging on. it looks like it’s been shoved there on purpose—stuffed behind old war books and a mug you’re pretty sure he stole from a hotel in zurich. you almost leave it. almost. but then you see the corner of a folded photo sticking out from between the pages. and your name, just a sliver of it, so you sit. floor cold against your legs, journal in your lap, breath a little too tight. you tell yourself you’re just gonna peek. just a glance.

but it’s not that simple. because the first thing you read feels like walking in on someone mid nightmare, mid prayer, mid– something holy and bleeding.

“it’s been 2,190 days since she stopped calling me asset. i still don’t feel like a person.”

the handwriting’s rough. not messy, just tired. you can feel it in the way the letters lean too hard in places, press too deep in others. like he needed to write it down or it would claw its way out some other way.

“i keep dreaming about the way the metal felt when it was first fused to me. like i was being welded shut.”

you shift. knees pulled up now. the room’s gone quiet in that specific way that makes you feel like the walls are listening.

“sometimes i think about running. not because i want to leave, but because i don’t want to rot here. it feels like i’m leaking poison into the lives of people who love me. like i’ll never stop being dangerous.”

you swallow. the last few months fall into place, a soft collapsing. all the nights he stood outside on the fire escape, just watching the sky. the mornings he’d say he was fine but his voice would crack on the i. the way he stopped playing music in the apartment. stopped sitting beside you on the couch. stopped falling asleep beside you, slowly replacing your shared bed with the cold of the guest room. your eyes burn but you keep reading.

“she touches me like i’m breakable. looks at me like i’m something to fix. i don’t know how to be held without feeling like an apology.”

you don’t even realize you’re crying until the page blurs. until the paper soaks a little beneath your fingertips. and you hate that he felt like this. that he couldn’t tell you. that you didn’t see it sooner. that he had to carve this into paper in the middle of the night instead of speaking it out loud to someone who would’ve dropped everything just to hold his face and remind him he's still here. still human. still loved.

there’s one more entry. dated a week ago.

“she asked if i wanted to go out tonight. i told her i was tired. the truth is, i didn’t want to be seen. some days i still feel like a weapon pretending to be a man. and i think if she ever looked too close, she'd see right through me.”

you close the journal. you sit with it in your lap for a long while. the kind of long that makes the afternoon light shift across the floor like slow, golden water. you don’t say anything when you hear the door open. keys hitting the bowl. footsteps slow.

he sees you before he says anything. standing in the doorway to the living room, hand still on the frame, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed in. his eyes drop to the journal in your hands. they stay there. his mouth twitches. not quite a flinch. not quite anything. "you read it," he says, voice low. not accusing. just… accepting. you nod. barely.

he closes his eyes. presses his lips together like he’s swallowing something sharp.

"i didn’t mean for you to see that."

“i know,” you say. voice softer than it’s ever been. “i didn’t mean to find it.”

the silence that follows isn’t empty. it’s full of everything you don’t say. everything he can’t. he walks past you. sits down on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. you want to go to him. every cell in your body wants to close the space. to curl up beside him and press your forehead to his shoulder and tell him he’s not too broken to be loved. not too sharp to be touched. but you don’t. you sit down a few feet away. not touching. not even looking directly at him. just… near. a presence. a quiet offering.

“i didn’t know,” you whisper.

his voice cracks when he says, “i didn’t want you to.”

and there it is. the heart of it. he’s not ready. maybe he never will be. but he’s here and so are you.

the room is dim now. soft golden light painting the walls. somewhere down the hall, a floorboard creaks as the house settles around you. the air smells like dust and the last bit of coffee he made this morning.

you don’t speak again. you just sit. two people in the quiet. the kind of quiet that aches and comforts at the same time. maybe this is love, too. not the easy parts. just the staying.

a/n: luv this req. i literally just need to hug him omg... also sorry this is terribly written i was almost blackout drunk when writing it

[countlessmoviethoughts]

Ok, I’ve been thinking about this for a bit, but consider:

Slow Horses where everything is the same, but they have a cat.

Sid finds a cat on her way into Slough House sometime before the start of the show. It’s this scrawny orange cat, probably little less than a year old, so not really a kitten that needs its mom or anything but definitely not full grown. It looks picked on, Yknow, ear has cuts, probably a few claw marks here and there, and for a moment it reminds her so much of River she has to at least show him the cat so she can laugh at his reaction or something. So she does the perfectly reasonable thing of picking up a random cat off the street and brings it to work.

She shows the cat to River who does the whole ‘Ha ha not funny’ bit, but walking through London with this random cat in her coat, she’s become attached. So she decides it’s going to stay at Slough House, much to everyone’s delight (not). She goes out on a coffee break later (her second or third of the day) and gets the basic supplies, and probably a few toys, and sets them up in various places around the office.

Standish is probably the most excited about all this, and the cat absolutely ADORES her. After Sid disappears (? Is that the right word for what happens?) Standish is the main one who cares for the cat. Occasionally, before she leaves, it would follow her around, curling around her ankles when she stands to do her tasks. Once she leaves, on her very occasional visits to Slough House, the cat is stuck to her like glue until she leaves.

A good half of the house think Lamb doesn’t know there’s even a cat, but he’s aware almost as soon as Sid introduces it into Slough House. He just kinda doesn’t care? Except when Standish leaves, he’s kind of the only one keeping the cat alive aside from River. The others try, but none of them have ever really had a cat, so every once in a while when everyone is running around or if someone gets the wrong type of food, a can of the most basic can of cat food mysteriously shows up open near the cat’s food bowl.

River is the dad that didn’t want the cat but then gets super attached. At first he’s very much less than impressed by the cat’s presence. He slowly warms up to the idea, but it really isn’t until after Sid’s gone that he gets attached. After her, if the cat isn’t with Standish, odds are it’s at River’s desk. He won’t necessarily play with the cat outright unless he’s REALLY bored or has something he REALLY doesn’t want to do, but if a toy falls by his foot he’ll kick it a little so the cat can keep playing. Or if the cat comes and sits on his desk he’ll give it a scratch on the head. After a particularly long day, if River is feeling particularly shitty, he’s also not opposed to the cat curling up on his lap for a while for him to pet, it takes his mind off things. After Sid and Standish, he’s the one that takes the most care of the cat.

Louisa tolerates that cat well enough. She thinks it definitely has its uses, she’s seen it take out a mouse or two, and after spending a good couple years in Slough House it knows not to get under foot. If she’s by River’s desk and the cat is there, she’s not opposed to giving it a couple pets as they talk. Min LOVES the cat, like he absolutely loves having it around and out of all the Slow Horses is the one that most actively played with the cat. That love has definitely rubbed of on Louisa just a touch.

Marcus also loves the cat, and gets a lot of entertainment out of a laser pointer. Him and Shirley are the two that try their best to take care of the cat when Standish leaves and River is gone for long periods of time, but while they mean well, they know absolutely nothing about cats. Shirley likes to pretend she’s indifferent about the cat, but she really isn’t. She wouldn’t be trying so hard (and by trying so hard I mean buying a can of straight up sardines over cat food but cats eat fish so it should be fine right?) When Marcus is killed in the house, before the bodies are collected, the cat comes out and just sorta… sits with him, until the people come to take his body away.

For Moira’s short stay at Slough House, she ignores the cat and the cat ignores her. The cat and Coe seemingly have a mutual understanding of not bothering each other. If they cross paths they may look at each other for a few seconds, and then immediately move on.

Roddy hates that cat. The feeling is mutual.

The cat never actually gets an official name, it just kinda becomes ‘The Cat’. Standish tries a couple names but they never stick, and the fact they don’t actually know the gender or anything of the cat probably plays a factor in that. If the cat ever gets seriously injured or ill they’ll probably find out at the vet, but until then they don’t really have the money nor do they care enough to take it into the vet to figure it out. Roddy has a couple choice nicknames for the cat, starting with ‘Ginger Devil’ and getting progressively more vulgar from there.

The cat usually stays at Slough House at night, locked in. It becomes a habit that someone fills the water, either Standish, or River, or Marcus, or Shirley, or even Lamb if all the others fail. Taking care of the cat falls into generic tasks/chores that need to be fulfilled on the daily so despite the general mess that Slough House can be, it’s actually a fairly well taken care of cat. Nobody outside of Slough House really know of its existence, the people at The Park couldn’t care less about what they do over there for the most part, and if anyone from there decides to visit the cat is always miraculously not around. Same thing happens with intruders. Whenever someone breaks in, the cat is long gone, and only emerges from whatever hiding space it’s been holed up in after everything has settled.

The cat becomes a staple of the building in the end, fairly well taken care of, at least as best taken care of as it can be by a group of disgraced spies, but it seems like it’s here to stay.

To anyone who read this far, hope you enjoy, this has been bouncing around in my head for the past couple days…

[no1blacksapphirefan]

Henlooo! I’m a new anon and this is a first time request of mine. I read your Self-Aware AU of the cookies being worried that the player was gone for a day or two— but what if its far longer than that? Like, due to storage or their device got broken/lost, if you want to touch something much darker than that then its up-to you! (I’m an angsty person today, I’m sorry TvT)

I asked cause: I’m soo up to date with information from CR:K but I genuinely can’t play it because of my storage. Last time I played was about 3-5 years ago— SO LONG I KNOW so the idea that they’re self-aware made me sad that I can’t play until I get a better device for the game 💔

And, if you do write this request, I will say thank you so much! I loovveee your Black Sapphire, Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk portrayals— I sometimes even read White Lily’s but I think of those once as a sibling thing, hehe. Anywho! I hope you’re doing amazing and I hope this isn’t a big ask TT

-🐆🍊(May I take these emojis?)

Course you can take those emojis :33

I'm glad you all like my work ^^ For me as I keep leaving and coming back to CRK (mainly cuz of storage as well) it is a bit entertaining. It's even funnier cuz the reason I joined again most recently was Black Sapphire and I was gonna delete the game again once I got him. But ended up staying, kinda funny to think about how the cookies would think if I did go through and delete after getting him.

Pure Vanilla Oh? Oh! Oh my witches you're back?? It's been- actually he doesn't want to think about it. He missed you so much, you've been gone for years. He knows you don't realise but seeing you again makes him so much happy. Perhaps you've changed your looks? Or you stayed the same about, doesn't matter to him. He thinks you look just as pretty as when he first met you...well when he first learnt he was in a game and saw who has been controlling everything.

Dark Cacao He acts as if he doesn't care, he does. And it's not that he isn't relieved to see that you're okay, he just...doesn't know how to express it. He wants to show you he's so happy to see you again. He just can't right now, but the other cookies can tell he's less tense than he was when you left all those time ago. You seem fine, and that's what matters (unless you joined back when sick/injured, then he's gonna worry a lot)

HollyBerry She's planned for this day!! Yet, when she finally sees you again after all this time, the plans she had in her head to make sure your welcome back was warm and filled with delight (yet still keeping it a secret she knows, she doesn't want to freak you out and delete the game again, she just got you back!) just go missing in her brain. Forgotten almost, it truly has been a long time, and despite all the planning. Just seeing you here and okay is enough to make her forget. (She'll remember when you log off for the day and quickly make her preparations before you log in again.

Clotted Cream He didn't notice at first, I mean. He couldn't shake off the feeling that something important happened but he brushed it off. That is until Financier cookie came in and informed him. Pausing for a bit he quickly put down his things to go see you, go back to the kingdom you've created and sure enough you were there. Humming to yourself as you figured out what new things have been added since you left. As if you haven't left. He is a tiny bit salty you seem care-free, but he knows you likely had your reasons, plus you wouldn't have known how much your disappearance affected him. Besides, he doesn't know the reason why you had to leave, so he doesn't hold it against you.

Lilac Cookie He stays calm upon your arrival, even when you log off. He keeps his feelings of joy and relief inside. Truly he's happy to see you again, it doesn't matter if you likely won't use him again because, as far as he recalls, he isn't exactly the best for most things in the game currently. He doesn't mind, you could dislike him for all he cares, but he still cares about you. And seeing you (hopefully) healthy and happy makes him more calmer then he was before, he won't admit it but your disappearance made him just a tiny bit uneasy, especially if he never heard you state your reasoning. He's willing to wait, even if you leave again and come back for double the time you left previously. He'll be waiting, patiently.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Hero Kidnaps Villain Part 19

Warnings: nasty panic attack, mind conditioning/brainwashing, forced obedience training, mentions of torture

But he really needed to rest after today to recover both mentally and physically, so he allowed himself a break. As long as he didn't fully fall asleep, he'd be fine.

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

Villain instantly snapped to alertness when he heard the distinct sound of something hitting wood -- exactly twice, like someone knocking on a door.

Crap. He fell asleep, didn't he? And Superhero was about to come in and find him not yet properly kneeling for the brutal daily training session and he'd be so furious and--

He distantly noted that the sound was slightly different this time -- that it didn't match with Superhero's cane tapping the floor twice to announce his presence -- but that didn't matter. Two taps meant kneel and surrender and obey, no matter how the message was given to him. Surely this was a test to make sure the training held up even if the cane itself wasn't present.

The cat he'd fallen asleep next to was gone. Of course it had only been a dream; he was back at Agency, trapped in a living nightmare…

Villain's body was already in motion, acting on autopilot as he instinctively scrambled to sit up on the bed and kneel with head bowed submissively like the good dog he was.

But the chain attached the cuff on his one wrist to the headboard was too short for him to kneel properly, and that's when he truly began to panic, the familiar terror seizing him in its vise-like grip. Because this meant he physically couldn't follow his conditioning, not with how he was currently restrained to the bed. He'd fail the test and it wasn't even his fault -- surely now he'd be killed for not being good enough...

"Nonononono--" Villain's breaths came fast and shallow as he struggled against the leather-padded cuff on his wrist, straining against it with everything he had until he was sure he'd dislocate the joint or rip his hand clean off in his desperate attempt to kneel like he was supposed to. But the door to his prison was already creaking open -- it was too late to find a solution; Superhero was arriving to beat Villain and torture him for failing the impossible task he'd been given today.

But Villain could at least try his best. So he tucked his legs under him and sat on them in an attempt at showing a proper kneel, hunching over himself with head bowed to his chest and facing the opening door like he was trained, awaiting his punishment.

His left arm was stretched to the side, the chain attached to his wrist pulled tight with no slack as he awkwardly struggled to hold his position and not collapse out of it from exhaustion or pain at the stress and strain of staying like this for awhile. He was still physically weak from his time at Agency, and the cuff on his wrist didn't help his situation at all when it made it so he couldn't bring himself into a full, perfect kneeling state.

Villain knew Superhero never punished him for crying, and it was all he had left to cope and release the stress, so he broke down sobbing the instant footsteps entered the bedroom he was trapped in. At least he was still allowed to cry. It was such a human reflex in him he didn't think he could manage it if he wasn’t allowed to even cry when the pain became unbearable or he'd reached his breaking point.

“B-Be obedient. Listen to instructions. Do not resist. Do not fight back," he recited robotically, trembling and crying inconsolably.

"I'm sorry I can't kneel for you -- the cuff is preventing me from doing so. I swear I'm trying to, though! I really am!" He practically wailed, begging for his captor to believe him, not daring to look up at the person coming over to him. He kept his head bowed, ready for the inevitable punishment.

Well, he was never truly ready for the punishment, he just… accepted that it was coming and braced for impact.

"Villain... what are you doing?"

Villain flinched. That... wasn't the voice he was expecting. The groggy, disorienting effect of sleep was slowly wearing off, and then he remembered whose house he was in. Hero. It was real. He wasn't at Agency.

Geez, what was wrong with him? The sound he'd heard wasn't Superhero's cane tapping the floor of his cell -- it was literally just Hero knocking politely on the bedroom door before coming in, and it had shattered him in an instant.

His face reddened with embarrassment, mixed with the slight hope that maybe this was still what Hero wanted, as his new captor? Maybe he was still doing it right by kneeling when she came in? It would certainly make him feel less stupid for his panicked reaction.

After all, Hero hadn't given him any new rules yet. So it should be safe to assume that his old rules given to him by Superhero were still valid... right?

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @written-in-the-stars135 @neverthelass

@starz8nk @redwinesupanover @whumpisgoodwhumpislife @theforeverdyingperson @writing-with-olive

@f1sh-bone @basica11ywhumped

[christopherisfoive]

Hello can I request a hyunjin prompt 6 and 14. Also be ready to see me a lot in your request because these prompts are amazing.😏

Hi jinnieboosworld ☕️—your Prompt 6 + 14 latte is ready! Love that you’ll be dropping by often; the creative bar is always open and stocked for you. See you for the next round!

Backstage Static Hyunjin × Reader | Prompt #6 + #14 | K-Pop backstage AU | Enemies → Lovers spark

You shove the dressing-room door, but the antique handle only rattles like loose teeth. Great—locked in with Hwang Hyunjin on the biggest broadcast night of the quarter. Somewhere beyond the walls, staff sprint and walkie-talkies squeal; in here, the air is all humming fluorescents and the scent of fresh hairspray.

Hyunjin paces behind you, jacket half-zipped, blond fringe in disarray. “Did you do something to the latch, Director Y/N?”

You whirl, clipboard clutched like a shield. “Right, because sabotaging my own live show is exactly the promotion I’m after.”

His laugh is low, edged. “You did insist on trimming eight counts from my freestyle. Maybe karma’s punctual.”

You glare. Three weeks ago you arrived as the music show’s new performance director—tasked with shaving seconds, refining lines, bruising egos. Hyunjin, golden boy of the lineup, met every note with a smirk and a muttered “Try keeping up.” He’s brilliant; he knows it; you hate that he still hits his marks after rolling his eyes.

Now a dressing room hardly bigger than a props closet holds two clothing racks, one couch, zero exits. Your comm radio blinks a dead-battery apology from the vanity. Outside, footsteps fade. The show starts in forty minutes.

Heat blooms as the AC sputters its last breath. Hyunjin shrugs off his jacket, the motion carving definition beneath a thin black tee. You focus on the floor. “Save the striptease,” you mutter. “I need your set list.”

He tosses the folded paper; it lands at your feet. “Memorized. Unlike some people, I respect a plan.”

“Memorizing and following aren’t synonyms.”

He huffs, drops onto the couch, legs splayed like a bored cat. “Fine. While we’re stuck, give me the director’s grand critique.”

You should refuse. Instead you recount camera angles he always misses, the shoulder lift that steals from the lyric’s downbeat. He fires back, dissecting the way your blocking ignores narrative tension. The volley sharpens, then—somewhere between “charisma isn’t the same as clarity” and “your precious counts flatten emotion”—laughter breaks loose. It surprises you both, echoing off the mirrors.

“I’ll trade you,” he says, dimples flashing. “I fix the shoulder, you let me extend the spin into a full eight.”

“Six,” you counter.

“Seven.”

“Deal.”

Silence settles, not uncomfortable this time. He studies you through the mirror. “Why’d you really cut the freestyle? Management pressure?”

You swallow. Confession tastes like stale coffee. “Pressure to prove I’m not a fan with a clipboard. If the segment drags, ratings dip, my name’s on the line.”

Something in his expression softens—a shutter clicked open. “I thought it was personal.”

“It was professional,” you say, softer. “Mostly.”

He stands, closes the distance until the fluorescents crown his hair with a halo you refuse to admire. Up close, cedar and stage sweat blur into something heady.

Funny how quiet gets loud.

His fingers brush yours as he reaches for the lone water bottle on the vanity. Static zips up your arm. You snatch it first, just to breathe. “Thirsty dancers need hydration,” you say.

“So do overworked directors.” His hand remains over yours. Neither of you lets go.

Somewhere in the corridor, breakers trip. The lights snap off, replaced by emergency reds that paint everything desire-dark. Your pulse seems to sync with the distant bass check.

Hyunjin’s voice is a whisper meant for no microphones. “For what it’s worth, I pushed back because I respect you.” He hesitates, then lets the words fall. “And because fighting with you is the most awake I’ve felt all season.”

Your laugh stutters out, half-shock, half-agreement. “You’re impossible.”

“Yet here we are.”

He reaches up, tucks a strand behind your ear—the age-old cliché somehow brand-new at arm’s length. His knuckles trail heat across your jaw, and you lean before pride can haul you back. He kisses like a live wire: tentative spark, then full current. Your clipboard clatters; his hands cage your hips against the door that once defied you both.

You tug his shirt, feeling abs flex beneath cotton, taste peppermint on his tongue, remember in a dim corner that there’s still a show. Breathless, you break away, foreheads touching. “Stage in twenty-five.”

He grins wolfish. “Plenty of time if you stop arguing.”

Somewhere overhead, metal thuds and the latch unsticks. A maintenance tech swings the door open, eyes widening at two flushed, tousled professionals standing a hair apart.

“Uh—camera rehearsal,” Hyunjin says smoothly, straightening his shirt. You grab your clipboard, nod like that explains everything.

Backstage bustle swallows you. Onstage lights flare. From the wings you watch him dance, every line razor-perfect, every camera mark dead-center, the seven-count spin landing like a victory. Mid-routine he finds your gaze, grin slicing through strobes—a private encore.

The crowd roars. You clap, surprised at the warmth flooding your chest. Rivalry, it seems, can double as ignition.

After final bows he appears at your side, hair damp, smile reckless. “Director, tomorrow’s blocking session… should we test another door?”

You arch a brow, fighting a grin. “Only if the latch is reliable.”

He twirls a backstage keycard around his finger. “Trust me, Sweet Bean,” he murmurs, borrowing the café nickname crew teased you with, “I’m excellent at encores.”

You’re not sure whether you want to roll your eyes or kiss him again. Maybe both. For once, you skip the argument and signal toward the darkened corridor.

“Rehearsal room’s that way,” you say, already walking.

His answering chuckle, low and pleased, follows close—like a downbeat ready to drop.

[bellysoupset]

A much needed talk

This one is not a mini fic! And I recommend the Jon/Leo lovers read it 😘

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

"I gave it some thought," Jonah said and Leo, who hadn't been paying attention to whatever his fiancé was blabbing about, frowned and pulled him closer. Jonah happily sat down on his lap, sideways so he could still get a good look at Leo's face as he went on to finish his sentence, "Beatrice if its a girl-" he kissed Leo, "and Henry if its a boy."

Leo only stared at him, brain giving him the blue-screen, not computing at all the sentence.

"You don't like it?" Jonah pouted, wrinkling his nose in a way that told Leo that this was certainly a hill he'd die on.

"Are those- Uhm, what?" Leo blinked quickly, trying to situate himself. The logical and only conclusion was that those were baby names.

"For the future," Jonah explained, slightly annoyed he had to repeat himself since clearly Leo hadn't paid attention before, "our future children."

Leo was aware that Jonah liked kids. He was always a mushy mess about his, very rare and sparse, young patients and he had witnessed Jonah melt like butter around Livia, Vince's little sister.

But there was an ocean's distance between liking children and wanting them.

Leo's face felt fuzzy and he was aware he had stopped breathing, because there was a tight squeeze deep in his chest, "no, I don't- No," he shook his head, vehemently, and pushed Jonah off his lap, "no."

"No?" Jonah moved away so he was sitting on the couch, watching with raised eyebrows as Leo got up and started to pace like a caged tiger, "what do you mean no, you don't like the names-"

"No," Leo tugged on the roots of his hair, feeling like his day was ruined. Hell, his month, his year. It shouldn't be causing him to panic this badly, but it was, because this certainly was a conversation that he didn't think they'd ever need to have. He thought they were on the same page about this issue, otherwise he wouldn't have waited until they had a fucking wedding date already to notify Jonah that he wanted nothing to do with children.

And now it was too fucking late and he felt like everything was about to crumble apart, because Jonah had that firm look of his that told Leo he was dead serious about this matter and this wasn't- It wasn't-

"Love, look at me," Jonah's hands were on his face, patting his cheeks, "Leo. Breathe, you're not breathing."

Leo sucked in air, greedily and almost wheezing, then crumpled forward with a coughing fit, hands braced against his knees as his head swayed. He stumbled and Jonah's hand wrapped tightly around his bicep, guiding Leo to sit down on the armchair across the couch, rubbing his back up and down as Leo continued to cough and splutter for air.

"Well, that was dramatic," Jonah teased him, as soon as Leo's breathing eased and he was folded in the middle, face buried in his hands and taking deep, steadying breaths, "what the hell happened?"

"I don't- I don't want children," his voice was hoarse, shot from all the couching, and barely above a whisper. Leo tentatively lifted up his head, already dreading looking at Jon, "I don't."

He half expected, hoped, that his brain was playing tricks on him and playing up the situation. That Jon was going to shrug and tell him that was fine and move on from the issue, but instead Jonah's lopsided smirk vanished and his whole face fell.

Yeah, he had read that right from the get go.

"Pardon me?" the english accent that rarely bled over, suddenly extremely noticeable as Jonah moved from his crouched down position next to the armchair so he could sit on their coffee table, terribly serious.

"I don't want children," Leo repeated, feeling dangerously close to tears, "I didn't think- I didn't think you wanted them either, I was sure we both didn't-" it wasn't meant to turn into him explaining himself, half apologizing for not breaching the subject earlier, but it was just that, "are you- Are you serious?" he felt clammy and queasy before Jon even answered.

"Yes, I'm serious," there was no emotion on his voice, not anger or annoyance, but no warmth either, "obviously not now, I think we should enjoy our married life first, but not much further in the future either. I don't want to be a geriatric father, I want to enjoy their childhood."

He could just see it, very clearly, exactly what Jonah was telling him. In his thoughts the kid looked like Livia because that was all imagery his brain had to feed him, arms wrapped around Jon's neck and him giggling with her as Leo had watched in Sicily.

He should've known.

"Why don't you want them?" Jonah's question took him by surprise and Leo shrugged, shaking his head.

"I have never- I don't-" there were multiple reasons and none of them sounded believable to his ears or good enough, "I don't know, I just don't."

Jon's jaw locked, lips pressed into a thin line, "alright," he rubbed a hand over his face, the first gesture that betrayed how distraught he was too and Leo latched onto it, "I- I think you have to think on it and then we can talk. If you're just-" his voice caught and he cleared his throat, avoiding Leo's eyes, "if you're just scared, we can work through it. It wouldn't be immediate anyways, it's not like we can get pregnant by accident... But if- If you're serious... I'm serious too, Leo. I want this- I don't think it'd make sense for us to-"

He was stumbling all over his words now and Leo's stomach squeezed even more. Jonah didn't stutter or get nervous, not unless it was incredibly close to his heart.

"It wouldn't make sense for us to be together...?" he questioned in a little voice, eyes prickling, "Jonah, please-" he was not above begging, but it was pointless. Jon was adamant, eyes meeting his and they were teary eyed, but serious.

"I love you," he said, sniffling and closing and hand his fist as if trying to rein in emotion, "I do, Leo, and there's no one I'd want this with, but you-"

"But...?" he was going to die, Leo thought, a vicious grip around his lungs.

Jonah sniffled again, "but I won't force you into this," he gulped down, "I need you to figure out what you want. And if it's actually not ever having kids, then-"

Then they'd break off the engagement.

Leo's whole body deflated as he fell boneless against the armchair, realizing it wasn't an argument or even an ultimatum, it was simple reality. One of those decisions where it mattered if they thought differently from each other, it mattered a whole fucking lot.

"Where- Where are you going...?" Leo's brain was struggling to keep up with the influx of sadness drowning him, so he took a minute to realize Jonah had gotten up from the coffee table and was walking back to their room, "Jon-" he got up to follow him.

"I think we need to be apart, a little," Jonah didn't sound angry, just defeated as he grabbed a suitcase inside their closet and planted it on the bed, "just to think."

"We can think here," Leo tugged on his sleeve, "please don't leave, I'm-"

"No, Leo, no," Jonah turned around, taking his hands on his, impossibly soft, which was worse. Leo would much rather take annoyance and anger, but not this defeated calm, "we're not breaking up, okay? Or on time out, or fighting, but you need to think this through. Really think it, not because I want it, not because I'm sad about it, I need you to be clear where you stand on this, then we can figure things out."

Leo didn't realize he was openly crying until Jonah wiped at his cheek, brushing the tears away, "where- Where are you going...?" he whimpered, clutching the sleeves of Jon's sweater and not wanting to let go. Two hours before he had been on cloud nine marrying the man of his dreams and now it was crashing down so quickly and swiftly, Leo didn't know what to do with himself. He wanted it to be an argument, a fight, anything where he could fight for them.

"I'm going to Wendy's," Jonah leaned in, pulling Leo into a tight hug and rubbing his back, although now the blonde could tell he was shaking too, "just- Just for..." his voice was all choked up, "I don't want- You're not gonna do anything stupid, okay? We're not breaking up."

Yet.

Leo hugged him back just as tightly, "but we- We-" we will, he wanted to say, but couldn't finish his sentence, more blubbering sobs coming up instead.

"I'm going to- To text you when I get to Wen's," Jonah sniffled, pulling back, whole face a shade darker as he was straight up crying now.

"What happens if I say-"

Jon zipped up his bag, then sat down on the edge of the bed and bawled. None of the little squeezed tears he had been trying to hold back, but face hid against his hands and shoulders shaking, wailing.

Leo's heart broke into a million little pieces and he moved forward, sitting next to him and wrapping an arm around Jon's back, pulling his boyfriend to him.

"Okay," he whispered, panic taking the back burner as comforting Jon took over, "that's okay, angel, we'll figure this out."