#gray and white throw blanket

[danda-bear]

Contemporary Kids - Kids Room Ideas for a mid-sized contemporary boy's room renovation with a dark wood floor and a brown floor and white walls

[totheexperts]

Master in Orange County Bedroom - mid-sized modern master medium tone wood floor and gray floor bedroom idea with gray walls, a metal fireplace and a ribbon fireplace

[venidel]

Bedroom Atlanta Image of a medium-sized transitional master bedroom with a beige floor and carpeting but no fireplace

[aquarius-johnny]

“totally platonic” | johnny suh

𝜗𝜚 genre: smut | wc: 6.6k | au: friends to lovers 𝜗𝜚 pairing: bestfriend! johnny x afab! reader 𝜗𝜚 warnings: soft dom johnny, virgin reader, banter, hickies, oral (m + f receiving), dirty talk, cum play, cervix kissing, p in v, checking in, unprotected sex, praising, pulling out, multiple orgasms, creampie, aftercare, confessions, missionary, doggy, other names included for writing purposes, other members mentioned (mark, doyoung) 𝜗𝜚 summary: you’re nearing your thirties and still a virgin. johnny, your best friend and only person who knows about your secret, offers to take your virginity seeing how much its bothering you — but it’s all platonic, duh! 𝜗𝜚 aimee's thoughts 💭 : no thoughts, just a horny smut. added a bonus scene for some fluff at the end. requested by anonymous 𐙚

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── FRIDAY, 10:38 PM

A familiar text tone designated to your best friend is heard as you sulk in bed.

Johnny🌻: I’m outside, open the door. You: Use the spare key I gave you. I’m in my room.

In less than a minute, your bedroom door slowly opens and your room’s overhead lights turn on, temporarily blinding you for a second before you throw your blanket over your head. The brightness abruptly dims before the only light source comes from your side table lamp.

“You didn’t make it to the monthly dinner,” Johnny lets out as you feel a dip in your mattress. “Everyone was worried and wondered if you were okay.”

You uncover your head from your blanket. Looking up at the man sitting on your bed, you wrinkle your nose in slight disgust. “Ew, you’re on my bed with outside clothes,” you roll your eyes before softly giggling at him.

Johnny laughs, lowering his head in defeat. He stands up and strips himself from his beige sweater and jeans, leaving him in nothing but his white t-shirt and gray underwear. He lays on your bed, turning his body to face you. He slides a pillow under his head and his arm sandwiched between your mattress and the cold side of the pillow.

You place another pillow over his waist, helping him cover his lower half. “You could’ve left your pants on, perv.” You tease, shifting your body to mimic his position.

“Oh shut up. It’s nothing new,” he smiles. “You’ve seen me half naked before.”

You give him a small smile after hearing his words before changing the subject. “What’re you doing here?” You ask, pulling your blanket higher up your body.

“I came to make sure you’re okay.” He presses the backside of his hand against your forehead. “Are you sick? You said you weren’t feeling well.”

Shaking your head, you gently push his hand away. “I just didn’t feel like going to dinner with everyone.” You softly admit, trying to sound nonchalant.

“We both know that’s a lie. You always look forward to our monthly dinners with our friends. What’s wrong?” He looks at you with concern. “You can tell me.”

“Whenever I’m around them, I’m somehow reminded that I’m the only virgin of the group,” you sigh.

“Ah,” he nods in understanding. “I see your v-card is still bothering you.”

“I’m nearly 30, Johnny. I haven’t had sex yet and it’s starting to mess with my life plans. My virginity isn’t even something I hold close to me, sex just hasn’t happened with me.”

“You could always hook up with randos.”

“You know that I’m not into that.” You scoff. “I’ve always wanted to lose it to someone I feel safe with.”

Johnny moves his body closer to you. “There are a lot of people who are still virgins at your age.” He tries to comfort you. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is to me.” You sigh in defeat, covering your face with your hands in frustration. “Maybe I should just run away and become a nun.”

Johnny chuckles at your dramatic statement, gently moving your hands from your face.

“It’s not funny,” you groan before a small laugh involuntarily leaves your lips too. “Please don’t tell anyone why I didn’t come tonight.”

“Hey, I’ve kept your virginity a secret for a long time now. One more can’t hurt.” He lifts his hand to stroke your cheek with the pad of his thumb before pulling away and clearing his throat. “So you just laid here and felt sorry for yourself?”

You give him a death glare, displeased with how he worded your actions even though it really was what you did while him and your group of mutual friends were having dinner.

“Did you have fun tonight?” You ask, changing the subject.

“It’s never fun without you.” He flashes a cheeky smile at you, earning him a giggle from you in response. “It’s the same thing every month. You didn’t miss much.”

You nod your head at his words, allowing silence to fill the air for a minute.

“Hey,” he softly lets out, catching your attention once more. “You trust me, right? Like you feel safe around me?” Johnny hesitantly questions.

“Of course,” you let out a half hearted laugh. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, I can see how much your situation bothers you. So, I was thinking,” he pauses. “And this is just a thought.” He lightly chuckles, attempting to keep the mood light. “If you’re really upset about still being a virgin, why don’t we…” he trails off.

Your brows raise in surprise. Your lips parting upon hearing his words. “Oh, uh, you and me,” you stammer. “Having sex?” You slowly finish his thought.

“Yeah, I mean,” he shifts uncomfortably. “You said you wanted to do it with someone you feel safe with and you just said you feel safe with me, so why don’t we — why don’t I help you, so you don’t feel like this again?”

You fall quiet for a moment, thoroughly thinking through his words as you sit up in bed and pulling your knees to your chest. “Aren’t you afraid of ruining our friendship? What if it makes things awkward and weird between us?”

You watch Johnny shift his weight onto his elbow, propping up his upper body. “Yeah, there’s always a chance of ruining our friendship. There’s also a chance of ruining it if we debate which Spider-Man movie is the best,” he grins, clearly trying to lighten up the mood. “If we make it weird, then it’ll be weird.”

“Okay well, are you… clean?” An involuntary chuckle parts your lips.

He gives you a dramatic eye roll before grabbing a pillow and playfully hitting your face with it. “Yes! Of course I am! I get tested every time I hook up with someone and I always use a condom.” He hits you with the pillow again before you stick your hand out to stop it.

“Forgive me, I’m sorry.” You giggle. “I just wanted to make sure. I know you’re very experienced with this aspect of your life. It’s not like I was degrading you, I’m sorry if you felt I was.” You lay back down in your previous position.

“It’s fine,” he sighs, dramatically. “I suppose it’s normal for someone to ask.” He rolls his eyes. “People usually ask with more tact, but I’ll let it slide with you.”

You bite down on your bottom lip, giggling at his sarcastic comment.

“I’ll even give you the boyfriend experience,” he smirks. “Free of charge, of course.”

“Do you even know how to be a boyfriend?” You scoff before you hold your hands up in preparation to get hit by a pillow again.

“Contrary to your belief, I do know how to be a boyfriend.” He uses a hand to lower your wrists before hitting you with another pillow, causing you to giggle. “You’re feisty today.” He chuckles. “What’s with the sudden jabs at me? Don’t tell me being a virgin for nearly 30 years somehow gives you permission to think you’re better than everyone else.”

“You know that’s not it,” you defend, trying to grab the pillow with your hands.

“Yeah? Just deciding to be a brat then?” He hits you with the pillow again right before you finally have a grasp on it.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You laugh. “You know I’m just kidding.”

Johnny concedes, letting out a playful huff. “Didn’t think it’d be this hard to get a virgin to agree to have sex with me.” He grins, helping you sort out your messy hair that he caused.

After moving strands of hair away from your face, he places his warm palm against your cheek.

“What do you think?” Johnny asks. “Wanna lose your virginity to your best friend? Platonically, of course.” He flashes you a grin.

You nod your head in agreement. “Are you free tomorrow night?”

── SATURDAY, 9:43 PM

“You didn’t have to take me to dinner before taking my virginity, you know that right?” You jokingly comment as you push your house key into the lock of your front door. 

“See, when you put it that way I had to take you to dinner.” He chuckles, shutting the door behind him when you both enter your apartment. “It sounds bad if I just took your virginity, right?” 

“No one would’ve known,” you giggle. 

“Yeah, but I would’ve and that doesn’t sit right with me.” Johnny takes your jacket when you strip it off, hanging it on the coat rack with his. “Contrary to your belief, I am capable of treating women well.”

“So you take every hookup to a fancy dinner before fucking them?” 

“Well no,” he pauses. “But that’s not what hookups expect and before you say it, I’ve already told you this isn't a hookup.” 

“What would you call it?”

“Being a good friend.” He flashes you a wicked grin before he cups your cheeks with his hands, tilting your head up to look at him. “I know you’re nervous, but I promise I’ll take care of you.” 

“Is it that obvious?”

“Yes. You’re talking a lot,” he giggles. “You’re also being a little brat, again.” He scrunches his nose before a smile appears.

“Sorry,” you sigh in defeat, slowly pulling his hands down from your cheeks. “I don’t know how to go about this.”

“Let’s start off by going to your room and we’ll see where to go from there.” He gently grabs your hand before leading you to your bedroom. 

You both climb onto your bed with your backs against the headboard. Your heart thumps against your chest and you’re fully convinced Johnny could hear it. Biting down on your bottom lip, your mind races at the thought of having sex with your best friend — seeing each other completely naked for the first time, questioning if it’ll ruin the friendship, the idea that he’s probably going to have the worst time because of your lack of experience.

You’re suddenly pulled out of your frantic thoughts when Johnny gently takes a hold of your chin and turns  your head towards him with his lips centimeters away from yours. 

“You’re overthinking,” he whispers before placing a soft kiss against your lips. 

You slowly move your lips with his, feeling his large hand glide up your thigh and under the short wine colored silk dress you wore to dinner. Shifting your body, a tiny hum is heard from Johnny before he deepens the kiss further. Parting his lips slightly, you take the opportunity to run your tongue over his bottom lip before he slowly pulls away. 

Johnny gently tugs on your arm, pulling you onto his lap. Your short dress rides up your thighs as you place a knee on either side of him. 

A large hand grips the back of your neck, pulling your lips back onto his, while the other safely rests on your hip, unmoved. Your hand presses against his clothed chest, feeling the buttons of his long sleeved dress shirt press against the palm of your hand. 

Your heart races as his lips move with yours. Electricity runs through your veins and your face flushes with heat. Your fingers slowly undo the buttons of his shirt and with his lack of objection, you remind yourself that he’s okay with it. 

His hand moves from your hip to the small of your back, pulling your body closer into his. Gently running over your tongue with his, his grip on the back of your neck tightens slightly, needing to keep you in place. 

When you reach the last button, your cold hands rest against his toned stomach and send shivers down his spine. You gently remove his grasp on your neck before pushing the fabric down his shoulders. It’s not too long until the white fabric meets your bedroom floor. Your hands cup his cheeks, pulling him closer.

His hands meet your waist, using them to push your dress up your body. Pulling back, you raise your arms to let Johnny pull it over your head and let the silk fabric slip onto the floor and on top of his shirt. 

You gently push your palm against his chest, forcing him to rest against the pillows behind him. Placing a kiss on his cheek, you trail your lips down his jaw, then give him another kiss on his neck. His hand rests on the back of your head, softly pushing you into the crook of his neck and silently urging you to leave your mark on his body. Your lips part, taking his tender skin between your lips and sucking on it — hard. You feel his chest move up and down beneath your breasts. 

Breathless moans part his lips, feeling his calloused hands rub over your back. Pulling away, you admire the red mark that contrasts his pale skin. You continue to trail kisses down Johnny’s chest until you reach the waistband of his pants, undoing his belt and button that’s holding his pants together. Johnny lifts his hips and you tug on the material, removing it from his body.

His erection springs up. You position yourself so Johnny’s leg rests between your thighs. When you pause, he senses your hesitation and lifts your chin to look at him. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” you embarrassingly admit.

Johnny gives you a small laugh and a kind smile. “As long as you don’t bite it off, anything you do is fine.” He uses the pad of his thumb to run over your bottom lip. “It’s just licking and sucking, like a popsicle. Can’t promise it’ll taste like one, though.” 

You smile at his attempt to ease your mind. Carefully taking a hold of his shaft, you roll your tongue over his leaking tip before wrapping your lips around it. You sink his shaft into your mouth, slowly bobbing your head up and down. 

“There you go, just like that.” Johnny whispers, throwing his head back against your headboard from the warmth of your mouth and letting out a groan.

You feel his cock harden even more as you bob your head, allowing your saliva to coat his member fully before slicking your hand up and down simultaneously with your mouth. 

“Fuck,” Johnny mutters breathlessly. His brows knit together and his jaw slacks open, speechless at the sight and feeling of your lips wrapped around him. 

You flatten your tongue against his length, licking a strip from the base of his cock to his tip before engulfing him fully into your mouth and allowing his tip to hit your throat. You gag around his cock and the tears brimming your waterline blurs your line of vision. You pull away, catching your breath as you slick your wrist up and down his shaft.

Johnny’s hand grip the sheets under him, biting down on his bottom lip before a shaky moan escapes from between his lips. His chest moves up and down, a slight red tint slowly painting over his chest. He sits up, shifting his weight onto the palm of his hand while the other tilts your head up to look at him before his grasp on your chin pulls your lips to his. 

“Was that okay?” You shyly ask as you break the kiss. 

“More than okay,” he chuckles. 

You weren’t fully convinced of his words, but don’t have time to dwell on it when Johnny kisses you again. He slowly leans back, having you following him without breaking the kiss. When you straddle his lap again, you feel his hard member press against your covered slit. Your mind runs wild with sinful thoughts of him being inside of you. 

In one quick and swift movement, Johnny is hovering over you with his knee separating your thighs. You can’t help but giggle at how smooth he is with his moves. 

“Something funny?” He smiles, moving a strand of hair away from your eye. 

You shake your head. “For what it’s worth,” you let out, your eyes softening at his gaze and lifting your hand to stroke his cheek. “I’m glad I’m losing my virginity to you.” You pull him down to your lips, giving him an endearing kiss.

“Thank you for trusting me,” he whispers in the space between your lips. His hands glide up your waist and to your breasts, pushing them together before his tongue laps over your perky nipples and kissing your supple skin. 

Johnny pecks kisses down your sternum and abdomen before stopping at the waistband of your underwear. He looks up at you. “May I?” He grins, fingers hooked onto the waistband, ready to remove them.

You nod, lifting your hips to allow him room to pull it down your thighs and legs before haphazardly throwing it behind him. 

Johnny widens your spread legs, using his long, slender fingers to stroke your excited slit. Collecting your arousal against his fingers, he parts your puffy lips before using the tip of his tongue to circle around your clit.

A soft moan leaves your lips as Johnny continues to circle and lap his tongue over your clit. His large hand massages your breasts, rolling your nipple between his fingers causing a sensation of bliss course through your body. 

“You taste so fucking good,” Johnny mutters against your folds.

Your fingers gather a fist full of his hair, keeping him close. You hear Johnny groan as you tug on it, the pads of his fingers digging into your skin. 

As his tongue skillfully moves against your pussy, your moans grow louder. A fire in the pit of your stomach ignites and tingles course through your veins. A familiar feeling creeps up and you close your eyes, focusing on the way Johnny sucks on your clit. 

You bite down on your bottom lip and your climax hits you, hard, causing you to cry out Johnny’s name while he pins your lower body down to stop you from squirming away from him. You push his head back and see a mischievous smirk pull from the corner of his mouth. 

As you pull yourself up to look at him, you see him use the back of his hand to wipe your slick from his chin. Your hands press against his cheeks, roughly pulling him to your lips, causing him to giggle. Your lips move urgently before lowering yourself onto your back and having Johnny follow you. 

His long, slender fingers circle your sensitive clit and your body shudders under his touch. He eases off on the pressure, lightly rubbing your nub at a steady pace as he swallows the moans you let out against his mouth. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he softly and breathlessly lets out, groaning as your lips begin attacking his neck with open mouth kisses before giving him a gentle bite. “Your lips on my neck,” his voice hitches. “Are driving me crazy.”

You smile as you hear his composure slowly crumble. Continuing your movements, you feel pleasure building up in the area he’s circling. 

His precise and calculated movements fill your mind with haze, halting your kisses to breathe against his skin and focus on the pleasure. 

“I’m close,” you whimper, attempting to continue your movements only to stop a few seconds later, muffling your sounds in the crook of his neck. “I’m cum-“ you softly cry out before you’re cut off by a gasp that desperately part your lips. 

He watches as your thighs begin to tremble and involuntarily closing in an attempt to stop his movements. 

“Keep them open,” he orders, voice low and dominant. 

You comply, opening up once more before gripping his wrist to slow his movements. “T-too much,” you whine. 

His movements come to a stop, crashing his lips into yours. “Wanna stop here?” He sharply inhales before pulling away from your lips. “We can do something else if you change your mind.” 

You shake your head, catching your breath. “At this rate, if I don’t lose it now, I’m dying a virgin.” Your dramatic statement causes your best friend to chuckle. 

“Last chance to be able to join a nunnery.” Johnny whispers, teasingly.

You giggle at his words. “Shut up.” You smash your lips onto his, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your fingers stroking the back of his head.

He breaks your kiss before making his way over to grab his pants you tossed to the side. He fishes for the pack of condoms in the back pocket of his pants. A frantic look washes over him when he isn’t able to find it. 

“Shit,” he groans in frustration. “I think I left the condoms in my car.” 

You both glance over to your bedroom window, watching big raindrops roll down the glass. 

“You said you've been tested and that you’re clean, right?” You ask, looking up at him.

He nods before catching on. 

“There's no way you wanna do it raw.” He shakes his head. “I’ll just run downstairs and grab it.”

“It’s downpouring,” you frown. “I’m okay with it, really. I’m on birth control.”

“You are?” He looks at you, shocked.

“Yeah,” you bashfully smile. “Since graduation.”

“You’ve never told me that,” he chuckles, closing the distance between you two.

“Was I supposed to?” You looked at him amused. “Would it have made you ask to take my virginity sooner if I had told you?” You look up at him, innocently, batting your eyelashes at him. 

“There you go again with your sassy remarks. Always hurting my ego with your words.” He smirks.

“You love me.” You grin, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. “Why else would you put up with it?” 

All he does is give you a smile before bending down to kiss you. He quickly positions his hips between your thighs. 

Adjusting your body, you watch as he slicks the tip of his cock over your slit, allowing his pre-cum to mix with your wetness. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?” He instructs, lifting your chin so you’re looking directly into his eyes.

You nod in response.

He slowly pushes into you until his tip disappears inside of you. Johnny continues to slowly sink deeper, with short strokes pumping into you, until he’s fully hidden in your cunt. He freezes for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size. 

The sting you feel makes you flinch when he thrusts into you for the first time and you let out a small whimper. Your nails dig into Johnny’s forearms before he circles your clit with his thumb, helping you relax. 

“Is this okay?” He checks in and you nod, biting down on your bottom lip. He leans forward, giving you a soft, warm kiss. He moves as if he’s afraid he’s going to break you as his cock splits you open.

Discomfort slowly turns into pleasure and your mind focuses on how full you feel with Johnny inside of you. 

“Faster,” you softly beg. 

Following your command, his hips pick up its pace. Your cheeks burn with heat as Johnny’s thumb continues to rub circles onto your swollen clit. The lewd noises fill the room as your soaking cunt collides with the base of Johnny’s cock. 

“Harder,” you instruct again as your hands grip onto his waist. 

“You sure?” He questions. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you reassure, rubbing your thumbs over his bare skin. “I’ll be okay.” 

He nods and bucks his hips into your needy cunt. Your jaw drops when you feel how deep he is inside of you, his tip kissing your cervix with every harsh thrust.

Your skin slaps against his, adding to the lewd sounds you’re both making from pleasure. Your heart races and you feel yourself inching closer to another climax as Johnny’s cock hits your g-spot inside of you when you tilt your hips up for him. 

“God, you’re so pretty,” he softly chuckles as he looks down at you and a warm feeling runs under your skin. “So fucking pretty.”

You giggle at his words, covering your face in embarrassment. 

“No, don’t hide, baby.” He softly coos. “I wanna see you.” He interlocks his fingers with yours, pinning your hands into the mattress. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him close causing him to deeply groan at your movements. 

His hips snap into you harder, causing you to jerk up your mattress. He releases your hands from his grip and buries his head into the crook of your neck. 

Your moans fill his ears as he continues to thrust into you. When you feel your skin begin to tingle, you drag your nails against Johnny’s back, leaving red lines behind before sinking your nails into his body, too distracted by the pleasure he’s giving you.

He feels your walls pulse against him and his deep, throaty groan is muffled against your skin. 

You choke out a warning before the tension in your stomach snaps. You feel your body tense up as you allow complete bliss to wash over you. 

Johnny takes it upon himself to help you through it, maintaining his pace as your warm and wet walls tighten against his shaft before relaxing. Your body goes limp as you bask in the pleasure.

“Are you okay?” He checks in, peppering soft kisses against your cheeks and halting his movements.

You bashfully nod, eyes glazed over and a tiny giggle leaves your lips. “I’m sorry if I scratched your back a little too hard,” you say, lightly rubbing your palms against his bare skin. 

Johnny chuckles, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it, it was pretty hot,” he smirks. “Hearing you moaning was hot too.”

You let out a tired laugh, lifting your head to capture his lips with yours. 

Johnny thrusts into you again, making you gasp at his actions. He smirks against your lips, enjoying your reaction. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and place open mouth kisses against his neck. 

Johnny sharply inhales and a shaky moan parts his lips. “Keep doing that,” he encourages. “Mark me up. Show everyone I’m yours.” 

His words ignite a fire in your stomach, turning you on. You fully comply with what he says, sucking on his skin and leaving red marks against his neck. 

He penetrates deeper into you, clearly turned on with the way you glide your tongue against his neck. Grabbing your waist, he keeps you in place from squirming away from him as he pounds into you.

“Oh fuck,” he stammers. “I’m gonna c-“ 

He quickly pulls himself out of you, frantically stroking his shaft over your stomach and painting his cum over your soft skin. 

You smile at the sight, touching the warm substance with your middle finger before using it to rub your swollen clit. 

“Oh god,” he pants. “Are you using my cum as lube right now?” He gives you an amused chuckle and a lopsided grin.

You look at his erection in his hand. “You’re still hard?” You question in disbelief. 

He looks down to where your gaze falls. “It happens when I’m really turned on.” His cheeks blush a pink hue. 

Your brows shoot up in shock and you use the palm of our hand to slowly rub over his cock’s head. Looking up at him, you bite on your bottom lip.

“You’re gonna continue fucking me, right?” You ask, using your other hand to continue circling your clit with his cum. 

“Yeah,” he breathlessly replies. “You want me to?” His jaw drops open, etching the sight of you into his mind. 

You silently nod in reply. 

“Turn over,” he growls. He moves away from you to give you space to change positions. “Get on all fours.” 

You follow his instructions and feel him align with your entrance. Taking a hold on your waist, he slowly sinks into you. He watches as your dripping cunt swallows him fully and with ease. Your jaw drops, enjoying how he fills you up perfectly, like he was made for you. 

His cock plunges into you with no remorse. The sound of smacking flesh bounces off your walls and his deep, low, and gravelly grunts accompany the way he’s pulling your cunt onto his shaft. 

Your arms give in, making you collapse onto the pillows in front of you, muffling your sobs as his cock rams into you.

Johnny holds your hips up and your back arches to his liking. Your finger gathers more of his release from your stomach before sliding it up and down your slit. 

“Keep going, please,” you beg, your voice muffled by your pillows. 

“Only if you keep touching yourself like that,” he pants. “Make yourself cum on my cock, baby.” 

He feels your walls tighten around his shaft and before you can warn him, your body trembles as you allow your orgasm to wash over you. 

You attempt to shift your weight back onto your hands before settling on using your headboard to keep you up. 

He places a hand over yours while his other hand grips your shoulder, simultaneously pulling you down his length when he thrusts into you, helping fuck you through your orgasm. 

Your eyes involuntarily cross before rolling to the back of your head. Your mind goes fuzzy, too engrossed in your orgasm to notice how much of a mess you are. You’re sobbing Johnny’s name that’s mixed with your favorite curse words and sounds of moans that he absolutely loves to hear. 

He pulls your back to his warm chest, holding you up with his strong arms. His hips recklessly pound up into you, leaving you cockdrunk and speechless. 

“I’m gonna cum,” he gasps. 

You push your ass into him while your hands grip onto his hips, keeping him from pulling out. 

“If you don’t move,” he grunts. “I’m cumming inside you,” he warns, feeling your hips grind against him. 

“Do it. Fill me up,” you giggle, feeling lightheaded and dizzy. 

Your words are enough to push Johnny to the edge and he empties his entire load inside of you with a loud groan that he muffles against your shoulder. 

His chest heaves against your back and you feel him pepper kisses against your neck, trailing them up and behind your ear. Lifting his hand, he gently takes a hold of your chin and turns your head to face him — placing tender kisses against your swollen lips.

“Are you okay?” He whispers. “It got a little rough towards the end there.” 

“Mm,” you hum. “I might feel it tomorrow but I’ll be okay.” 

You’re both pulled out of the intimate moment when a loud clap of thunder is heard. 

Johnny slowly releases his hold on you and you carefully lift your body off him, feeling his creamy release leak out of you. You lay on your back, attempting to catch your breath. 

Johnny places himself next to you, inviting you to rest your head on his chest. He wraps his arm around you — his fingers lightly tapping against your waist. 

“Are you okay?” You ask, looking up at him.

“I’m perfectly fine,” he chuckles, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “Are you cold?” He reaches over to grab your blanket, pulling it over your body and his. 

You both sit there in silence, basking in his warmth. You nuzzle your face into his neck before whispering his name, catching his attention. 

“Do you remember when we were younger,” you gulp. “There was this asshole kid who kept making fun of me during recess?” You say the kid’s name, causing Johnny to laugh. 

“Yeah, I remember.” He shakes his head. “Why?” 

“Have I ever told you that when you told him to stop, I developed this huge crush on you?” You bury your face further into his neck, embarrassed at your sudden confession. 

“You did?” He asks, surprise dripping from his words.

“Is that weird?” You giggle, nervously biting down on your bottom lip. “If it is, it’s a total and complete lie, for sure. I never had a crush on you.” You reply sarcastically, having him pull you in tighter followed by a laugh that leaves his lips. 

“Remember when my best friend took you to senior prom?” He asks, pushing his hair back by his roots only for it to fall into the same position. 

You nod. “Yeah, how can I forget,” you chuckle. “He was my first kiss.”

“Yeah,” he playfully rolls his eyes. “Don’t remind me, he would not shut up about it and I was pissed.”

“Why?” You lift your head, leaning your body weight against your elbow. 

“I had this plan to ask you.” He lifts his hand to tuck your hair behind your ear. “When he asked you and you said yes, I felt my heart physically break.” He laughs to himself. “I liked you so much, then finding out my best friend beat me to it, the biggest betrayal I ever felt.” 

“Well, if it means anything now,” you cup his cheek. “I was hoping you’d ask.” 

He places a tender kiss on the palm of your hand. 

“So,” you drawl. “When did you stop?” 

“Stop what?”

“Liking me,” you giggle. “Romantically, I mean.” 

He sits up, throwing his legs over the side of your bed — his back facing you. “Who says I stopped?” He softly laughs. You see him slightly turn his head to the side. Standing up and grabbing his underwear from your bedroom floor, clearly avoiding eye contact with you.

“Are you leaving?” You ask, watching his every move.

“No, unless you want me to?” He questions, turning to look at you. 

You hear another clap of thunder and the sound of rain hits your glass window, harder. 

“No,” you shake your head. “I want you to stay.” You pat the empty space next to you. “Plus, you promised me the boyfriend experience.”

He softly sighs, a smile pulling the corner of his mouth. He resumes his position next to you and you rest your head against his chest again.

“When did you stop liking me?” He softly questions and you hear his heartbeat accelerate, nervous to hear your response. 

“I didn’t,” you whisper, looking up at him and scrunching your nose, knowing he loves when you do that.

Your response makes him lightly laugh, placing a hand on top of your head before stroking the back of your hair. “Yeah,” he sighs, pulling your body into his even more. “Tonight definitely was not platonic, huh?” 

“Yeah, definitely not,” you grin. “At all.”

── BONUS SCENE: FRIDAY, 10:03 PM

“I’m gonna pay for tonight, I’ll meet you guys outside.” Johnny lets out, pulling his phone out and preparing his payment method.

You and your group of friends thank the hostess before walking out the front doors. 

“We missed you last month,” your friend, Mei, smiles as she places a hand on your arm. “We were worried about you.” 

“I’m fine,” you giggle. “Just wasn’t feeling well that night.”

“You seem better now,” Mark chimes in. “Happier, even.” 

You smile and nod your head. “Yeah, I mean, I always look forward to seeing you guys, so…” you trail off, rubbing your arms with the palms of your hands as a gust of wind hits you. 

“Do you need a ride home or is an Uber coming to get you?” Mei asks, throwing on her cardigan. “I can take you home.” 

You shake your head. “My boyfriend is actually taking me home,” you softly let out, trying to ease your way into telling them you and Johnny are now a couple.

Your friends look at you in shock. “Boyfriend?!” They say in unison. Their overlapping voices cause you to laugh and you make out a few of their questions before shaking your head and shushing them. 

“Boyfriend?” Mark laughs. “Why didn’t you tell us during dinner?” 

“It didn’t really come up,” you shrug.

“Is he coming now?” Doyoung questions. “We’ll wait with you until he gets here.” 

You check your phone, seeing a text from Johnny who lets you know that they’re taking a while to get the total amount for dinner. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “He’ll be here in a bit.” 

“Wait, how’d you meet?” Mei’s twin sister, Maya, asks you, running her fingers through her hair before crossing her arms across her chest, attempting to keep herself warm. 

“I’ve known him for a long time now,” you smile, staying as vague as possible — a little shy to tell them who your boyfriend actually is. 

“Does Johnny know?” Mark questions, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jean jacket. “Him being your best friend and all.”

“Yeah, he does.” You nod, watching Mark’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise — assuming he knows how much Johnny actually liked you. 

“What’s his name?” Doyoung asks.

They all keep their eyes on the parking lot, waiting and searching for a car to pull up in front of you. 

Before you could drop the surprise, Johnny joins the five of you. He gently wraps his jacket over your shoulders before you take a hold of his arm. 

“Ready to go home?” He asks, unaware that you still have yet to tell them. 

“Yeah,” you smile up at him. “But I haven’t-”

The four of them turn to look at you, eyeing the way you’re clinging onto Johnny’s arm. 

“Wait,” Mei lets out, pointing at Johnny but looking at you. “You said your boyfriend is taking you h-” 

“Surprise?” You grin, slightly tightening your grip on his arm.

Your friends’ jaws drop, overlapping their questions once more as Johnny throws an arm over your shoulders and pulls you into his side as if he’s protecting you from their rapid questions. 

He takes the time to answer their questions as your body warms up from both excitement and nervousness. You suddenly feel tiny raindrops beginning to fall from above you. 

“We better get going,” you warn everyone. “Don’t wanna get caught in the rain.” 

Everyone agrees and says their goodbyes, congratulating you both on your new relationship.

The rain picks up and bigger, heavier raindrops begin to fall. Johnny lifts his jacket over the both of you and you both quickly make your way over to his car. You grab his keys from the pocket of his jeans, unlocking the passenger’s side door. 

Johnny quickly appears in the driver’s seat, throwing his damp jacket in the backseat. 

“That went well, huh?” He smiles, quickly turning on his car and the heater, knowing your hands are cold. 

“Yeah,” you giggle. “Thank you for answering their questions, by the way. It was a little…”

“Overwhelming?” He grins, taking a hold of your hand and bringing it to his soft lips. 

“Exactly,” you sigh. You quickly buckle yourself in and Johnny does the same. “You’re staying the night, right?”

“Of course.” He pets the back of your head before driving back to your place. 

As you’re both laying in bed, you have a rerun of your favorite show playing in the background. Johnny draws circles against your back as you lay your head against his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat. 

“Johnny?” You sleepily call out.

He hums, pausing his movements. 

“Do you think you could you read me to sleep?” You yawn. “I’ve been reading a chapter of that book every night before bed.” You point to the novel on your nightstand. 

“Yeah, I definitely can.” He shuts off your tv and shifts in bed to grab the book. He opens the novel to the page you stuck your makeshift bookmark in as you make yourself comfortable. 

He begins to read aloud and you focus on his voice. By the time he finishes reading the chapter, you’re fast asleep. 

After carefully placing the book back on the nightstand, Johnny gently pulls your blanket up your body. 

“Good night baby,” he softly whispers before placing a gentle kiss on the top of your head. “Sweet dreams. I love you.”

[hubrishelps]

Boston Eclectic Bedroom

Bedroom - mid-sized eclectic loft-style bedroom idea with multicolored walls and no fireplace

[readrtheme]

Transitional Family Room Los Angeles Mid-sized transitional enclosed light wood floor family room design example with white walls, a regular fireplace, a stone fireplace, and a wall-mounted television.

[dhikadhikadhika]

Bedroom Atlanta Image of a medium-sized transitional master bedroom with a beige floor and carpeting but no fireplace

[kirbmey]

— daddy kento headcanons !

💌: sfw & nsfw, not proofread

❤︎ sugardaddy!kento who’s way too busy and offline to understand the references you use in every other sentence, looking at you confused at the meaningless words.

— kento walked out your shared bedroom, making sure his tie was straight and hair put together, adjusting his glasses on his nose bridge. “wow, kennie, you ate and left no crumbs.” he turned his head to your sat figure, crossing his arms, biceps marked through the fabric of his white shirt. “what’s that supposed to mean, dear?” he questioned with a frown drawn on his handsome face, stepping closer to you. “it means that you slayed.” “wha—?” “you devoured, you delivered, you know? jeez…”

❤︎ sugardaddy!kento who’s very patient about you in every single way. if you are feeling insecure he’ll reassure you as much as you might need, if you are feeling clingy and cuddly he’ll make some time for you to spend together, if you saw something cute online he’ll give you his black card without hesitation. anything for his princess.

— you’ve been cuddled up in bed the whole day since kento left this morning until he came back at night. when the tall man entered the room it was oddly warm inside, dark and silent. you were hidden under the pile of blankets watching some stupid show on your phone at the minimum volume, brightness all the way down. it was hard for him to tell if you were even there.

“my dear? are you alright?” he almost whispered while approaching the lump you formed underneath the comforter, sitting next to you and caressing some hair strands away from your sad-looking face. there were dried tears along your cheeks, he could tell.

kento gave you time to respond, not pushing you too far as he patiently kept caressing your hair after pulling his tie away and buttoning his shirt down a bit. “not feeling well, daddy…” you simply muted after some minutes, turning off the phone and throwing it away weakly. you wouldn’t use that nickname on a daily basis, keeping it exclusive for intimacy or for when you didn’t felt like thinking on your own.

“hmm, and may i know what’s got you feeling like this, baby?” he asked again, careful and silently. in the meantime he pulled the covers down, bringing your body to his arms so he could lead you both to the bathroom, filling the tub with warm water. he had you sat down on the counter, your head against his chest while he herd you rant about the reasons why you didn’t wanna do anything that day. he listened, nodded and made you feel heard, valid. made your fillings valid.

after washing you out of the long lasting sadness he cooked you dinner after he put you on the couch surrounded by your favorite plushies and fuzziest blankets. that’s what you needed, daddy to coax you into moving on, daddy to take good care of you as you didn’t know how to do it sometimes.

❤︎ sugardaddy!kento who loves it when you ask for help to do anything. need help reaching that top shelf? he instantly has both his hands holding you up. need him to style your hair? he’s already pulling out all the gadgets he might require to have you looking like a princess. need help with homework? your boyfriend is smart enough to help you do all of it.

— it was early in the morning when kento woke up to the scent of coffee and toast as he walked towards the kitchen, naked chest and gray sweatpants hung low on is hips. you, on the other hand, were dressed in his shirt as you climbed up the counters, trying to reach for the jam resting on the highest shelf.

he looked at you endearingly from the doorway, taking place behind you seconds after so you wouldn’t fall back. one of his beefy arms wrapped around your body. at the same time, the other one grabbed the jar effortlessly, looking back down to give it to you, leaving a soft peck on your forehead before sipping some coffee.

❤︎ sugardaddy!kento who keeps every little gift you’ve made him. the small knickknacks, the cute drawings of you two, the paper flowers or the framed pictures you’ve given him throughout the months.

❤︎ sugardaddy!kento who gets genuinely offended if you choose to sit anywhere else but his lap. it’s your proclaimed sit, like a personal princess throne. he makes sure to wear the most expensive slacks for you to be comfortable, wrapping both arms around your body to rest his chin on your shoulder an keep on doing whatever he was up to. never forgetting to pepper you whole with love bites and kisses.

❤︎ sugardaddy!kento who’s a big biiiig fan of cockwarming, yup, cockwarming. he’s a busy businessman and there are times when he just has not a free minute to spend with you. he would even focus a lot more with your sweet cunt wrapped around him, the warmth of your body against his, and your soft occasional whimpers enough motivation to finish work quickly so he can fuck you properly.

❤︎ sugardaddy!kento who fucks you but also makes love to you every so often. the softness of the moment, his body on top of yours as your legs wrap around his hips to bring him even closer, his huge hands holding onto your tiny ones while he thrust deep and slowly against your gummy spot. he would whisper low praises against your mouth and pet your hair when you both reach your climax :c

 — when you came out of the bathroom wrapped in a fluffy robe you weren’t expecting your shared room to be lit dimly by the soft glow of vanilla candles, the plushies you had on the bed now carefully placed on the floor and your daddy sat down on the edge of the king-sized mattress.

kento still wore his suit and tie, meaning he just came back from the office. his hair slightly ruffled and his glasses resting on the bedside table, munching on one of your favorite sweets. “come here, angel, i stopped by your favorite bakery on my way home” he declared while patting a place next to him.

you skipped happily towards your lover, filling his sweet mouth with kisses while giggling. he was normally busy, yes, but he always made up for the lost moment. nanami never made you feel unloved or unattended.

things from there moved on slowly and naturally, finding yourself straddling his lap while you both ate the sweets, ranting about your day, and gossiping on the latest news between soft kisses.

soft kisses that eventually ended in a make-out session, slow and wet. his hands placed on your lower back, gripping the flesh as you squirmed on top of him, fidgeting with the buttons of his dressing shirt. the robe you wore already lost somewhere on the floor and damp hair cascading down your back.

if you tried to pull back to catch your breath he would latch his glistening lips to your sensitive nipples, moving your body effortlessly to lay you on the bed while marking your breasts, claiming you his as he settled between your soft thighs. “daddy— mmh…” you whined as he lowered said kisses down your navel, licking the silky skin on its way, gripping both your legs as he took place between them, rubbing the tip of his nose against your bundle of nerves, sniffing into your natural scent. “so sweet, aren’t you, honey? sweet and perfect for daddy?” “mmph, yes, yes !”

the wet muscle caressing your pussy would make it embarrassingly easy to cum with aid from his long and skilled fingers, becoming undone before you would’ve liked. for kento this was pure satisfaction, seeing you cry from pleasure was his pleasure and he got off to it, humpimg the bed without realizing it.

later, he’d come up to kiss you again while taking off his annoying shirt and slacks, toying with your neglected nipples between his thumbs as his tip poked your leaking hole. “so good for me, doll, always so patient for my arrival.” he whispered against your ear as he slowly bottomed out, placing a warm hand on your belly to feel himself inside you. “that’s right, relax for daddy, honey, you’re doing so good.” he confessed after groaning at your tightness, picking up a nice pace for you both to moan against each other’s lips.

you both would reach your highs together, your arms hugging his shoulders to keep him close and his hands gripping the fat of your thighs as he emptied himself inside of you, both your releases gushing over the sheets. kento hid his face in the crook of your neck while he hugged you back, smothering your now-dry hair without moving an inch. you, on the other hand, caress his nape lovingly, grabbing the duvet to cover you both as you slowly drift to sleep, not even bothering to clean yourselves.

that’s something daddy would take care of in the morning >_<

💌: i’m incapable of writing smut properly this is embarrassing :(

— masterlist

[sunlightmurdock]

Can I request from the cozy list ⋆ cuddling under a blanket and ⋆ lazy days in with Jake? With a cozy vibe please and thank you.

Five More Minutes | Jake Seresin

spooktober masterlist

synopsis: Jake takes a moment to remind himself of how glad he is to be home

warnings: mentions of loneliness on deployment, i guess. Other than that, none.

Rain beats along the glass, droplets racing each other towards the wipers. There’s a lump in his throat and the finishing chords of a Red Hot Chilli Peppers song on the radio. It’s a dark and dreary late October, and there’s a lot on his mind. 

Jake Seresin has spent sixty-five percent of the last four years away from home. He’s still getting used to the routine that comes with this new assignment. Early starts, sure — but there’s security. There are days like today, where he gets to park his truck in his own damn driveway and listen to the end of his favourite song.

He scrubs a hand over his clean-shaven jaw and looks towards the front window of his home, thinking of what he gets next. He gets to walk through his front door and follow the sound of a movie, searching room to room until he finds what he’s looking for. You.

“Well, don’t you look cozy.” 

Breaking away from the opening credits of your movie, you turn your attention to the doorway and blink. Your brows knit together as you start to feel around for your phone. He’s not due to be home for hours.  

Standing in his uniform, looking every bit as edible as he usually does, your fiancé offers you an amused smile. He raps his knuckles against the wooden doorframe as he wanders into the living room.

Droplets of rain leave spots of darkness on his khaki shirt, his hair a little damp, his boots left neatly by the front door. The rain picks up, whistling against the windows, a heavy storm rolling in from over the ocean.

You hadn’t even heard his truck pull onto the driveway over the sound of the rain hitting the windows and the TV playing.

He sees the confusion on your face.

“Got sent home. Shit weather, bunch of guys couldn’t make it in and everybody’s grounded.” His first point of call is to lean over and press his lips to your forehead, just like he had when he had left for work in the early hours of this morning, while you had still been curled up in your shared bed. 

Jake’s new assignment means that he has to be on base pretty much by the time the sun is rising. He hadn’t ever struggled to get up early, until it had meant leaving you in bed by yourself.

Smiling now, he takes advantage of the way you’re curled onto your side and smooths a hand over your ass, giving it a soft squeeze as he peeks over his shoulder towards the television.

“What are you watching?”

“Hocus Pocus. I was going to have a movie day.”

The house smells like vanilla and sugar, candles burning and casting a soft orange hue across the living room. It’s a nice day for it, and Jake can’t remember the last time he had gotten to lay around and do nothing. 

“You can still have your movie day, sweetheart.” He murmurs, patting your thigh softly as he stands back up. “You mind if I join?”

You peer up at him, brows raised. “You want to?”

“Of course I do, don’t pause the movie — I’ll be right back.”

It’s borderline unfair that he comes back in your favourite of his pairs of gray sweatpants, and the best fitting of his white t-shirts.

“Scootch.” Patting your thighs, he maneuvers over you and twists himself around until he can lay comfortably behind you. Draping one arm over your middle and the other under your head, he presses himself against your back.

You turn your face towards his outstretched wrist, breathing in the smoky scent of his lingering cologne. 

He wriggles, settling his head against the mass of throw pillows that you like to fill this couch with. It almost makes your lips quirk. He complained in the store but he seems pretty happy with them now.

He has spent plenty of time on old ships that rattle and groan, smelling like nothing but rust and harsh chemicals. Plenty of time sleeping in rooms by himself, reading every book he can get his hands on, pressing his pillow over his head to block out the sound of a dozen men snoring.

It’s easy to forget.

Since he got home, he has really thrown himself into his work. Leaving early, getting home late. Sitting in planes with the weight of the world dragging against him, or stiff office chairs, or benches in locker rooms. 

His body thanks him as he eases into all those damn throw pillows, pulling your body against him to feel your weight against his. Anchoring you to him by tightening his hold, closing his eyes — just for a moment.

“‘M glad you’re home.” Your lips brush against his wrist as his other arm gives your middle an affectionate squeeze. He watches as you adjust your blanket to cover him too, squeezing closer to fit the both of you under it. 

“Me too.” He mumbles, his throat dry. He presses a soft, slow kiss to your clothed shoulder and then rests his chin against it. 

Those scented candles flicker around him, the movie hums on, and your heart beats steadily against his chest. Man, he’s glad to be home. 

[nathanbatemanfucker]

The Little Blue Cottage

summary: clint and his daughter find a chance at love again with the neighbor across the street.

pairing: clint x f!reader

contents: FREAKY TALES SPOILERS, post freaky tales, neighbors to lovers, guarded!clint, grief, baby sickness, food mention, get together fic

wc: 3,863

an: i saw freaky tales on yesterday and i can’t stop thinking about clint and his story. warning there are SPOILERS.

writing masterlist

He moves into the house across the street, just him and a little baby girl. It’s the smallest house on the block, more aptly named a cottage. Pale blue paint peeling at the edges, with white trim faded to gray. A wild tangle of ivy wraps around the front porch post like it’s been waiting for someone to come home.

He doesn’t make a show of it and it doesn’t look like he has any help. No moving truck, no waving to neighbors. Just a slightly beat up black SUV that comes and goes at odd hours, and the occasional glimpse of him unloading cardboard boxes through the side door.

The baby is quiet; mostly. You only hear her in the early hours of the morning, and even then, it’s more cooing than crying — soft sounds that carry faintly across the street when your windows are cracked.

You spot him for the first time two mornings after they arrive. He’s on the porch, hoodie pulled over messy hair, coffee mug in one hand, baby monitor in the other. He leans against the railing like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. He looks exhausted, but you imagine that’s the life of a parent.

You’re on your porch, too, to water your plants. It’s a routine you’ve developed in your plant parent journey. The pots don’t need it — not really — but it’s a reason to be outside. A reason to get fresh air. A reason to look…at him. 

He doesn’t see you at first. Or maybe he does and just doesn’t let on.

You watch him closely, how smooth his movements are despite his daughter’s novelty. The baby monitor crackles, and he turns slightly, listening. It’s a soft nod, like whatever he hears is good and then he takes another sip of his coffee. He stays there another minute before heading back inside.

No wave or smile, not even a glance in your direction, just a taste of his presence. It’s enough to make you wonder about the man across the street who never says hello.

—

The rain starts mid-afternoon. Its the kind that comes fast and stays, steady sheets drumming against windows, slicking the pavement, flooding the gutters at the ends of the street. You watch it peacefully from your living room, curled on the couch with a blanket and a half-read novel you’ve been pretending you like. 

It’s only when you get up to make tea that you notice the box.

A plain cardboard package sitting on your porch — soaked halfway through, the label partly smudged. You open the door with a frown— you weren’t expecting a package—  tugging it inside before the water ruins it completely.

The name on the label is not yours. 

It’s his. Clint’s. So the man across the street not only has a face but now a name.

You hesitate.

In the months that he’s been here, Clint never talks to anyone. He never even lingers outside long enough to be spoken to (that’s not completely true, you’re just a little intimidated by how attractive he is). But now, here you are, holding something that doesn’t belong to you, something that can’t be ignored. The return address looks like it might be personal; not a business but a name sprawled across the corner.

With resolve you slip your shoes on, throw a rain jacket over your hoodie, and cross the street with the package hugged to your chest, head ducked low under the downpour. The street’s quiet except for the steady pulse of rain and your feet splashing through the various puddles.

You knock once and it feels too loud. You don’t know him but from what you observe it seems like the only sounds made are by his daughter. 

There’s movement inside and you can hear  the quick shuffle of feet, the faint hush of a baby’s voice before  the door opens a crack. He looks like he always does: tired, guarded, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, baby balanced on one hip.

You blink rain from your lashes, a little overwhelmed with seeing him up close. His eyes are the deepest shade of brown, and there’s a shallow scar on his cheek that somehow fits his round face. He’s gorgeous– you knew that– but witnessing it now? In all its glory? 

You blink again, forcing yourself to focus. “Hey, um, hi. Sorry to bother you. I live across the street and this got dropped at my place by mistake.” You lift the package slightly. 

He stares at it for a second like he doesn’t quite trust it. Then he shifts the baby higher on his side and opens the door a little wider before taking the package from you. 

“Thanks,” he says– voice low, a little hoarse, like he hasn’t used it all day. 

You nod, starting to step back but the baby coos, tiny fist grabbing at the air in your direction, and something about that small gesture catches him off guard. His arm pulls her in automatically, protective. He doesn’t say anything for a second. 

“She likes faces,” he offers, like an apology.

You smile, soft. “Curious girl.”

There’s a pause, the kind that could end a conversation, if either of you let it.

To your surprise, he clears his throat, adjusting the package under his arm. “Sorry it got left over there.”

You wave him off, smiling widening. “No harm done.”

Another beat. You start to turn.

“I’m Clint,” he says suddenly, almost like he regrets it the moment it’s out.

You glance back over your shoulder. “I know,” you murmur before telling him your name.

A flicker of something passes through his expression, maybe surprise or a tinge of embarrassment. Of course you know his name, it was on the package. Or the beginning of a smile that doesn’t quite make it to the surface.

“You didn’t have to bring it in the rain,” he murmurs.

“I know but it looked kind of important.” He doesn’t say anything, the silence a breath between you. His daughter makes another sweet little sound, drawing your eyes to her. “She’s beautiful.”

He looks down at her, eyes much softer now. “Yeah. She is, she’s perfect.” 

“Well, I’ll let you get to it. Take care.”

“You too,” he murmurs, voice sandy. 

The rain keeps falling. You head back across the street, heart beating louder than it should. And the next morning, he’s on the porch again with the baby monitor in one hand.

But this time, he sees you first. 

He waves.

—

The knock comes on a late, sunny afternoon; soft, uncertain. Frazzled if a knock can communicate that. 

You open the door to find Clint standing there, hoodie sleeves shoved to his elbows, shadows deep under his eyes. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, like the words are stuck in his throat.

“Clint, is everything okay?” you prompt him gently.

“She’s sick,” he finally mutters. “I think. She’s burning up, and I haven’t been able to get her down for more than ten minutes. I just— I need to shower. Make something to eat. I didn’t know where else to go, who else to ask…”His voice trails off, jaw tense.

You blink, trying to process. The standoffish man from across the street– the one who refused to even acknowledge your presence until he was forced to is asking you for help?

He clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Could you— would you— I know we don’t���“

It's clear how much effort this is taking him. You won’t make him ask again . “Of course. Let me grab my bag.”

He nods once, short and sharp, and leads the way back across the street. The sun’s started to slip behind the trees, casting the little cottage in soft shadow. From the moment you step inside, you feel it — the heat, thick and close, and the shrill cry of a baby who’s miserable in her own skin.

She’s on the couch in a nest of blankets, red-faced, sticky with sweat.

“She won’t let me put her down,” Clint says, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been holding her all day. She won’t eat much. I don’t know if it’s teething or something worse. I’ve never— I don’t know what I’m doing.”

His voice cracks at the end. Just barely. But you hear it. Part of you wants to address it, to tell him that its okay and he’s just trying to figure it out but somehow you know that’ll rub him the wrong way. It’ll make him retreat. 

Instead, you kneel beside the couch, pressing your fingers gently to the baby’s forehead. “She’s definitely running warm,” you say, your tone calm but careful. “Do you have a thermometer?”

He nods, disappears down the hall, and comes back with a baby thermometer and a half-empty bottle of children’s Tylenol. Her fever isn’t dangerously high, but enough to explain the fussiness and flushed cheeks. You feed her the medicine carefully, rocking her gently while she squirms against your chest.

“She needs to be cooler,” you murmur. “Would it be okay if I gave her a lukewarm wipe-down? Not a bath — just something to bring the fever down.”

Clint nods without hesitation. “Yeah. Anything.”

Your heart squeezes for him and his baby girl. It's clear that he loves her more than anything, adoringly so. Of course you’ll do what you can to wipe that look of worry off his face. To make sure the most precious little girl is okay.

You find a clean cloth and a bowl in the kitchen, soaking it with cool water before sitting back down. The baby cries, but not as loud now. She’s too tired. You stroke the cloth gently across her forehead, over her cheeks, down the back of her neck. Eventually, she relaxes and her breaths come slower.

Clint exhales slowly from where he’s leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, face unreadable.

“She’s going to be okay,” you say softly.

He nods, looking a little more relaxed. “Okay.” Then, after a beat: “I’m gonna shower. Will you be okay with her?”

You smile reassuringly. “We’ll be just fine.”

He vanishes down the hallway, and you settle in on the couch with the baby on your chest. Her body is heavy with exhaustion, breath shallow but even. The fever’s already starting to come down and as it does, she slips further into slumber.

By the time Clint returns, he smells like soap and looks a little more like himself. You only get a glance because he ducks into the kitchen, moving quietly. But you see the wet, slicked back hair, the white t-shirt that clings to him well.  When he comes back, he’s got two plates — grilled cheese and soup, simple but warm.

He offers you one with a nod, like the food is a thank-you he can’t quite say out loud.

You take it, curling into the opposite end of the couch while the baby sleeps in the middle, swaddled in a light blanket.

“She really is beautiful. And so sweet,” you say after a few bites. “What’s her name?”

Clint stills. His gaze drops to the sleeping baby. “Grace.”

You let the name settle in the quiet room. “That’s lovely, it suits her.”

He shifts, running a thumb along the edge of his plate. “Her mom’s name was Grace, too.”

There’s something hollow in the way he says it. But he’s saying it and you’re letting him say it, so he doesn’t stop.

“She passed away when the baby was born– unexpected complications. Everything was fine until it wasn’t. I didn’t even make it to the hospital in time.” His voice is rough now. Low and worn. Sad. “I named her Grace because… I didn’t know what else to do. It felt like the only thing I could do.”

You set your plate down, the sound soft against the coffee table. “She carries her mom with her that way.”

Clint doesn’t answer. Just leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely. Neither of you says anything. The house is quiet now, except for the occasional creaks of the old house and the soft sighs of Grace asleep between you.

Clint doesn’t move to take her. Doesn’t rush to reclaim his space. He just lets you sit there — in his house, beside him, with the baby safe in both your presence.  And for the first time, it feels like the door to his heart is cracked open. 

Not wide. But enough to peer inside.

—

It starts small but its steady.

A wave across the street turns into a knock at your door on Sunday mornings– Clint, holding out a paper bag with an extra muffin or a still-warm breakfast sandwich, one hand balancing Grace on his hip. You don’t always invite him in, and he doesn’t always linger. But he shows up and you start to expect it.

There are a few times that he stays. Especially when Grace is cranky and won’t nap unless someone’s holding her upright. You learn to eat one-handed while she dozes against your chest, and Clint washes your dishes without asking. He doesn’t talk much but you find ways to fill the space between.

You start walking together in the early evenings, down the block and back again, Grace strapped to his chest or tucked into her stroller or sometimes in your arms. You talk about inconsequential things like the weather, the neighbor’s porch raccoon, your favorite pizza place. Sometimes you walk in silence but it doesn’t feel empty. It feels… easy. Companionable.

One Tuesday, you spot a book on his front step, something he mentioned wanting to read, something you quietly left there. The next day, there’s a bag of lemon balm clippings from your garden hanging on your doorknob. He doesn’t say thank you. You don’t either. But the rhythm, its steadiness is there. A shared language you’ve built out of gestures instead of words.

Grace gets used to you, too. She reaches for you now when Clint’s arms are full, when she’s tired and needs someone. You catch her smile more than you used to.

And Clint watches that. Sometimes, when you hand her back or kiss the top of her head without thinking, you catch him looking at you, not with surprise or hesitation, not with anything that would give away what he’s thinking. Just…observing. Like he’s still learning what it means to have someone else in the room who stays.

One night, you’re leaving his house after dinner, you’d thrown together something simple because he didn’t have time to cook; you  convinced yourself it made sense since you were already there watching Grace while he was away at work. 

He stands in the doorway holding Grace, the porch light bathing him in gold, and calls after you with a simple.“Thanks.”

You almost brush it off. Almost say of course or anytime. But you stop. Let the quiet settle.

“I want to be here. With her…with you,” you add a little hesitantly.

Clint’s eyes flick to yours. “I know. I just— thanks.”

You nod, and for a second, neither of you moves. Grace yawns, her tiny hand curling into his hoodie. You reach out, brushing your fingers against her curls. He doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t pull away, either.

But in that space between distance and closeness, that inch of breathless, grounding silence, something between you swells and shifts.

—

Three days pass without a wave. No muffins. No walks. No sight of him on the porch at all. No light in the window across from yours, save for the faint flicker of the tv late at night.

You try to convince yourself he’s just tired. That Grace is teething. That maybe he’s busy, developing a life here and it’s nothing. But, the silence settles heavily in your chest and anxiety takes root.

So on the fourth day, you walk across the street.

His porch creaks under your steps. You knock gently and wait. There’s no sound. You’re about to turn around when the door cracks open. Clint stands there in a t-shirt and sweats, dark circles blooming under his eyes. His hair is a mess. He doesn’t look surprised to see you. Just… like he doesn’t know what to say.

“Hey,” you say softly.

“Hey.”

A beat of silence. You glance past him, just enough to see the edges of clutter– dishes in the sink, a blanket half on the couch, toys scattered like the remnants of a long day. Grace isn’t crying, but you can hear her somewhere inside, babbling softly to herself.

“I… I wasn’t sure if something was wrong,” you offer. “You’ve been kind of—gone.”

Clint’s mouth twitches like he might give a reason, like he might tell you. But it doesn’t come. He just takes a silent breath, his fingers tighten around the edge of the door. “Yeah. I know.”

Another silence. This one feels heavier. Like he’s trying to hold it up with just his shoulders, keep it between you.

“I didn’t mean to disappear,” he says finally. “Sometimes I just… pull in. Shut it all down when it gets too much.”

You hear what he’s not saying; when you get too much. Or too close. 

You nod, heart thudding, palms growing slick. Your voice is a little shaky the next time you speak,“You don’t owe me anything. But if you’re worried about me sticking around, you don’t have to be. I’m not going anywhere, not unless you want me to.”

Something cracks in his expression–not broken, but unguarded and guilty. He hates that he’s made you like this, that his putting some distance between you has left you feeling unwanted and insecure. But he isn’t sure what to say, his eyes flickering back and forth as he tries to decide whether or not he’ll say something in response. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something but is interrupted by a thump behind him. A little gasp of sound.

Grace. 

She crawls into view in her footie pajamas, face flushed, hair in a wild little crown. Her eyes land on you and she lights up, arms stretching forward like you’re a lighthouse on a foggy shore.

“Hey, bug,” you whisper, wanting to reach for her but not until you know where you and Clint stand. You don’t want to overstep or cross any of his boundaries.

She makes a happy little grunt and wriggles in place until Clint finally bends down and scoops her up. She doesn’t reach for him though, she twists toward you again, insistent. And Clint sees that. He watches the way her tiny hand curls toward you, the way she leans across the gap between the two of you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“She missed you,” he murmurs. 

You can't help but wonder if he had missed you too. 

You meet his eyes, and you swear its there. And understanding that you’ve missed each other too. “I missed her, too.”

He swallows hard, jaw tight. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “For pulling back. It’s not that I didn’t want to see you. I just— I’m not good at letting people stay.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to be good at it. I can be patient.”

Clint looks down at Grace, then back at you, something soft and aching behind his eyes. “Come in,” he says, voice rough. “Please, come in.”

You do, because he’s taking a step towards not keeping you at arm’s length.

—

It’s just after five in the morning when Clint crosses the street, coffee in one hand, Grace tucked against his shoulder in the other. She’s still asleep, warm and soft and breathing slow, her tiny fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.

He hesitates at your front steps. Not because he doubts he wants to be here, or because he doesn’t think you’ll be awake but because he’s never been good at moments like this. Quiet ones. Ones that aren’t born from necessity but from choice. From need.

When you open the door, barefoot and wrapped in just a hoodie that brushes the tops of your thighs, you don’t ask questions. Just take him in, eyes soft and knowing.

His eyes are just as soft, almost pleading when he says, “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” you say, an easy smile spreading across your face. “Come in.”

He doesn’t mean to stay long, he never does. But your house smells like lemon and something warm. Grace doesn’t stir when he transfers her into your arms, just sighs and tucks in closer to your chest like she belongs there.

Maybe she does.

He hands you the coffee and says, “Could you put on that silly baking show?”

You end up curled on the couch. The baking competition show plays, muted and forgettable. Grace is a little space heater between you. The minutes stretch. The storm Clint’s been carrying in his ribs starts to loosen, and before he knows it, his eyes drift shut.

Sleep comes easy for him, maybe for the first time in weeks.He’s not sure how long its been when he wakes to the soft sound of birds, one of his favorite hallmarks of early spring. The window’s cracked. The room is still dim, the light barely touching the edge of the curtains.

Grace is still asleep, somehow. So are you.

You’re tucked into his side, head on his shoulder, your breathing steady. He realizes, with a slow, aching awareness, that his head has come to rest atop yours, like it gravitated there in sleep, like his body trusted you long before his words did.

He stays like that for a moment. Listening to the quiet. Letting himself feel it, feel the sweetness of laying in a pile with you and Grace.

Then you stir. You blink up at him a little confused and still half-asleep. You smile, small, close-lipped, warm. Your hand lifts before he can brace for it, fingers brushing his cheek in a soft, steady stroke.

He exhales at your touch, a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. You’re touching him like he won’t flinch. Like he deserves it. Like it’s nothing new.

Your hand lingers, palm cupping the side of his face like he’s something fragile and worth keeping. And maybe he is. Maybe this is what it’s like to be wanted quietly. Without fireworks. Without war. Without difficulty or contention of any kind.

Just… wanted.

.It’s not rushed when you lean in. Just certain. Your lips meet his, warm, soft, and tentative. Clint doesn’t hesitate either.

He moves slowly, carefully, like a man relearning gentleness. One hand comes up to cradle your jaw, the pad of his thumb brushing the column of your neck. You melt into it, into him, and something in him settles like gravity finding its anchor.

The kiss deepens just slightly, still tender, still careful, and when you part, your forehead rests against his, your breaths mingling.

He stays like that, close, thumb still resting against your skin, and asks quietly, “Can I make us breakfast?”

“Yeah, I’d really like that.”

tagging some folks who expressed interest/were on my old pedro taglists: @campingwiththecharmings, @fakeplasticfeels, @lesbianhotch, @for-a-longlongtime, @ozarkthedog, @bubblybubbubs, @jxvipike

[hihomeghere]

Here is my collection of Red Dead Redemption fics! I hope you enjoy! All of my fics are f!reader if not specifically mentioned

Smut 💋, Fluff 🪽, Angst 🗯️

Rdr2 Boyfriend vibes

John Marston

Burning Love Set in the epilogue of RDR2. You stumble upon John in Blackwater after being alone for years. When he invites you to visit Beecher's Hope, will you be able to fight feelings that have been building ever since you were kids? 🪽💋

Gloves John goes crazy over you dressed up for a job, more specifically your white gloves 🪽💋

Based off an ask 💋

Right Person, Wrong Time You and John have constantly been at each other's throats until you left the gang after he chose Abigail over you. When you return you find him gone, leaving Abigail and Jack. You create a relationship with Abigail and Jack, but what will happen when John returns? 🗯️💋

Part Two of Right Person, Wrong Time

Arthur Morgan

Fakin' It After a botched robbery, Arthur and you take refuge in a hotel, hiding from the O'Driscolls outside your door. When they do decide to search for you two, how will you throw them off your track? 💋

Fishing in the Dark You and Arthur have a private evening away from camp on the Dakota river. 🪽💋

Dreams Arthur starts having dreams of starting a family with you 🪽

My Eyes Only Arthur thinks you look like a work of art 🪽

Salt and Pepper Arthur notices his hair is starting to gray 🪽

Deserving. 6. I won't let anything happen to you, I swear. 34. I think you're showing. 36. You're glowing. 41. The baby loves hearing you sing/speak. 83. Was that a kick? 🪽

Blue Ain't Your Color Loosely based on the song, Blue Ain't Your Color 🪽

Little Things Arthur returns from a successful job and wants nothing more than to bury himself in you 💋

Prompts : #30 I just want to be yours. #50 We need to talk about last night 💋

First time : You want Arthur to be the one to take your virginity, you just dont want to tell him💋

Prompt : #4 "god, here- just hold my hand." Low Honor!Arthur 🪽

Arthur Morgan x Reader x Charles Smith

Baptized by Fire series masterlist

Charles Smith

Knight in Shining Armor 1. "Kiss me" "What-", 81. "Your heart is racing." 🪽💋

Prompts : 12 "You look so much softer, so much calmer, I wish you could see yourself as you sleep."13"Sleeping with you was the best sleep I've gotten in years." 54“Here, take my blanket.”55 “You’re cute when you smile, you should do it more often.” 61 “I said I’d take care of you.” 🪽

Desperado Set four months after Charles leaves with the Wapiti. You and Charles try to figure out what to do after the gang falls apart. Comfort fic 🪽

Javier Escuella

Prompt : #19 You're leaving now? 🗯️

Prompt: "You heard me. Take. It. Off.” "Do I look like I’ve moved on?” 🗯️🪽

Kieran Duffy

Prompt : #66 Were you touching yourself? 💋

[thatnonameuser]

The Red King holds a Bleeding Head

A Wonderland of Yanderes - Masterlist Chapter 1. Heartslaybul Part 8.

Going down the rabbit hole that is your mirror a third time feels a little more normal. Even though traveling through it to begin with is the definition of crazy, you’ve started to get used to it. Just like the last two times you awaken to your bedroom, you feel smothered by that sensation of being forced under something heavy and lying on a fluff cloud. Your mirror ripples and gleams a bright white light that beckons you forward. 

You’re not exactly prepared for this, but you don’t have any time to. You throw off the odd feeling blankets and make your way to the mirror, which is sparkling in its usual white light. 

You take a deep dream breath to steady your nerves. You want this trip through the looking glass to be different this time. Instead of you stumbling through the mirror world completely blind, you need to go through determined to find answers. 

You’re smart enough to recognise the pattern. Whatever happens there seems to happen in your dreams, to some effect, have happened in real life. The painted roses, the cards soldiers, and Ace and Deuce, being beheaded by the Queen for breaking the rules. There’s a pattern and if it keeps up tonight, then tomorrow during the duel something is going to happen that will be similar to your dreams. 

Plus, there’s also the King of Hearts. He and Alice were the only ones who could see you so far, and Winston was the darling of the Queen. There had to be something that he knew that could help you. And if your dreams were really sending you back in time to meet them, then he had to know something that can help you. Even if it was a tiny detail, you needed to know.

Plus. If your deduction was correct, then Crowley had done jack all since you arrived to send you back home, then maybe you could find something out from someone like you. A darling that’s terrified. If it’ll lead back home, it's worth a shot, right?

Now invigorated with courage, you place your hand on the glass, and it ripples. And you’re pulled into wonderland.

You’re somewhere unfamiliar. As in it doesn’t look like the rose maze anymore. In fact, this place looks very different. 

The rose garden is beautiful, the hallway you’re in now is ominous. Even with the gaudy red hearts. The black, white and red are smothering here. The hallways narrow, but ornate. It’s covered with heart-covered and heart-shaped vases, picture frames, and statues. The hallway’s lit up by heart shaped lamps that glow gray, meant to give off light but feel the room feel so dark. The manic and exaggerated shapes and the monotony of the overwhelming crimson red makes you feel a little tremble. 

You take hesitant steps down the hall, scanning them for anything helpful or clues. 

“This is…new.” And so far what’s new makes you feel chills. “What is the mirror trying to show me n-”

A deafening roar of <Off With Their HEADS!!!> echoes through the halls and interrupts your thoughts and makes you jump in surprise. The roar makes the decor shake and rattle, some fall and shatter. 

You gulp nervously and your heart speeds up. This doesn’t feel right.

Another roar fills the air <SILENCE!!> makes you hasten your footsteps. Whatever’s happening you're missing it, and you need all the help you can get right now. 

You run down the hall to nowhere, finding no doorways, until the hall ends. It’s a single door, knee high and heart shaped. 

“How the hell am I supposed to-” Another roar fills the hall and breaks a nearby lamp. “Alright, I’m going!” You shove it open and crawl through, and it shrinks around you just to make things worse, After a mild struggle, you finally get through, something better be on the other side-

Something grabs you by the back of your pajamas, and you hauled up to be faced with the King of Hearts. 

And he looks angry. <What are you doing here?!> He whisper-yells, shaking you by your shoulders. 

“I-I-” 

You don’t get to put a word in, and shit must’ve hit the fan hard when you were gone because Winston starts ranting. <What are you, the Cheshire Cat!? You were there one moment and gone the next! I’m stressed out of my mind trying to keep a girl alive and you just keep popping up to make things even more stressful!!!> He pauses for a moment, to recollect himself, <H-How did you even get here?!>

“I used the door-” You turn and point to find no door or wall and instead find a sharp decline into a certain death behind the haphazard judge’s bench. “Nevermind” You quickly finish as you take a nervous step back from the ledge. 

<Well,  it doesn’t matter you have to->

<Winston, sweetheart, who are you speaking too?> The voice that pipes up is mockingly fond. As if they’re entertaining a child speaking to an imaginary friend. You look past Winston, to see a stout woman that looks suspiciously like the Queen of Hearts.

No seriously, her mocking, smiling face looks so punchable, that it reminds you of Riddle. A heart shaped with high cheekbones, and a glare that rivals Riddle Rosehearts, her black hair is tied up into a rose shape, slick backed, smooth and orderly. Her dress is extravagant even in the field of black and white, red undertones over taking the dress. Her crown is larger than Winston's, cementing to you that she is in charge and he’s unwillingly along for the ride.

She looks like a real person this time. Are your dreams progressing? Becoming more detailed?

Winston looks at her incredulously, you can hear him mutter, <C-Can’t you see her?...> Pointing in your direction confused. 

<There’s no one there, Winston. Are you imaging things again?> The King of Hearts spares you a conflicted look, before finally agreeing with her.

<I must be…..> He says after a few long moments.

<Of course sweetheart. How could you survive without me?> She chuckles to herself, and you feel the urge to punch someone again. 

A soft voice snaps you out of it. <Um…Your Majesty?> You finally notice Alice from her place down below. She looks a mix of exasperated, confused and terrified as she stands in the defendant’s chair. The Queen redirects her ire back to Alice as soon as she raises her voice. She screams like a banshee and roars like a violent loud animal. 

You take advantage of the noise to speak to Winston. “Winston I-”

He interrupts you, losing himself to his ramblings, <I’ve finally lost, haven’t I?> Winston laughs bitterly. <You’re not real, you’re just a figment of my imagination…>

“No. You haven’t and I’m not.” You push, desperate to make him see reason, “Alice has seen me before, I’m real!” You hurriedly whisper-yell. 

<Then if you’re real then you have to help Alice and you have to help me->

<HAPPY UNBIRTHDAY TO YOU!> A cake and teapots, and all the fixing that remind you of the buffet yesterday at Heartslabyul. The Queen and nearly everyone in the room are excitedly celebrating while Winston and Alice look exasperated. Seemingly exhausted from the shenanigans that are ensuing before you.

“W-What’s happening?” You raise an eyebrow in complete confusion. Yesterday an unbirthday party made sense because it was a party at a dorm then a trial room with a death sentence. 

Winston sighs in abject misery, <A trial.  I did it to save Alice from losing her head, but this nonsense is a trial. And I thought back home was crazy.>

You perk up at his words. Back home means that he’s not from wonderland so if that’s the case…Just to be sure, you ask. “You’re not from here?”

He looks at you curiously, still halfway between believing you’re real or not, <I-I’m from London, England. I came here by accident and have been stuck here ever since.>

“You know where London is?” You feel hope bloom in your chest, “Are you from Earth?”

<Yes, but->

You interrupt him in your budding excitement, “Then you have to help me! I’m stuck here, like you and Alice!”

<Regardless of whether you’re real or fake, I-I can’t help you! If Mary finds out, I tried to escape again, heads will roll! >

You haul the king up by his shirt. “Would you rather be stuck here forever?! If there’s a way out, we need to take it!” You can ignore the ‘being stuck here ever since’ part for now, because if he and Alice (who are real in this world) come from Earth and know about a way back, then that means there’s a way back to your world from Twisted Wonderland. Alice goes home at the end of the story, so there is a way back home for you in this world. And you need that way out. You just need to get to it. 

<I’ll help you on one condition.>

“Anything!”

<Help Alice. I can’t let another person die.> And then he shoves you. And then you're falling. You don’t even get the opportunity to scream as you’re pushed. Falling off that deathly edge, and hitting the floor hard. 

“Ow….” Damnit Winston, if you weren’t stuck in the same situation as him, you’d curse him out

<Miss, you’re back!> You slowly open your eyes to see Alice standing over you in worry, still completely black and white. <W-Where did you come from?>

“A place like you.” Alice lights up at your words,  “How’s your trial going?” only to deflate five seconds later. 

<It doesn’t make any sense, this trial doesn’t follow any rules.> You climb to your feet brushing off the imaginary dust off your dream self. 

“No, it does.” You’re forced to admit. “They’re just horrible rules.”

<Well, this really isn’t-> Whatever justifiable statement is cut off by the Queen being undistracted by the unbirthday celebrations. 

You don’t even know what happened next. 

One moment, Alice is pointing out the Cheshire Cat, her words, on the Queen’s head, and the next the Queen is a mess of jam and her torn flag, with a new bump on her crazy head. And Alice is holding the mallet and jam when the Queen finally clears her eyes. 

Winston bangs his head on the judges bench in defeat, at the sight of the mayhem.

“OFFF with-” the Queen interrupts herself, as Alice hurriedly stuffs her face with two pieces of something you don’t recognise. Her eyes go wide for a moment, as  her muscles twitch and her body contorts in places. She then grows over a mile high. Because of how rapidly she grew, you end up on the giantess Alice’s shoulders. 

<Oh, are you alright?> Alice asks, concerned. You give her a thumbs up in reply as the nausea in your gut trembles, before giving way. Now calmed, knowing one of her few friends here are okay, Alice focuses her attention on the tyrant whose red face has gone pale. <And as for you, Your Majesty….’Your Majesty,’ indeed!> The mushroom that Alice ate causes her to grow as tall as the trial room ceiling is high. You cling to her shoulder with your nails, not wanting to fall from this height. What crack did you smoke last night to dream this? Anyway,  Alice takes her moment to finally tell off the pompous queen, with all the confidence that a seven year old can have. 

The queen shrinks back in surprise at the seven-year old’s new size, and Alice chooses this to be the time to finally tell off the tyrant. 

<Why, you’re not a queen. You’re just a fat, pompous, bad-tempered old ty…tyrant…> As if Alice couldn’t get any more unlucky, the mushroom’s magic wears off as she starts to lay down the facts. Her confidence dies as she shrinks back to size.  You tumble off of Alice’s shoulder as she shrinks smaller and smaller. And the longer she speaks, the more the Queen’s glare gets more and more murderous.

<Mmhmmhmmhmm….> You, even at this distance, can see the fear painting across the King’s face and worry on Alice’s. This isn’t good, and the longer the Queen holds that note the more grim those looks become. You embrace the shaking girl. You can hear her whimpers of ear the longer this draws out. <What were you saying, my dear?>

A cat pops onto the head of the Queen, reminding you of Chenya even with the black and white, who parrots the, now shaking, Alice’s words. <Well, she simply said that you’re a fat, pompous, bad tempered old tyrant!> The cat cackles, as the Queen’s face turns red, contrasting the black and white.

<OOOOOOFFF with her head!!!>

You watch as the card soldiers jump from their seats to descend on the two of you as Alice clings to you for dear life, as the card shoulders dive to deliver her to her death sentence. 

But before the avalanche of card soldiers obscure everything from view, you can hear the King of Hearts beg his wife and captor to spare the poor girl. <Darling she’s just a child!>

And then the world blurs.

You’re back in your bed. Alice isn’t in your arms anymore, instead it’s Grim.

Why won’t anyone stop the queen? Someone could have stopped her.

AND THEN YOU COULD’VE GOTTEN YOUR EXIT!! FUCK!

Great. Winston had promised to help you if you helped Alice. And now you can’t go back till you go to bed! And that’s if Alice hasn’t gone home or lost her head yet! YAY!

You groan before sitting up, not expecting the violent pain in your neck. You then hiss in pain, just barely managing to massage the flesh locked under the collar. 

What a great way to start the morning. 

But there was some good news. The tyrant queen will get called out for her tyranny. That’s something to look forward to at the duel today. Still doesn’t make you feel any better though. 

“Ugh, Great.” You rub the exhaustion out of your eyes, to be face to face with Grim. 

“Hey, ____! Ah, good, you’re already up!” 

“Didn’t exactly have the best sleep.” Maybe you should tell grim about your dreams, just in case. But that’s a later thing, “Ready to get these collars off?” 

“Yeah!”

Back at the tyrant’s castle, er, Heartslabyul, the residents have all gathered in the magical battlegrounds within the rose garden. Why someone built a magical battlefield in the middle of a flammable rose maze must have been a tyrant themselves, because why someone didn’t bring up the flammable part at some point during the dorm’s construction was a question you’re not stupid enough to come up with an answer to.

Speaking of tyrants, Riddle must have gone on a power trip stoked by his tantrum yesterday. Because the number of students wearing collars, minus or plus Ace and Deuce pick one, has to have doubled in one night. Seriously, a good quarter of the audience has to be wearing collars. 

And because of said collars, this duel is going to go south real fast. Because Riddle’s already fucking cheating with his signature spell. Seriously, magic nullification should not be allowed in duels like this but for some reason it is.

But back to the duel of the century, for just Heartslabyul. The dorm residents have been gossiping since your group’s arrival….

“Did you hear? They say someone’s challenged Dorm Leader Rosehearts to a duel!”

“Riddle Rosehearts? Seriously?! Whoever it is has gotta be outta his mind. Riddle will have his head off in five seconds flat.”

…about how stupid this decision was. You mean, you agree, but they’re the ones living under a tyrant. Have a little positivity, everyone. 

Thankfully, there are few who have held onto the aforementioned positivity. 

“Still, it’s the first challenge since Rosehearts took power. I’m pumped!” In your opinion, the dorm should be like that guy. That guy has a little faith.

Also, Trey apparently didn’t warn Cater about the duel that was probably going viral on Heartslabyul’s Magicam, because he looks completely shocked as you told him about the shit preparing to hit the fan.  “You’re saying Ace and Deuce are challenging Riddle for the dorm leader’s seat?! Please tell me you’re kidding!”

You sigh, “I’m not, Cater. Wish I was.”

“We tried to stop ‘em.” Correction, Trey. YOU tried to stop them, he sat there and did nothing like with Riddle. Seriously, the bystander effect is strong with Trey; it's like he’s afraid of saying something when he needs to. Did Riddle’s mom traumatize him too!?

Cater looks positively miserable at the revelation. “Of all the stupid ideas…I just hope this doesn’t make everything worse.”

“You and me both.” Trey agrees, but now you're both curious and concerned. Just how much worse is worse?

Crowley’s clearing of his throat silences the crowd’s chatter. Kinda concerning that he's more focused on two students dueling a dorm leader than the rampant abuse of power that’s going on in this dorm, but whatever it’s not like negligence is a crime or something. Though it probably isn’t given your experience so far. 

“We are about to commence two challenges for the dorm leader position at Heartslabyul House.” He announces as grandiose as possible. “The first challenger is Ace Trappola, the second challenger is Deuce Spade. The current housewarden they have challenged is Riddle Rosehearts.”

“Now, in accordance with the duel rules, please remove the magic-sealing collars as they would provide an unfair disadvantage.” Oh, you were waiting for that.

Riddle snaps his fingers and the collars dissolve away into sparks, leaving behind red marks around Ace and Deuce’s necks. Given Ace has been stuck in that thing for two nights you can’t imagine the relief he must feel. “Ah! FINALLY, the dumb collar is off!”

Yours and Grim’s are still on though. Oh, did he just forget that you and Grim were collateral damage to yesterday’s rampage? You can feel your rage rising. 

“Enjoy your moment of freedom. The collar will be back on soon enough.” Riddle’s cocky smirk looks so punchable, and you feel an itch in your fingers. Still cockiness might be his downfall. 

But before that…..

“Hey, Rosehearts!” You call out, “ Just to point something out,” You say as sarcastically and humorlessly as possible, “could you please remove mine and Grim’s. We’re not even in your dorm!” Riddle sighs, as if you’ve been bugging him about this for hours, before finally unlocking the literal weight around your and Grim’s necks. And you breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” The ‘Asshole’ part goes unsaid, for fear of making this worse.

Now, that the cone of shame on your neck is gone you can let them return back to the pre-duel banter. “Carry on.” You say with a dismissive wave of your hand.

Riddle hmphs, returning his focus back to his two challengers. “I could hardly believe it when I heard you two intended to duel me. Is this a joke?”

There’s a “Do I look like I’m joking?” from Ace and a “I’d never propose a duel as a joke!” from Deuce. They’re not backing down now. 

“Hmph. Have it your way. Let us get this over with.” Indeed, let’s get this over with, because you might have a room to clear out when this eventually fizzles out. That doesn’t mean you won’t cheer for Ace and Deuce, Bravery is still something to praise even if it’s on par with stupidity.

But like before, Cater intervenes when he really shouldn’t, “Uh, Riddle, what do you want to do about today's afternoon tea?”

“A foolish question. You know that the rules stipulate I take my tea everyday at 4 PM sharp.” Oh, so he’s cocky that he can finish this in, what, thirty minutes. 

“It’s just that it’s already past 3:30….”

“And you fear that I will be late? All the more reason to end this promptly.” So he’s very cocky. You can only hope it will be his downfall. 

“It appears I have little time to waste. Rather than facing my opponents in succession, I will take on both at once.” Oh. Wow, he’s…..he’s arrogant if he thinks that. Well, Ace and Deuce are probably screwed. 

The cheers of the dorm residents fill the air as stiff and empty as they were yesterday. 

“You can do it, Dorm Leader!”

“Knock ‘em dead, sir!”

You can see Trey shake his head to your  right, so he still hasn’t said anything. Coward.

“Cowards,” you hear Deuce say, and you agree, because you’re looking right at one. To say that you don’t want to hurt his feelings after a hard time, when you’re letting him force that hard time onto others is the definition of cowardice.

“Myah, I got a bad feelin’ about this.” You squeeze Grim tighter. 

“I do too, Grim.” 

“Hey, at least we got a plan!” A plan that already hangs on by a thread, Ace but you’ll accept his confidence. 

“Headmaster, please give us the signal.” Riddle’s already sure of his victory even before it starts, and he might be right, but a part of you wants him to suffer, just a little.

“When the mirror, I’ve thrown shatters upon the ground, that is your signal to begin. Ready…Go!” 

“You guys can do it!” You offer them some encouragement, but….

“OFF WITH YOUR HEADS!” You saw the way this battle ends from miles away.

If you're being generous, you’ll call that another deja vu moment. This insanity of constant ‘beheadings’ is starting to become grating. But, you hope the ending of the calling out part comes sooner rather than later. 

“That was…..fast.” You say glumly, it’s sad that they failed so quickly but at least they tried. It had to be, what, 5 seconds into the duel before the collars locked on and it was over. Saddening, upsetting but expected. 

Well, now what?

“Visualization is key to spell casting.” Crowley starts an unhelpful speech about magic. It’s not really helpful in this situation, because if Riddle has his way from now on Ace and Deuce are going to be wearing those collars till Riddle graduates. “The better you are at accurately visualizing your magic’s effect, the stronger and more precise it will be.”

“They lost in less than ten seconds, you’re not helping Crowley.” You point out the explicitly obvious, because it doesn’t fucking matter about how visualisation is important when a. They lost before they cast a single spell, and b. They can’t even use their magic to practice now. “Still, it would appear Mr.Rosehearts has finely honed his magic.” Ouch, salt in the wound. Stroke the tyrant’s ego even more too. Crowley’s just batting zero right now. 

“Myah…They didn’t stand a chance.” Grim bemoans at the loss. 

You sigh, “Well at least they tried….” it wasn’t really an attempt even but at the very least. You force a smile on your face as you approach your two friends, “You guys did your best, or were going to your best..” You add unhelpfully, before giving them each a gentle smile. . You might have to just let them stay it seems.

Ace opens his mouth to reply but someone else does to add their unhelpful commentary. “Hardly. They didn’t even last five seconds.” You can hear Ace and Deuce growl as you turn to face the cocky tyrant. 

 That cocky, self-righteous brat keeps adding his unwanted opinion. “That was all you had, and still you thought to challenge me? You must be utterly humiliated.”

You glare at him, “You won already. Stop rubbing it in.”

Riddle’s too high on his high horse to seem to be aware of what happens below. “I guess my mother was right. A man who cannot follow rules is a man who cannot achieve anything.” You’re going to put a knife between that woman’s eyes if you ever meet up. Mommy undearest’s parenting has screwed him up so much that he’s doing the same thing to the people he lives with.

If Ace or Deuce actually won this battle he probably would have been run out of the dorm.

“Tch…We agree that rules should be followed. But forcing others to follow nonsensical rules like the ones you’ve enacted is tyranny!” 

“Then you agree that breaking the rules is wrong. And in this dorm, I AM the rules.” Is…is he serious? Did he miss the second part of Deuce’s sentence? “Therefore, those who cannot abide by my decisions deserve not the heads they use to complain!”

You had enough of this.

You’ve bit your tongue bloody, thanks to this brat’s tyranny.  You've been inconvenienced again and again because of his pretentious and frankly ridiculous rules.

 Screw manners, screw survival, and screw this red-haired little absolutist pain the ass! “But that’s not right! You can’t just use the rules to do whatever you please!” You yell in fury. 

“I am the one who decides what is wrong and right-”

You cut him off. “And you’re also a pain in the neck and the ass, that pretends he’s the perfect student that can do no wrong, because mommy said so!” His eyes widen in shock as you finally, finally go off the leash you tethered to yourself this entire time. And you’re not done. “How can you be so blinded by your own delusions that you can’t even see how unreasonable it is to follow, frankly, the most STUPID of rules!?!” You can feel your cheeks warming and the blood in your ears roaring in boiling hot fury. You can feel someone try to calm your rage with a hand, Deuce’s, on your shoulder. You’re pissed and tired and angry and what does he do?

He continues talking like you didn’t say anything. “If there were no penalties, no one would follow the rules.” You;re going to punch him. 

“You!-” What he says next cuts your thoughts and words off completely.

“What sort of pitiful education have you received, that you cannot follow such simple rules? Clearly, you were born to parents with no great magical capability. As a result…you lack even the basic education necessary to attend a school such as this. It’s quite sad.”

You blink, taken aback. The rage in you is stunned into pacification. 

He did not. 

He did not just say that about you.

“You-” You can’t even string your thoughts together completely stunned. You can forgive someone being unreasonableYou feel something different from rage, something stronger, boiling inside you. 

“You little…” Deuce releases you, prepared to pummel the tyrant into the ground but…..

“You shut your spoiled little mouth!” Ace dashes forward fist raised and-

He punches Riddle clean across the face. 

Hard enough to knock Riddle off his feet. Ace quite literally beat Deuce to the punch. 

So many voices speak up in shock and surprise at Riddle, the untouchable dorm leader, finally eating his just desserts. Right in the face too.

You don’t say anything, staring at what’s about to unfold, with a blank expression.

“That’s all I can take. Forget Riddle. Forget the duel. I’m done.” Just like Alice in your dreams last night, calls out the now stunned red sovereign.

“That hurt! You…p-punched me?!” Riddle’s genuinely stunned. Is stunned by his house of cards finally starting to collapse around him? You can’t bring yourself to care. 

Ace spits some facts. 

“Kids aren’t trophies for their parents to flaunt. And the accomplishments of a child aren’t determined by the worth of their parents. It’s  not your parents’ fault you became a tyrant -or anyone else’s. You’ve been here a year and haven’t even made a friend who will tell you you’re outta line. And that’s on you.”

“What are you even talking about?” 

“Yeah, maybe you had some rigid upbringing from a relentless helicopter-mom. Is that all you are? An extension of her? Can’t you think for yourself? You call yourself the ‘red sovereign’. You’re just a baby who’s good at magic.”

“Baby…? Did you just call me a ‘baby’?! You don’t know anything about me! You don’t know anything about anything!” But despite the honest truths that Ace is trying to make the pretentious tyrant hear for what has to be the first time in his life, Riddle refuses to listen.

“Nope, sure don’t. And I don’t need to. Your attitude tells me all I need to know- that you’re nothing but a spoiled brat!” Ace doesn’t let up on the lecture Riddle probably needed to hear last year. 

Riddle’s face is starting to turn pink from his blind anger. “Shut up, shut up, shut UP! My mother was right! And that means I’m right too!” Riddle practically roars in anger. He’s shaking from barely repressed rage. 

Trey steps between them to prevent what has to be a near disaster, trying to pacify the screaming tyrant. “Riddle, calm down. The duel is already over.”

“Mr. Clover is correct.” Crowley  The challenger has been disqualified due to physical violence. If you do not cease your conflict now, I’ll have you written up for breaking school rules!” But even with the threat of breaking his own personal rules and being a rule breaker himself doesn’t soothe his rage. It doesn’t matter here anyway, because as long as no one is willing to stand up to-

“Ace is right, though! I’ve had enough of Riddle!” A voice in the crowd shouts, and he throws something small aimed directly at Riddle’s head.

An egg cracks in Riddle’s hair. Egg goop trails down his face. You fight back a laugh with all your willpower. Well, color you impressed. The card soldiers aren't completely useless, brain dead drones. 

For half a second everyone is frozen solid. And then the egg practically cooks on Riddle’s face as he searches for the offender, completely infuriated. “Who did that? Who threw that egg?!”

And this time, the silence feels both suffocating and glorious. At least the cowards have finally stood up for themselves, at least a little. Unfortunately Riddle, instead of taking the obvious hint the egg to the face was, he laughs. And it’s not a composed one.

“Heh heh…Ah ha ha ha!”  It’s an insane one.

Riddle snaps at all of the now cowering dorm students“You say YOU’RE fed up?! I’M the one who’s fed up with all of YOU!” 

“No matter how strict I am, no matter how many heads I remove, you keep breaking the rules! All any of you care about is doing what YOU want to do! If the guilty party won’t come forward, then I’ll pass judgment on all of you!”

“Clearly, none of you value your heads! OFF WITH YOUR HEADS!!!” Like a tyrant gone wild, collars lock on to every single one of the residents' necks, save Trey and Cater, sealing off their magic.  You’re getting real tired of hearing that. 

The Heartslabyul residents scatter like headless, heh pun unintended but fitting, chickens. “Bwaaah! Let’s get out of here!” “Urrrgh!” 

Riddle, reassured that his tyranny will last,  shoves past Ace to rub in his ‘victory’ to Ace.“How do you like that, hm? Now no one can do a thing to me! Do you see now? My strict adherence to the rules was clearly the correct path!”

Crowley still does nothing to calm, or now that Riddle’s actually broken some rules, to punish Riddle for this insanity. “Cease this improper behavior now, Mr. Rosehearts. I expect better from you!”

“Crowley, could you maybe actually do something!?!” You finally point out the utter stupidity of him not doing anything while Riddle literally abuses his power. 

“Uh…Trey, if he keeps using his spell…This could get ugly, fast!” You barely hear Cater over the chaos.

Trey does, still trying to separate the fuming  Riddle away from Ace and a catastrophe. “Riddle, stop this!”

Ace might be perspective but he’s incapable of reading the room when shit really starts to go bad. “Wow, way to totally prove me wrong here, pal! I call you a baby and you immediately throw a temper tantrum!”

Riddle’s face goes deep crimson. “Retract your comment immediately, or I shall skewer you where you stand!” He yells. 

This might not be good.

Ace doesn’t let up “No way. I ain’t retraction’ squat.”

Face red, eyes full of rage and mania, Riddle’s reached the point of fury where words are impossible and yells of anger are the only sounds that can be made. “YEEEAAARGH!!!”

“Dude, this is bad! You’ve G-2-G, now!” You feel a hand on your wrist, Cater's, dragging you away from the rampaging tyrant.

And then you're blinded by the debris.The earth shakes for too long as the rose bushes are yanked out of the earth, the fragile yet heavy bushes floating high in the air. Ripped up from their earth , roots and all, and float in mid-air. The roses and their thorny brambles writhe under Riddle’s magic.

Debris and dirt float through the air, alongside the rose bushes. 

“W…Whoa…” You take a nervous step back, “Shit.” 

“The rose trees! They’re floating!”

“This is some serious magic!”

The roses and their brambles might not be the strongest weapon, but Riddle’s magical strength is powerful, as you watch the roses and branches become arrows, perfect for tearing flesh from bone and crushing the rest. 

“Mighty roses, tear this brute to pieces!” Riddle yells, completely blinded at his anger. The roses, thorns and all fly like arrows aimed directly at Ace. A deadly shot, if it lands.

“Ace! MOVE!” You dash forward, but a pair of arms are around your waist holding you back from the barrage of arrows aimed at your friend. You look around frantically and you see who’s stopping you from helping the first friend you made here. It’s Deuce. When did he get next to you? Nevermind. “Lemme go! Ace needs help!” 

Deuce shakes his head with a remorseful expression. “I can’t let you get hurt!”

Since you can’t get to Ace, “Crowley! DO something!” You yell at the Headmaster who’s done jack diddly since Riddle’s tantrum progressed into hemorrhage. All he’s done here is politely ask Riddle to stop, and Ace might actually die if Riddle keeps at this. 

“Cease and desist at once!” Crowley doesn’t do anything, but yells at him to stop, and Riddle’s already too angry to listen.

But it’s too late for any one to push Ace out of the way, 

“ACE!” You can’t even shut your eyes as the roses and brambles come down. You take back every thing you’ve ever said about Ace, and this world if it means you don’t witness him being killed….

…..By playing cards?

Instead of roses and their thorns tearing Ace to shreds….playing cards fall from the sky.

“Huh? I’m still alive?” Ace is as stunned as you and everyone else here. 

Deuce is probably as stunned as you, because his arms go limp, and you practically tackle Ace, “Are you okay!?” Your arms and legs are jelly from adrenaline, but you manage to stumble over and check him over with trembling hands. 

“Y-Yeah,”He answers and you sigh in clear relief.  What’s with all these playing cards?”

“All the rose trees turned into cards?” Deuce is right, All the roses and their brambles are gone. Instead it’s all playing cards. And nothing more. How did that even happen?!

Wait. Deja vu again, this keeps happening. Cards falling against an innocent. But there’s no time for that. 

Because Riddle’s face is murderous, and his grip on his magical staff is so tight it could have snapped in half. He raises it again, prepared to recast as “Why didn’t you-”

Deuce dives in between you and Ace, to act as human shield but Trey stops him, shielding you all from Riddle’s view. “Riddle, stop this right now!” Oh, so NOW Trey decides enough is enough, murder was the last straw. Wonderful. 

“Wait, is that Trey’s ‘Paint the Roses’?! But…how?!” You can hear a confused Cater, and thank goodness, because Trey saved Ace’s life. 

“All the magic sealin’ collars are gone!” Grim’s right, You didn’t even notice in the mayhem. Ace and Deuce, and probably all the Heartslabyul residents, all have their magic-sealing collars removed. 

“What did I tell you? My magic can overwrite characteristics for a short time. So I used it to make ‘Riddle’s magic’ into ‘my magic’.” Trey’s explanation lets you breathe a sigh of genuine relief. At least now, Riddle is defenseless.

“You can do that? That’s some kinda loophole!” And a lucky loophole to test on someone about to die.

Meanwhile in Crazy town, Riddle’s discovered his magic’s no longer his own. “N-no…Off with their heads! I SAID, off with their heads!” Every attempt Riddle makes to cut off everyone’s magic just causes more and more playing cards to fly out. But depending on how short the time Trey’s magic can work, that might not be for long. Especially with how many times Riddle tries recasting. 

Trey finally puts his foot down. “Riddle, stop. Can’t you see how you look right now?”

You can’t believe that this is what it took to finally open the eyes of the residents. Ace nearly being murdered because Riddle’s ego got bruised. At least now, their eyes have been opened to the true extent of Riddle’s cruelty. 

Which they decide to vocalize in the presence of the tyrant with the bruised ego. They’re not very smart. are they? 

“He…he was really gonna do it!” “He is completely out of control.” “He’s like some kinda monster!”

Thankfully, and unfortunately, Riddle isn’t focused on that. Instead, he’s more concerned with the fact that his magic isn’t his anymore. And Trey is the reason. “What? Was my magic overwritten by yours? Does that mean your signature spell is stronger than mine?!” He demands, turning on the only one who ever really defended him in his madness. 

“Of course it doesn’t. Riddle, take a deep breath and listen to us.” Trey tries to reason, but it’s too late for Riddle to be reasonable, with him already lost in the throes of his anger.

You start to feel a chill up your spine, like back in the mines with that monster. But why are you-

Still completely unreasonable, Riddle’s still deaf to Trey's words, “Are YOU going to tell me that I’m wrong too? After all I’ve done to protect the rule of law?! Do you know how much I’ve suffered for this?! I…I refuse to believe this!” That chill gets worse, and the ominous and malicious feeling you’re getting from Riddle gets worse. Something much darker. A line of dark blood drips from Riddle’s nose. Wait, that’s not blood. Blood isn’t….black.

You might be angry about earlier, but unlike Riddle, you haven’t lost your wits. You can tell when things are nose-diving into a downward spiral at terminal velocity. Because the longer Riddle spits his mad ravings, the more of that black stuff comes out.

You normally wouldn’t do this, mostly because you want to punch the bastard. But that inky stuff has to be a bad omen. “Riddle, you need to calm down.” You try to soothe the raging beast, even though you’re sure that this is a bad idea. “You don’t want to be a rulebreaker, right? So just calm down and we’ll talk this out.”

“Wha-OW!” Ace looks at you as if you’d gone insane too, but you elbowed him harshly in the gut. 

Riddle’s angry glare falls on you. And you could see the veins starting to twitch under his skin. If he gets any more angry, then he might have a stroke. “ I! AM NOT! A RULE BREAKER!” He yells, his own rage leaving him breathless. “AND YOU! OF ALL PEOPLE! HAVE NO RIGHT TO SAY THAT!”

“I’m just trying to calm you down, you don’t really want to break the rules by hurting anyone, do you?” You hope he doesn’t actually want to hurt anyone. Plus, you’re really not ready to witness someone’s death. 

Riddle’s face is so red, it looks like it might explode. And his glare could kill you and cook the remains with how fiery it is. 

He snaps, his voice laden with venom. 

“YOU! DARLINGS LIKE YOU! ARE WHY WE NEED THE RULES! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO SAY THAT TO ME!”

…..What.

Did he just- 

No way, he just did. He did. 

Shit. Shit...SHIT. 

FUCK YOU, RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS!

You did NOT go through all that shit for him to reveal it to everyone here in a fit of rage. No fuck him, fuck this, whatever shit he has going on can wait because you need this bastard’s neck to be the other way round. 

You feel fire burn under your skin. You’re gonna-

“Wait, wha-” You hear , and you don’t even have the ability to freeze up in terror. Because you gotta disperse the potential nightmare of Ace and Deuce finding out. Even if they don’t believe him, the doubt will remain. So you’re basically fried. 

“It’s nothing!” You frantically yell to cut off whatever Ace or  Deuce were going to say as fast as you can as you feel your heart speed up in total panic.  You’ll be lucky if they think this is a psychotic rambling of a raging tyrant. This just keeps getting worse and worse for you. 

If Riddle doesn’t get killed in this madness, then he owes you an apology and you owe him a big, fat fist to the face. 

Meanwhile as you prepare for your own mental breakdown, Crowley maintains his complete and utter uselessness, even though he probably has the power to stop this. “Cease immediately, Mr. Rosehearts! Any further attempt to use magic will leave your magestone completely tainted with blot!”

What is blot?! 

And why is Riddle-

“But….I’m right! I’M the one who’s right! There is NO! POSSIBLE! ALTERNATIVE!” Thick, black inky substance  comes out of his eyes and ears. 

“Riddle, stop!” Trey’s words can’t pull Riddle out of his madness and likely never will. 

Because all that black ink dripping out of nearly every pore, staining his skin and clothes, pools around him for only a few seconds. Before it engulfs him, swallowing him whole. 

And like a caterpillar metamorphosing into a horrific butterfly…..

…..he comes out a monster.

Like a horrible chrysalis bursting open, Riddle comes out changed. 

His skin is so pallid, the color could have been mistaken for bone. A red flame is positioned over his right eye, glowing an unnatural color. The ink that bleed out of his skin sticks to his arm and face like tar. And most identifiably, he’s dressed like the Queen of Hearts. Sort of, if she was beheaded and her body was thrown in her beloved rose garden to be torn apart by the hedgehogs. (A fitting fate in your eyes)

The tyrant has changed to match his predecessor, both over-controlling monsters. 

But that’s not the most terrifying part of it. 

There’s also the giant hulking beast tethered to Riddle’s back.  And that’s the most defining feature. Because that thing matches your dreams of the Queen of Hearts. The monster is dressed in a dress nearly identical to the one from your second dream. She’s even carrying a rose bush, torn from another world’s ground.

This is not good. And you’re suddenly very afraid of what will happen next.

The possessed? Riddle cackles, “You are fools to defy me! You are not welcome in my world. In my world, I am the law. I am order made manifest!” His voice is warped and distorted as if someone otherworldly is speaking through him.

“The only response I will accept from you is ‘Yes, Dorm Leader Riddle.’ All who defy me will lose their heads! Ah ha ha ha HA!” 

“Dear me, what have I done? I’ve allowed a student to overblot in my presence!” What the fuck is overblot!?

“Crowley? What the HELL is overblot!?” You demand an explanation to this madness, because Riddle is both a monster, and has a massive monster connected to his spine. Seriously, what the shit is this!?!

“Overblot is a dangerous condition that mages must avoid at all costs. At the moment, he is overcome by negative energy and has lost control of his magic and emotions.”

“Okay but what does that mean?!” 

“Please explain!”

“To put it in layman’s terms, he’s in evil berserker mode!”

“If he keeps releasing magical energy, we could be looking at a loss of life here- his included.” 

“WHAT!” You feel your eye twitch, “CROWLEY! WHY DIDN’T YA JUST TELL ME ALL THIS SHIT WHEN I GOT HERE!!” It can’t be that hard, can it? How hard is it to give the unfortunate transfer student from another world or dimension a simple crash-course of ‘hey, here’s some things you should know about our world!’, for crap’s sake. 

“Ms. ____-” 

“Nevermind, Crowley! We’ll deal with the evil giant monster thing now, I’ll freak out later!” And freak out you will. Riddle outed you, overblotted and could kill someone or multiple someones if this shit goes south. Forget punching him, you’re going to beat him so bad that smug arrogant face of his will be unrecognizable when you're done with him.You are fucking tired of this shit already, and when you think it’s bad it just gets worse.

“Yes! The well-being of my students is my top priority. Therefore, I must evacuate them immediately.”

“Y-You’re not staying?”. You say weakly. Was the bar for headmaster requirements in hell? Yes, there is a giant monster/dorm leader attacking the running and hiding Heartslabyul residents but this is a MAGIC school for shit’s sake. “No, but as for Mr.Rosehearts, we must restore his consciousness before his magical energy runs dry.” Damnit Crowley! “For as bad as losing him would be, there are scenarios that are far worse…” WHAT’S WORSE?!?!

“Listen well: I need all of you to seek help from the other housewardens and members of faculty.” But how the hell are going to all evacuate and summon the other housewardens if Riddle is-

While the exposition dump was happening, the beast behind Riddle follows his body movements, and still fueled by all the anger that caused this whole mess to start in the first place, raises the rose bush like a club, prepared to strike down one of the unfortunate Heartslabyul students.

Ace and Deuce finally allowed to use their magic, do what they’ve wanted to do since yesterday. Strike the pretentious dorm leader down.

“HIIYAH! TAKE THAT!” A strong magical gust knocks the beast’s weapon away from its original target. And annoys the furious Riddle. 

“Huh!? Trey, Cater and Crowley look and sound bewildered at the attack, but you feel a rush of pride. 

“I summon thee, cauldron!” Deuce takes advantage of Riddle’s change in focus to strike. With his infamous cauldron spell. Riddle manages to dodge it, but at least he’s not attacking the students any more!

“MYAH!” Grim leaps out of your arms to join the attacks, sending a wave of blue fire along with Ace and Deuce’s own attacks. 

Now even more pissed ( a surprise to be honest) Riddle fumes at their lack of submission. “What do you fools think you’re doing?”

“Um, hello?! 911? We’ve got an idiot emergency!” Cater’s internet talk doesn’t fade in times of high stress.

Grim, acting unlike his usual selfish self, actually points out the most frightening part of this, “You DID hear that part about how reeeal bad things are happenin’ with him, right?!”

“That’s why we need to stop him now! I don’t want that on my conscience!” Yah, Riddle straight up sucks but risking the deaths of others to save yourself from certain death is cowardly, and unlike the rampager, you’re not a hypocrite. 

“And I’m not givin’ up till I hear him say, ‘I was wrong and I’m sorry.’”

You’re convinced, “Yeah, he owes me an apology for the shit he put me through!!”

“All right, let’s do this. I can overwrite his magic for a little longer. In the meantime, do what you can! Headmage, please evacuate the other students!”

“Wait! This is dangerous!”

“Are you S-R-S, Trey? You can’t beat Riddle!”

“So what, you’re not even gonna fight unless you KNOW you can win?”

“Yeah, he’s right. That’s weak.”

“This is the only way we can think of to snap him out of this!”

“Yeah…I don’t want to lose him. There’re too many things I’ve left unsaid.”

“We just have to do this, whatever it takes!” You might not be able to do magic, but you’ll help….somehow. 

“Ugh, I do NOT like or subscribe to this, but fine!”

Ngh…I’ll be back as soon as I’ve gotten the students to safety. Stand firm until then!”

“Such defiance, from every last one of you! I shall take all of your heads!”

“Riddle’s body can’t take much more of this. We need to stop him before it’s too late!”

Things are going…..well enough. 

Because how in every layer of hell can you describe this? At all? It’s not everyday that you watch a magician go into berserker mode and try to kill his ‘underlings’ or really equals he’s un/knowingly been abusing for who knows how long?

Here’s the good news. 

Trey’s magic makes the fight easier for them. Replacing Riddle’s UM makes the battle actually possible. 

Cater’s Spilt Card, makes the perfect distraction ones, that he can use as human shields as Riddle strikes.

Even Ace, Deuce and Grim’s inexperience manages to turn the tide. Wind, cauldrons and fire join a barrage of more sophisticated and more complicated spells of the third-years is the perfect combination of brute strength and complicated strategy. 

But here’s the bad news. 

Riddle’s fast. Very fast. 

For every one spell the others cast, Riddle can cast two. and moves twice as fast to replace every one Trey replaces. Which should be impossible with all of his magical energy and life force being drained away but it seems whether he’s a horrific monster or a tyrannical dictator, he’s still a magical prodigy.

What your friends need is a distraction. And they need one fast. And while you might not have magic, you’re not completely powerless here. 

Why? 

Because Riddle’s earlier pique was kind enough to dislodge plenty of stones that once were the floor of the battle ground. Small and light enough for you to carry. Large and heavy enough to leave a nasty bruise or a nice headache.

All you hope is that you have good aim. Because this better land right in the face. 

Even with the hail of magic sending wind, ice, fire, cauldrons and other magical bursts in Riddle’s direction, you’re safely hidden in the background and the beast attached to him is otherwise preoccupied with the aforementioned magic, so it’s easy to sneak away. 

You wrap your hand around one of the loose stones of the destroyed battlegrounds, and sneak behind the bushes till you’re a good distance away from the others with a broad distance away from him and that monster. “Hey Rosehearts!” You yell.

He turns to you with a death glare that could actually cut off your head. But as soon as his gaze has fallen on you, you throw the stone as hard as you can.

It hits him square in the forehead. 

Riddle doesn’t even have the time to cry out in pain, as he and the phantom monster stumble back, dazed.

“HA! Take that you controlling bastard!” Sure, you’re saving his life in the process, but considering he just outed you, kicking his ass through this is actually one hell of a relief.

Everyone takes advantage of the distraction you made to send another barrage of magic against Riddle. Still dazed from your strike to his head, probably combined with the damage the overblot was taking on his body, he’s much slower. 

So now, every strike lands without fail, and Riddle barely has time to retaliate now. And that changes the tide of the battle. 

With every new strike, the monster’s body starts to distort and parts of its body start to writhe and twist. The darkness glowing underneath starts to distort and warp. The roots holding it to Riddle's body start to sever. The monster’s distorted roars start to soften, turning weaker. 

“Is it over?” You ask. You feel safe enough to go closer, now that the monster’s body starts to sway and collapse. Riddle looks like he’s about to pass out. “Is he going to die?”

“He better not. He still needs to apologize to me!” Ace 

You sigh in relief for half a second. And the blot around Riddle swarms him. 

You don’t know what switched on within you. You hate this guy. You want to see him suffer a little, or more specifically a lot.

“Henchman!” 

So you don’t know why you ran when you did, or why you grabbed Riddle’s wrist like a vice right before his body disappeared into the mess of dark ink. You grabbed on as tight as you can,  just as the monster finally burst. 

Thick ink, scalding hot like Riddle’s burning rage, hits your skin and burns your face. You scream in reflex, and your mouth burns from the hot, bitter ink entering it. You choke on the blot. It burns. It coats you, covers you, drowns you and your vision swims. But your grip doesn’t let up. 

“_____!!!” You hear many voices screaming your name. But you can’t see them. The burning black ink falls like rain, obscuring your friends from view.

All you can feel is that overwhelmingly painful and smothering burn of the ink…but the last thing your senses pick up on before you pass out isn’t the burn on your skin, the bitterness in your mouth, or the voices of your friends.

It’s a voice.

“I…was wrong?! But that’s…impossible…”

A sad, anguished voice. The sad, anguished voice of Riddle Rosehearts.

“Isn’t it….Mother?”

[dfortrafalgar]

Stain

You're awoken from your slumber by Law, only to find an accident that happened overnight.

Warnings: Female periods

Ever the professional, level-headed man, Law barely blinked twice when he realized what he saw out of the corner of his eye when he carefully slipped out from under his bedsheets, leaving you nestled under the warm blankets in a peaceful slumber.  The light from the gas lamp he kept lit in his quarters overnight barely supplied his retinas any way to take in what he noticed, but he still spotted it.

Right beside your curled up form was a splotch of deep red fluid staining the plain white bedsheets.  A larger stain ran from between your legs and up the back of your shorts.

Law grabbed a small agenda you kept beside the bed which helped you keep track of any of your bodily needs being on a pirate ship away from land for most of your time.  You would always blot the days you got your period with red ink to stay on top of when your cycle would most likely appear.  Just as Law anticipated, your cycle arrived a week earlier than you had initially planned.

He made quick work of marking the day’s small box with a blot of red ink for you.  Tucking away the agenda, he shoved aside any of his current early morning plans and instead placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, lightly jostling you awake.  With a grumble, you tucked your head into your arms, hiding your face from the world in a feeble attempt to get more precious sleep.

“Baby, wake up,” Law said with a hushed tone.

“What do you want,” you mumbled into your pillow.

You made a motion to roll over and face your boyfriend, but the slight movement of your body immediately alerted you to the uncomfortable, wet feeling in your shorts.  You propped yourself up on your elbows, gazing over your body, eyes falling on the obvious blood stain that lay below you.

“Oh my god–”

Law’s hand wrapped around your wrist and beckoned you closer.  “Don’t worry about it.”

“But I ruined your sheets,” you responded with worry laced on your tongue, now fully awake and aware of your situation.  “I didn’t know it would be here so early…”

“You couldn’t have known,” he reassured you with a calm demeanor.  His pulling on your wrist finally caused you to maneuver carefully towards him, allowing Law to scoop his arms under your legs and haul you out of bed.

You cringed at the feeling between your legs.  “I’m so sorry.”  Your arms wrapped around his neck for stability. 

Law responded by placing a kiss to the top of your head.  He used his foot to open his small private bathroom, allowing you to step out of his arms and onto the floor.  Wordlessly, he started the tap of the metal bathtub, letting hot water flow into the basin.  You watched helplessly as he opened a tiny wooden linen cupboard, procuring two towels, an unopened bar of light soap, and a very small bottle of a lavender scented body wash.  

The sight made you crack a smile.  “Where did you get a lavender body wash?”

“Stole it from an inn we stayed at on an island.  Free soap and shampoo can’t be beat,” he muttered.  You snorted, which made your boyfriend smile at you, amused by the situation himself.  He turned back to you after placing the items on the side of the bath.  “You get undressed, I’ll change the bed.” With a frown, you removed your bed shirt.  “You really shouldn't, I'm the one that made the mess.”

“Nah, you can’t make a mess when you’re sleeping.”  Law held out his hand towards you when you removed your ruined shorts and underwear.  You were bare in front of him, knowing that you had absolutely nothing you could hide from him even if you wanted to.  (He had already seen every inch of you.)  

“What?” you asked, confused, looking at his hand.

“I’ll clean your shorts.”

“Huh?  No, they’re disgusting now, I can just throw them out!”

Law grabbed the tiny bottle of body wash from the side of the tub.  Staring at you with his steely gray eyes, he uttered something under his breath that was drowned out by the sound of the gushing water flowing into the basin.  Suddenly, your hand grasped the body wash, and Law’s hand held the cleaner portion of your panties and shorts.  With a smirk, he said, “I’ll clean them.”

“You’re so stubborn,” you retorted with a pout that quickly turned into a pleased smile.  “You treat me so well.”

“Of course I do.  Now get in the bath and clean up.”

“Aye aye, captain,” you mused with a chuckle.  Law rolled his eyes, leaving you to bathe in private, knowing his coy smirk gave away any hint of feigned annoyance.

You rinsed your lower body before settling into the bath, sighing at the warmth flooding across your skin.  The metal wash basin kept the water insulated, which kept you much warmer for longer.  It was pure bliss, steam slowly flowing through the air.  You could easily fall back into a nice sleep like this, but you could already hear Law’s disapproving voice in your ear advising you not to.  ‘Your skin will dry out and you’ll get sores and those will get infected,’ he’d probably say.  He was always so matter-of-fact when it came to anything medical, not that you could really blame him.

With a hum, you poured some of the body wash into your hands and scrubbed it along your body, inhaling the soothing scent that wafted through the steam.  Your boyfriend was really too good to you.  Most people would be revolted waking up to a blood stain from a period in their bed, but Law couldn’t be phased by anything.  It was nature, it was a fact of life.  He gave you no room to be embarrassed, which made you quickly shove down any shame you felt and replace it with relief and glee that you were lucky enough to end up with a man so understanding and empathetic in his own strange ways.

You didn’t know how much time passed, your eyes closed taking in all the warmth you could from the soothing bath, now accompanied by a lingering floral aroma in the air.  You jumped slightly at the sound of the narrow door swinging open with a creak, revealing the lanky form of Law with a brand new change of clothes in his hands.  Tucked in his arm with your clothes was a small box of tampons and a slightly larger plastic bag full of wrapped pads.

“I got them from the crew bathroom, I realized we ran out in here.”  He placed the items on the lid of the tiny toilet that occupied his private bathroom.  “How are you feeling?”

“I feel fine, really, just a bit embarrassed still,” you replied.

Law nodded.  “I get it.”  He procured your previous pair of underwear from the pocket of his sweatpants.  With a smug grin, he held them up in his one hand, making the fabric sway back and forth in the air.  “Look, no stain.”

Your eyes widened.  They looked brand new.  “How did you do that?”

The raven-haired man simply shrugged, waggling his fingers on his free hand.  “Little devil fruit abuse.”

You groaned.  “You do too much!”

He shoved them back into his pocket.  “I think I do just enough.  But if you want to pay me back somehow, I wouldn’t say no.”  He flashed a coy wink toward you.

You cupped water in your hands and flung it at him, making him jump backward with a shout.  “You sly bastard!” you chided with a hearty laugh.

Law couldn’t fight his own chuckle that bubbled from his lungs as he perched on the edge of the tub, leaning his elbow on his knee as he dragged his lean fingers through your damp hair.  You leaned into his touch, warmth from the bath water as well as his tender caresses making the blood in your veins spark with boundless affection… until a hefty yawn forced its way out.

You pouted.  “You treat me so well, but you did wake me up.”

“Yeah?” your boyfriend added.

“I’m expecting you to let me sleep in tomorrow to make up for this.”

“No-can-do, sweetpea.  You’re on morning watch.”

The Surgeon of Death quieted your protest with a firm kiss to your lips, his heart hammering behind his sternum as you dropped the subject and smiled against his skin.

[fear-is-truth]

How would Patrick react to you getting pregnant?

getting knocked up by patrick bateman .ᐟ.ᐟ

tw ; unplanned pregnancy (duh), intrusive thoughts, suggestive, not proofread at all

a/n: i finished writing this then forgot about its existence lol. anyways, safe sex is important !!

if you’re already married:

patrick’s reaction to the pregnancy would be shaped by his obsession with image. being 27 and married, he’d likely face pressure from his colleagues. he’s the quintessential wall street yuppie: the suit, the power, the status. kids? they’re just another box to check for the perfect american dream.

he’d flip from denial to forced enthusiasm, playing the role of the expectant father. he’d talk about starting a college fund, buying a bigger apartment, even hiring the best nanny money can buy. it wouldn’t be about the baby itself, though—it’s about appearances. patrick would treat the pregnancy like he treats his designer wardrobe: another accessory to show off.

in private, he’d still be unraveling. he’d resent the disruption to his routine, the messiness a baby would bring. but he’d also feel trapped. divorce or walking away isn’t an option—how would that look? his friends are your friends, after all. patrick would pour his insecurities into overcompensation, obsessively showering you with gifts and planning every detail of your life.

but behind closed doors, he would remain emotionally unavailable most of the time. he’d throw himself into his work, his gym routine, anything to avoid facing the reality of impending fatherhood.

he’d have a mental meltdown over your body changing—obsessing over how “the weight is distributed” while simultaneously marveling (inappropriately) at how your chest looks fuller. (“…better than any breast implants”), the way your skin glows, but also how your clothes fit differently. he doesn’t even try to hide his vanity. “you’re still beautiful, obviously,” he adds quickly, “but maybe we should talk to a trainer after the baby is born. just to make sure you bounce back quickly.”

he’d absolutely flip between moments of pathetic awkwardness and his usual cold arrogance. for example, he’d randomly caress your growing belly, but then suddenly blurt out “your… tits looks great, but do stretch marks happen to everyone?”

he’s constantly offering unsolicited opinions about your diet and fitness routine. he’s the husband who insists you on buying expensive organic groceries and then criticises you for craving something as mundane as ice cream. but when you do cry about it (because hormones), he panics and makes the whole situation awkward.

if you dare deny him sex because of pregnancy hormones, patrick would sulk like a child. but then quickly bounce back to showering you with gifts to stay on your good side.

patrick’s jealousy of your attention is borderline absurd. he starts competing with the baby before it’s even born, constantly reminding you of his accomplishments.

maternal clothes for you are only the best—chanel, hermès, and gucci maternity collections. he refuses to let you look frumpy. if you wear anything “off-brand,” he’ll throw passive-aggressive comments like “are you trying to look like a suburban soccer mom?”. also, he’d browse catalogs and stores for gucci, armani and burberry baby clothes.

the nursery is black & white and minimalist—think pristine white walls, sleek italian furniture, and splashes of gray for “warmth.” no toys that clash with the aesthetic. he insists on vitra rocking chairs, fendi baby blankets, and a custom crib.

patrick spends hours making sure the initials won’t spell something embarrassing and that the full name looks good on a business card.

he’d pick out names that scream “old money”. for boys: theodore, alexander, nathaniel. for girls: charlotte, victoria, isabelle, madeleine, genevieve, anastasia.

his obsession with control would bleed into the smallest details. he’d blast his favorite music at your presence—huey lewis & the news, whitney houston, or talking heads—arguing it’s “good for the baby’s development,” while monologuing about how these artists represent true genius.

he’d talk to your stomach, but awkwardly, fumbling over words in his usual detached, overly-rehearsed way: “your dad’s a very successful man, you know… i hope you inherit my bone structure.”

if it’s an unplanned pregnancy:

if you’re not married, holy shit… the stakes are different, but patrick’s reaction is just as selfish. first of all, the pregnancy is absolutely. his. fucking. fault. patrick hates wearing condoms (would sometimes straight up lie about wearing one) and he always tells you that nothing “bad” will happen—until it does.

his immediate response would be to downplay the situation. “are you sure?” he’d ask flatly, trying to buy time. his inner monologue would be a chaotic swirl of paranoia and blame—his mind races with possibilities: is this some gold-digging ploy? a mistake? could it even be his? and he even has the audacity to ask “are you sure it’s mine?”

the next stage would be denial. patrick doesn’t deal well with reality when it doesn’t serve him. he’d try to act as though nothing has changed, refusing to acknowledge the pregnancy in conversation. he might even subtly suggest that “it’s early days, we don’t have to make any decisions yet,” thinly veiling his hope that you’ll take care of it and spare him the inconvenience. but when it becomes clear that you’re keeping the baby, his panic would fucking escalate.

he might lash out, picking fights over nothing or disappearing for hours at a time to “work late” (read: spiral into his usual vices—drugs, violence, torturing sex workers).

he’d start compensating in weird ways. he’d lavish you with gifts—jewelry, designer clothes, a bigger apartment—anything to make you think he’s excited, supportive even. they’re attempts to placate you, to make the problem go away without addressing it.

in private, patrick would unravel. his inner monologue would become a torrent of rage, fear, and morbid fantasies. he’d think about running away, faking his own death, or worse—doing something drastic to ensure the pregnancy never reaches full term.

the idea of fatherhood would gnaw at him. as a child of divorce, patrick is deeply insecure, and the thought of raising a child dredges up unresolved feelings about his own father. the self-loathing buried under his narcissism rearing its head. he’d compare himself to his colleagues and realise that many of them already have kids—or at least talk about starting families. peer pressure.

this sense of competition would push him to overcompensate. he’d brag about how “ready” he is, throwing money at every conceivable solution: top-tier obstetricians, prenatal yoga classes, nursery designers. he’d try to mold himself into the perfect father-to-be, but only because he wants to win.

but patrick being patrick, his selfishness bleeds through. he bitches about your mood swings—“it’s like living with a completely different person”—but also refuses to acknowledge his role in them.

he spends hours staring at himself in the mirror, wondering if fatherhood will make him less attractive. he starts paying extra attention to his skincare routine, convinced that stress is causing him to wrinkle.

[s4kura-tr3]

Snow day

Summary: the JJK men have a day off from work because of the snow

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Sukuna, Toji, Megumi, Yuji

Gojo satoru

The snow is falling thick and fast outside your window when you wake up, a rare silence blanketing the usual city chaos. You squint at your phone, scrolling past a string of notifications until one catches your eye—work is canceled. A snow day. You barely have time to process this before the bed dips beside you.

“Guess who doesn’t have to be an adult today?” Gojo’s voice is smug, even as his arms wrap lazily around you from behind. His hair’s a mess of white, almost blending into the snowstorm outside, and his grin is somehow brighter than the sunlight streaming through the curtains.

You mumble something about wanting to sleep in, but Gojo has other plans. “Oh no, no, no, no,” he says dramatically, tugging the blankets away. “We’ve been granted a day of pure, unadulterated freedom! This calls for celebration. Come on, lazybones, get up!”

Despite your groans, you’re soon bundled up in layers and dragged outside. The cold bites at your nose, but the sight of Gojo spinning in the falling snow—arms outstretched, head tilted back like a kid seeing snow for the first time—melts your initial reluctance.

The day unfolds with Gojo’s chaotic energy as the driving force. First, a snowball fight. It starts off tame until he begins bending the rules, using his Infinity to block your throws and conjuring impossibly large snowballs that he somehow claims are “fair game.” You manage to catch him off guard, pelting him square in the back, and he dramatically collapses into the snow like he’s been mortally wounded.

Then comes the snowman-building competition, which quickly devolves into Gojo attempting to sabotage your progress while insisting his lopsided creation has “character.” By the time you both admit defeat, your cheeks are flushed and your gloves are soaked through.

Back inside, the warmth is heavenly, and Gojo insists on making hot cocoa. It’s overly sweet—because, of course, he dumps half a bag of marshmallows into your cup—but it’s perfect. You curl up on the couch together under a blanket, your feet tangled as you watch the snow continue to fall outside.

“Days like this are rare,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. He presses a kiss to your temple, his hand finding yours beneath the blanket. “We should make it snow more often.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes at his absurdity, but you can’t deny it—you wouldn’t trade this day for anything.

Geto Suguru

The morning starts with an unusual stillness. You’re lying in bed, half-buried under the warmth of the blankets, when you notice the faint blue-gray light filtering through the curtains. Snow. Lots of it. You reach for your phone and find the notification waiting: work is canceled. You sigh in relief, sinking deeper into the mattress.

Beside you, Geto stirs, his long, dark hair spilling over the pillow. He opens his eyes just enough to look at you, a lazy smirk curling on his lips. “What’s got you smiling?” he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep.

“Snow day,” you reply, tilting your phone to show him the screen.

He hums, eyes closing again as he pulls you closer. “Then there’s no reason to get up, is there?”

For a while, neither of you moves. His steady breathing and the muffled quiet of the snow make it easy to stay curled up together, his arms wrapped loosely around you. Eventually, though, the outside world calls. “We should do something,” you say, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Something like breakfast?” he offers, his voice teasing.

The two of you make your way to the kitchen, where Geto puts together a simple but satisfying breakfast. He moves with an easy confidence, brushing his hair into a loose bun as he hands you a steaming mug of tea. The two of you eat by the window, watching the snow drift lazily to the ground.

Afterward, Geto pulls on a coat and convinces you to do the same. “Come on,” he says, lacing his fingers through yours. “Let’s go see what it’s like out there.”

The streets are quiet and blanketed in pristine white. The city feels transformed, the usual chaos muted by the snow. Geto leads you to a nearby park, where the two of you walk along the snow-covered paths, your boots crunching softly with each step.

At one point, he stops to brush the snow from a bench and gestures for you to sit. “Stay there,” he says with a small smile, before gathering an armful of snow and rolling it into a ball. You watch as he builds a snowman with meticulous care, crafting its features with the same precision he brings to everything.

When he steps back to admire his work, you can’t help but laugh. “It’s… interesting,” you say, noting the lopsided grin he’s given it.

“Artistic,” he corrects with mock seriousness, his dark eyes gleaming.

You join him in the snowman-making endeavor, and before long, you’re laughing and throwing snow at each other. Geto isn’t one to start a snowball fight, but he doesn’t hesitate to retaliate when you toss a handful of snow at his back. His throws are deliberate, always landing close enough to make you yelp but never enough to truly soak you.

Eventually, the cold drives you both back inside. Geto sets about making hot chocolate, insisting on doing it properly—none of that instant stuff. The scent of melting chocolate fills the apartment as you wrap yourself in a blanket, watching him work with quiet appreciation.

When he finally hands you a mug, he sits beside you on the couch, pulling the blanket around the both of you. The snow continues to fall outside, but the warmth of his presence makes everything else fade away.

“You know,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “we should have more days like this. Just us. No work, no distractions.”

You smile, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Agreed.”

The rest of the day passes in cozy contentment, the snowstorm outside making your shared warmth feel all the more precious.

Nanami Kento

You wake up to the soft patter of snow against the window and the unmistakable stillness that only comes with a snowstorm. For once, your alarm isn’t the thing pulling you from sleep. Instead, it’s Nanami gently nudging your shoulder.

“It’s snowing,” he says quietly, his voice low and even. “And work is canceled.”

Your eyes flutter open to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed in his usual crisp manner, though his tie is noticeably absent. He’s holding a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, the other resting on your shoulder.

You groan, rolling onto your side. “So why are you up already?”

“Old habits,” he replies with a faint smile. “But since we have the day off, I thought I’d make us breakfast.”

The promise of food is enough to pull you out of bed. By the time you join him in the kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee and something sweet fills the air. Nanami is at the stove, flipping pancakes with the kind of precision he applies to everything. He hands you a plate as soon as you sit down, topped with golden pancakes and fresh fruit.

“Fancy,” you tease, drizzling syrup over the stack.

“I don’t believe in wasting time,” he replies simply, though there’s a softness to his tone.

After breakfast, the two of you linger at the table, sipping coffee and watching the snow pile up outside the window. It’s peaceful, and for once, there’s no rush to go anywhere or do anything.

When you suggest going outside, Nanami raises an eyebrow. “You know it’s freezing, right?”

“Exactly,” you say with a grin. “That’s what makes it fun.”

It takes some convincing, but eventually, he relents. Bundled up in scarves and gloves, the two of you step into the snow-covered streets. The neighborhood is quiet, and the fresh snowfall makes everything look almost magical.

Nanami is hesitant at first, but he humors you when you start gathering snow for a snowman. He helps you pack the snow into firm, perfect spheres, muttering something about “structural integrity” that makes you laugh. When it’s done, you declare it a masterpiece, though Nanami gives it a critical once-over.

“It’s lopsided,” he points out, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

You stick your tongue out at him, and just when you think he’s about to argue further, he surprises you by scooping up a handful of snow and lightly tossing it at your shoulder.

“Did you just—?”

Before you can finish, another snowball lands near your feet. Nanami is already walking away, but you catch the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “You started this,” you say, gathering your own ammunition.

The snowball fight that follows is short-lived but full of laughter, and by the time you both head back inside, your cheeks are flushed from the cold and exertion.

Nanami insists you warm up properly, so he brews a fresh pot of tea while you change into dry clothes. The two of you settle onto the couch, wrapped in a shared blanket, with steaming mugs in hand.

And for the rest of the day, you enjoy the quiet comfort of each other’s company, the world outside forgotten in favor of the warmth you share.

Toji fushiguro

The day starts with the sound of excited little footsteps racing down the hallway. You barely have time to register the noise before Megumi bursts into your room, his cheeks pink with excitement and his hair sticking up more than usual.

“It snowed!” he announces, pulling at the blankets. “A lot! Come look!”

You groan softly, still half-asleep, but the sound rouses Toji, who’s sprawled beside you, his arm draped lazily over your waist. He opens one eye, glancing at Megumi with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“It’s too early for this, kid,” Toji grumbles, though there’s no real bite to his tone.

“It’s not!” Megumi insists, tugging harder at the covers. “You promised we could go outside if it snowed!”

Toji sighs dramatically but finally sits up, ruffling Megumi’s already-messy hair. “Alright, alright. Go get dressed. And wear that coat I got you, not the thin one.”

Megumi bolts from the room, and you chuckle as you sit up, stretching. “Looks like you’re on snow-duty today.”

“Not just me,” Toji says, smirking as he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead. “You’re in this too.”

After breakfast—a quick affair of toast and hot chocolate, because Megumi can’t sit still long enough for anything else—you all bundle up and head outside. The snow is pristine and untouched, and Megumi’s eyes light up as he surveys the sparkling white blanket covering the yard.

Toji starts off by helping Megumi build a snowman, though his version involves packing the snow so tightly it could probably survive a hurricane. Megumi insists on adding little twigs for arms and a crooked smile, and when you laugh at the result, Toji smirks. “It’s got character,” he says, echoing Megumi’s words.

Once the snowman is done, Toji takes it upon himself to teach Megumi the “art” of snowball throwing. He crouches low, showing him how to pack the snow just right. Of course, the first snowball Megumi throws hits you square in the arm, earning a triumphant cheer from the little boy and a low chuckle from Toji.

“You’re supposed to aim for me, kid,” Toji says, scooping up a snowball of his own.

But instead of throwing it at Megumi, he tosses it gently at you, a teasing smirk on his face. “Gotta defend yourself, sweetheart.”

What follows is a chaotic snowball fight, with Megumi enthusiastically teaming up with Toji against you. You hold your own for a while, but eventually, Toji sneaks up behind you and lifts you off the ground, giving Megumi the perfect shot. Both of them laugh as you pretend to be defeated, and Toji sets you down with a satisfied grin.

Eventually, the cold starts to seep in, and you all head back inside. Toji insists on making something warm, so while he heats up soup in the kitchen, you help Megumi out of his snow-soaked layers and wrap him in a cozy blanket.

The rest of the day is spent in comfortable warmth. Megumi curls up on the couch between you and Toji, his head resting on your arm as the three of you watch a movie together. Toji’s hand rests lazily on your leg, his thumb rubbing small circles absentmindedly.

As the snow continues to fall outside, you glance over at the two of them—Megumi, fighting to keep his eyes open, and Toji, looking more at peace than you’ve seen in a while.

Sukuna Ryomen

The snow falls steadily outside the wooden shutters of your Heian-era home, blanketing the courtyard in pristine white. You watch from the veranda, wrapped in layers of silk, as the delicate flakes settle on the trees and roof tiles. The world feels quieter, slower—a rare reprieve from the usual hum of life.

Behind you, Sukuna lounges lazily against the wooden frame of the door, his dual eyes watching you with a mix of amusement and curiosity. He’s draped in his usual attire, though he’s added a thick haori over it, more for style than warmth. The cold never seems to bother him, but you’ve noticed he enjoys the aesthetic of snow days as much as you do.

“You’ve been staring out there for an eternity,” he drawls, his voice a low rumble. “What’s so fascinating about frozen water?”

“It’s peaceful,” you reply, glancing over your shoulder at him. “Don’t you think?”

He snorts, pushing himself to his feet with a grace that belies his size and presence. “Peaceful isn’t exactly my style.” But he steps onto the veranda anyway, his sharp gaze sweeping across the snowy courtyard.

You stand together for a moment, watching the snow fall in companionable silence. Then, without warning, Sukuna smirks. “Let’s see how long your ‘peaceful’ moment lasts.”

Before you can react, he’s scooped up a handful of snow and hurled it at you, the cold shock of it catching you entirely off guard. You gasp, stumbling back, and he laughs—a deep, rich sound that echoes through the still air.

“Did you just—?” you sputter, brushing snow from your sleeve.

“Of course I did,” he says, entirely unapologetic. “What will you do about it?”

Your reply is swift: you gather a handful of snow and toss it back, aiming for his shoulder. He doesn’t even dodge, letting it hit him as his grin widens. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

The courtyard quickly becomes your battlefield, snowballs flying back and forth as Sukuna alternates between playful teasing and outright mockery of your aim. When you manage to land one squarely on his chest, his expression flickers with surprise before morphing into approval. “Not bad,” he concedes, though his retaliation is immediate—a perfectly formed snowball that sends you running for cover.

Eventually, the game winds down, and Sukuna strides over to where you’ve taken refuge beneath a snow-covered tree. His hands are empty now, though his smirk remains firmly in place. “Had enough?”

You huff, brushing snow from your hair as you glare at him half-heartedly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your chilled face, “you still choose to stay.”

He pulls you back inside, where the warmth of the brazier offers relief from the cold. Sukuna settles beside you, pouring tea with surprising care, his claws handling the delicate porcelain with ease. He hands you a cup, watching as you sip, your hands still trembling slightly from the cold.

You huff, brushing snow from your hair as you glare at him half-heartedly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” you say, echoing his earlier words, “you still choose to stay.”

For a moment, his expression softens, the corners of his mouth lifting in something almost resembling a smile. The snow continues to fall outside, but the warmth of his presence fills the room, chasing away the chill of winter.

Megumi Fushiguro

The soft glow of morning light filters through your window, accompanied by the faint sound of snow tapping against the glass. You stir, glancing outside to find the world covered in a thick, pristine blanket of snow. The usual chaos of the city seems muted, as if the snow itself has called for a pause.

Megumi is already awake, sitting cross-legged on the floor by the heater, a book balanced in his hands. He glances up when he notices you stirring.

“Snow day,” he says simply, his tone calm but his gaze lingering on the window.

You sit up, stretching with a small smile. “Guess we’re both stuck inside today.”

He hums, turning his attention back to his book, though you catch the faintest flicker of interest in his expression.

After a quick breakfast, you’re the first to suggest stepping outside. “We should enjoy it while it’s fresh,” you say, tugging on your coat.

Megumi raises an eyebrow. “You do realize it’s freezing, right?”

“All the more reason to appreciate it,” you counter, grabbing his scarf and tossing it to him. “Come on, I’ll even let you stay grumpy about it.”

With a resigned sigh, he pulls on his coat and follows you out. The cold air nips at your cheeks as you step into the snow-covered yard, your boots crunching softly with each step. Megumi’s hands are shoved into his pockets, and his dark hair is dusted with snowflakes almost instantly.

“You know,” you say, bending down to gather a handful of snow, “you could try to have a little fun.”

He glances at you, unimpressed, until you toss the snow at him, the powdery flurry landing harmlessly on his arm. He blinks at you, his expression unreadable.

“That’s how you want to do this?” he asks, his tone flat.

You grin. “Absolutely.”

What follows is a snowball fight you’ll remember for a long time. Megumi, true to form, doesn’t hold back once he decides to participate. His throws are calculated and precise, leaving you scrambling for cover more often than not. You manage to land a few hits of your own, but his sharp reflexes make him a formidable opponent.

At one point, you’re hiding behind a tree, trying to catch your breath, when you hear him approach. Before you can react, a snowball lands squarely on your back.

“You’re predictable,” he says, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“And you’re annoying,” you shoot back, though you’re smiling, too.

Eventually, the two of you call a truce, retreating to the house to warm up. Megumi sets a pot of tea on the stove while you drape a blanket over your shoulders, both of you still laughing softly from the morning’s antics.

The rest of the day passes in quiet comfort. You sit by the window, sipping tea and watching the snow continue to fall. Megumi joins you, his book in hand, though he seems more interested in the view than the pages.

“You’re not bad at snowball fights,” you remark after a while, breaking the silence.

He glances at you, his expression neutral but his tone light. “And you’re not bad at being a target.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in his voice makes you smile.

Yuji Itadori

The morning starts with Yuji shaking you awake, his excitement barely contained. His grin is as bright as the sunlight reflecting off the snow outside.

“Wake up!” he says, his voice bubbling with energy. “It snowed overnight! Like, a lot!”

You groan, trying to pull the blanket over your head, but he’s persistent, tugging it away and practically bouncing on the bed. “Come on, you can’t waste a snow day! We have to go outside!”

His enthusiasm is contagious, and soon enough, you’re bundled up and stepping out into the winter wonderland. The world feels quieter, softer, as if the snow has wrapped everything in a cozy, white blanket.

Yuji immediately runs into the snow, stomping around like a little kid, his breath fogging up in the cold air. “This is awesome!” he exclaims, spinning in a circle and throwing his arms out wide.

You laugh, watching him with fond amusement. “You act like you’ve never seen snow before.”

“Not like this!” he says, already scooping up a handful to pack into a snowball. “Besides, it’s more fun when you have someone to share it with.”

Before you can respond, the snowball hits you gently on the arm. You gape at him, feigning shock. “Did you just throw snow at me?”

He grins, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “What? It was an accident!”

“Accident, huh?” You bend down to grab your own snowball, and his eyes widen.

“Wait—no, no, no!” he laughs, dodging as you throw it at him.

What starts as a simple snowball fight quickly turns into an all-out war. Yuji is surprisingly agile, darting behind trees and ducking under cover with ease, but you manage to land a few hits. His laughter echoes through the air, warm and infectious, as the two of you chase each other around the yard.

At one point, you trip and fall into a soft pile of snow, and before you can get up, Yuji flops down beside you, both of you breathless and grinning.

“You’re ruthless,” he says, brushing snow off his coat.

“And you’re too competitive,” you reply, nudging him playfully.

He sits up, gazing out at the snowy expanse with a soft smile. “This is nice,” he says after a moment. “Spending time like this, with you. Feels… peaceful.”

You smile, leaning into his shoulder. “It is. Even with you pelting me with snowballs.”

He laughs, wrapping an arm around you to pull you closer. “Hey, you started it.”

The rest of the day is spent in a mix of playful chaos and quiet moments. Yuji insists on building the “ultimate snowman,” which ends up being a slightly lopsided creation with a goofy face that makes both of you laugh. You take breaks to warm up inside with hot chocolate, sitting by the window and watching the snow fall in comfortable silence.

By the time evening comes, you’re curled up on the couch together, a shared blanket draped over both of you. Yuji’s head rests against yours, his usual boundless energy replaced by a quiet contentment.

[mamaagirlbehindyouu]

Fake Dating, Real Feelings Pt.1

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 925

Summary: Your friend Tara invites you to a party, but she has an ulterior motive. (This chapter is mainly build-up to what I’ll be writing in later parts, so if you don’t like slow burns then you may want to wait for later chapters to be released to begin reading <3.)

Warning: A little bit toxic (but will get better in later chapters!!)

A/N: This chapter is kinda ass ngl but more parts will come out later w/ more fluff-heavy chapters (and potentially smut)

You sat in bed, propped up on two pillows, scrolling on your laptop. It was finals season- meaning you were now starting the 9 page term paper that was due tomorrow at 12pm. It wasn’t ideal, but you had enough time to where you were still putting off writing your paper. You weren’t writing your essay on your laptop, you were scrolling through Pinterest.

That was, of course, until you got a text from someone. Picking up your phone to see who the message was from, you instinctively kicked your feet when you saw the name of who it was from. Tara. Your friend tara. The friend you just so happened to have a massive thing for.

Shutting your laptop and properly sitting up, you unlocked your phone to read the message from her.

Tara: Hey, you up?

You stared at the message for a moment, contemplating whether or not to reply. It was already 9:30, you could just leave Tara on delivered and lie tomorrow that you had had an “early night”. After all, your paper needed to get done and you could tell from the nature of Tara’s text that she either wanted to go somewhere or do something.

Yeah right, that would take more self control than you had.

Y/n: Ofc, what’s up?

Immediately after sending the text, you were met with a “Read 9:36 PM”. You watched the gray bubbles dance on your phone screen, before they disappeared and re-appeared.

Tara: Last time I’ll ask this, I swear

Tara: Will you come to a party with me tn? I want to show up like 10:30 😊

You groaned, staring at your phone again before replying. This wasn’t an infrequent request from Tara by any means- she always needs a DD considering the fact that she seems to love getting wasted. With time, the request had become more and more of a chore as she seemed to get drunker and drunker at each party you took her to. Going to parties with Tara wasn’t fun anymore, but you knew she would just find someone else to go with her if you said no and you didn’t want that.

Y/n: I’ll be there in 30.

Throwing your blankets off and setting your laptop on the nightstand, you got up, walking over to the closet. Why did you always go along with whatever Tara wanted? Well, the answer to that was obvious, but you would rather die than admit your feelings for Tara were getting serious.

After throwing on a black miniskirt and tank with a jacket on top and some boots you got into your car and began the drive to Tara’s house. This was a drive you knew all too well, and not for good reason.

When you got to Tara’s house the front door was already open, with just the screen door shut and Tara visible and sitting on the stairs. She was wearing flare jeans and a ribbed blue henley with some white Converse. You couldn’t explain how, but Tara always seemed to make the most basic of outfits come off as breathtaking. Maybe her face card was enough of an accessory.

Spotting you from where she sat on the stairs, Tara leapt up and smiled, waving her hands at you. She opened the screen door, squealing.

“Y/n! You came! Thank you so much!”

Tara’s joy was always infectious, making you forget your original reservations about that night. A smile spread across your own face as you waved back awkwardly, unsure of what to do whenever Tara’s attention was fully on you.

“Of course I did,”

You said, unaware of how un-enthusiastic you came across. You were always excited to see Tara, but being around her often made you feel awkward, frequently making it seem like you have a lackluster temperament.

“Could you act any less excited to see me?”

Tara teased as she held open the screen door for you, allowing you to enter her home.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to-“ you began to speak, but Tara cut you off, noticing how you seemed genuinely apologetic.

“No, I was joking. It’s okay, y/n/n,” she reassured you, offering another smile.

You smiled back and nodded in agreement, not wanting to say anything else about the matter, still embarrassed about the interaction. Tara led you up to her bedroom (not that you were unfamiliar with it).

“I just need to do my makeup real quick and then we can leave,” Tara assured you, aware that it was getting closer and closer to 10:30.

“‘real quick?’” you laughed. “Since when do you do your makeup ‘real quick’?”

“Hey, last time you came over I did my makeup in ten minutes, max- That’s, like, record time for me,” Tara defended herself, raising her hands in the air, primer in hand.

“It was more like half an hour, not ten minutes,” you corrected her as she rolled her eyes. “And why’d you invite me this time? Or was it just to be your designated driver again?” you half-called Tara out, passing it off as a joke, as you took in her features, taking advantage of the fact that she was preoccupied. You loved all of Tara’s features, but her eyes were definitely at the top of the list. How could anyone not love them?

“About that..” Tara said, stopping her makeup application, making an uncomfortable face. “I kind of need you to pretend like you’re dating me.” Suddenly, you were snapped out of your thoughts.

Pt. 2??

Photo Creds: miaolliez and geminiprinc3ss on Pinterest