#i mean this with the most love in my heart

[kay-jay-self-shipping]

Okay, I'm doing this with 03 and 04, so are there romantic gestures my OCs love and hate. I'll even do this for their canon love interests too!

Orochimaru x Kaede

03: Romantic Gestures They Love

Orochimaru loves it when Kaede becomes submissive to his touch. Given her antagonistic attitude, he knows whenever she gives herself to him, she is showing him the trust she has in him, and it brings forth a carnal desire he can never satisfy.

Kaede loves it when Orochimaru will show he cares in small, barely noticeable ways. Is there a book Kaede wants, even if it's that dreaded Icha-Icha novel? She'll find it on her bed one day with no note or mention of who got it for her. Does she need a hug after a horrible evening? Orochimaru will summon her to his chamber and rest her head on his chest without a word. Regardless of the action, she adores this small, secret side of him no one else sees.

04: Romantic Gestures They Hate

Orochimaru is not a hopeless romantic, he hates overly fond gestures and lovey-dovey behaviour as a whole. He thanks his lucky stars daily that Kaede doesn't tell him "I love you" or shower him in sickening affection.

Kaede hates false gestures. If you make a promise to go for a walk with her, you better keep to that promise. She had a husband once who swore to love her forever, but he lied, so false promises and affections are a deal-breaker for her. Thankfully with Orochimaru, he's pretty bluntly honest and despite his sinister nature, he keeps to his promises pretty damn well!

Lotor x Ziera

03: Romantic Gestures They Love

Lotor adores it when his partner is feeling particularly affectionate or giving him sweet words of praise. He spent his entire life in an environment void of love, and to hear Ziera gently kiss his cheek and wish him a wonderful day has his heart soaring more than it really should.

Ziera adores it when Lotor simply holds her hand or turns around to curl up against her when they sleep. She is an alien that shares many traits with felines, so the warmth and security Lotor gives her in those moments mean more to her than any gift ever could.

04: Romantic Gestures They Hate

Lotor is like Kaede, he hates false promises or fake love. He wants a partner that truly loves him for who he is, and wishes to spend their life with him. Even when Ziera lost her memories, but was told she had dated him previously, she refused to start a relationship with him until she remembered and reciprocated his affections, and he just fell in love with her more for it.

Ziera cannot stand extravagant gifts or over-the-top displays of affection. She'd rather be given a tool-kit to craft her own ship, than be given the best fighter jet within the Galra Empire. Thankfully, Lotor understood this about her before they even started dating, so when he intends to get her a gift, he keeps her love for building and hatred for over-spending in mind. To date, the most expensive things he's bought her are top-of-the-line tools, and the pendant she wears around her neck.

Mereoleona x Lucia

03: Romantic Gestures They Love

Mereoleona is a physical person, actions always speak louder than words for her, and the same can be said romantically too. She loves it when Lucia will step out of her comfort zone to initiate any kind of affection, and while she teases the cold woman for it, she reciprocates with her usual burst of boisterous energy.

Lucia is a simple woman who likes spending time with her partner above all else. Thankfully Mereoleona made it a habit to lower her 300 day training trips to a more manageable 259 training trip, giving them a nice two months of time together. Hell, on the off chance Mereoleona needs to go away for longer, sometimes Lucia will join her.

04: Romantic Gestures They Hate

Mereoleona hates it when people say they love each other too much. It feels false and it's annoying. It was one of the reasons she and Lucia gelled together well when they started dating, because Lucia made it VERY clear she wasn't the type to share her feelings often, but did like to show it with small acts of kindness.

Lucia is pretty much the same as Mereoleona, she hates it when people express their feelings too often. It gives the word less value and feels more like a mark of ownership rather than an admittance of adoration. Luckily Mereo is more of an actions-speak-louder kind of woman, and she finds the more simple affections such as a kiss or holding hands to be far more comfortable.

Piers x Thorn

03: Romantic Gestures They Love

Piers loves it when his partner spends time with him, whether they're cuddles up watching movies on his Rotom Phone, or chatting while one of them is practicing their instruments and the other is cleaning their house, it's makes him feel at ease. Thorn is definitely more bold in her affections than he'd like, but she knows when a simple and silent form of affection is more appropriate, and he loves that about her.

Thorn loves it when her partner tries to get into her interests, even if its something as silly as trying her favourite dish. Piers is a shy bean, yes, but if it's in the comfort of her or his home, he'll probably become curious about her newest intrustment or latest obsession and try to get into it himself. Plus, it's cute when he tries a new food and his face scrunched up when he doesn't like it. Oh well, he tried at least~!

04: Romantic Gestures They Hate

Piers is not into extreme PDA or exaggerated displays of affection. He is a shy man and prefers to keep his loving kisses and hugs inside the home where they can be enjoyed in peace. Thorn sometimes messes with him by holding his hand in public, but honestly... that's the only one he's fine with. However, if she kisses him, he will turn beet red and glare at her as she laughs. (He reminds himself often that he loves her.)

Thorn is a pretty chill person, overall. She's not one to despise any form of gesture or action her partner does. But if she had to pick one, it would be false affection. Her parents were obsessed with their image to the point of destroying her life until she left home, she doesn't want to pretend to be someone she's not for anyone else. Thankfully, Piers is a wholesome and genuine person, so she knows she's not going to run into that issue anytime soon.

Leona x Danika

03: Romantic Gestures They Love

Leona LOVES physical affection from his partner. Given he's a lion beastman, it makes sense that he'd love a nap with his lover more than anything else. Danika, being a quiet, and generally introverted person makes his desire to nap with her just soar through the roof, because more often than not, she's down to snooze the day away with him.

Danika is a sucker for praise and loving words, she spent her whole life being hated by those in her hometown, so to know someone actually loves her makes her day just a little brighter. Leona still has to work on this sadly, but even if he flops, when he sends her a text later that says "I guess I was an asshole before, huh? Look, I love you, so get back here so I can make it up to you, my needy little Raven." It makes her heart swell.

04: Romantic Gestures They Hate

Leona hates it when people try to buy his affection with gifts. He's a prince, for f*ck's sake, he has far too much money as it is! Buying him things does nothing for him. Oddly though, when Danika gifts him a gemstone from her collection, he cannot bring himself to hate it, given each of her gems hold a special meaning for her. She wasn't giving him an expensive gift, but a piece of her heart in crystal form.

Danika hates dramatic displays of affection, such as exaggerated terms of affection or loud, uncomfortable dating scenes that seem more like a flex than an actual date itself. Thank God, Leona is more of a 'walk in the gardens' or 'quality time at home' kind of guy. She knows she lucked out with him, and enjoys every moment she spends in his arms, asleep.

Aaravos x Nymera

03: Romantic Gestures They Love

Aaravos enjoys simply spending time with his partner, be it in public or in private, he just adores being in their presence. He also has an almost desperate desire to be in their arms, given he was trapped in a pearl for three centuries. Nymera is more than happy to accommodate him in both company and her arms.

Nymera is the same as Aaravos, though her's also stems a bit more towards words of gentle love as well. She has been alone for most of her life, and to hear that someone adores spending time with her, and then see it in action makes her feel like she finally found her true home. Aaravos is more than willing to share his feelings for her, whether from across the room or in her arms. Plus she loves his voice and turns a cute shade of pink whenever he compliments her, so it's a win-win!

04: Romantic Gestures They Hate

Aaravos hates false promises and affections. A person he cared for as a student once tricked him by pretending to be his friend, which lead to his imprisonment. After such a harrowing time spent seething behind glass, he just wants to know that he can trust his partner. Nymera is unable to hide her true emotions, and a terrible liar, so he knows each and every one of her affections are genuine, and he loves her all the more for it.

Nymera also shares this with Aaravos. Though she has to admit, she's never experienced it. Thankfully everyone she met openly hated her, so she never had to worry about if they were being genuine or not. Aaravos may have started out by manipulating her, but seeing his soft smile whenever he thinks she doesn't notice, lets her know just how genuine his feelings are now, and she knows she loves him just as much.

Vax'ildan x Kadorya

03: Romantic Gestures They Love

EVERYTHING, Vax is a wholesome bean who is simply happy being in his partner's presence. Do they want a hug? Done! Do they want to sit in silence for a while? He's there, holding their hand and relaxing in peaceful serenity. Ryah knows he's utterly smitten when no matter what she suggests they do, he's down to try it! (Poor man would walk into a horror attraction to see her smile, and will regret it later, at least until Ryah rests his head in her lap and strokes his hair, then it was worth it.)

Ryah adores quality time with her lover and physical affection over everything else. She tends to bake a lot, so having a pair of arms wrap around her from behind and simply exist within her space makes her heart swell with love. Vax has startled her a few times with this, but the smile she gives him as she's playfully scolding him assures him that if he were to stop, she'd be upset about it.

04: Romantic Gestures They Hate

I know this is probably obvious, but he can't stand fake relationships and affections. He adores his partner, through and through, so if he were to find out they never truly felt the same, it would shatter his heart completely. While Ryah made him believe she didn't feel the same at first, he was relieved to know she was simply trying to spare him the pain of her inevitable death, it took some time for him to convince her that he would take every second he could with her, over never loving her in the first place. Now, she cannot express in words just how much she adores him.

Ryah hates extravagant gifts, she carries what she needs for her travels and that's it. While she will enjoy the occasional gift, no matter the price, if someone shoved an expensive gift in her face again and again, she would quickly grow uncomfortable. Vax may get her a surprise gift or two while they're travelling, but he knows her by now and is more than content giving her a rare ingredient for her baking, or a simple wildflower he found that would look amazing in her hair.

There we are, that's all of them! I hope none of these are OOC, and I apologize that most of them are similar to the others, but I genuinely can't imagine anything else for them. Maybe I'm tired, or maybe I'm firm on the kind of relationships they have, who knows?

If you guys think they'd act differently with a partner, let me know, I'd love to hear how they'd act with you or an OC of yours!

Lovey Dovey OC Development Prompts

Here’s a lil’ somethin’ somethin’ for you all on this corporate holiday! You can fill this out on your own, or you can ask your followers to send you numbers! (Oh, and remember that the real holiday is tomorrow, when all the holiday candy is discounted.) Have fun!

♥ (01) Is your OC in love? If so, with whom, and for how long? ♥ (02) Does another OC love your OC? If so, whom, and does your OC know? ♥ (03) Are there any romantic gestures that your OC loves? ♥ (04) Are there any romantic gestures that your OC hates? ♥ (05) What is the most romantic thing your OC has done for someone else? ♥ (06) What is the most romantic thing that has been done for your OC? ♥ (07) How successful is your OC at flirting with others? ♥ (08) What is your OC’s dream marriage proposal? ♥ (09) What is your OC’s favorite small way to show their love? ♥ (10) What is your OC’s favorite big way to show their love? ♥ (11) What do others love most about your OC? ♥ (12) What do you love most about your OC? ♥ (13) How does your OC show their love to those that are not their partner(s)? ♥ (14) Does your OC have any romantic traditions? ♥ (15) What is your OC’s favorite type of Valentine’s Day candy? ♥ (16) What is your OC’s ideal first date? ♥ (17) Could your OC fall in love with someone they’ve never met in person? ♥ (18) Does your OC have a “type”? ♥ (19) How highly does your OC value love (platonic, romantic, or otherwise)? ♥ (20) How does your OC feel about public displays of affection? ♥ (21) Does your OC believe in love at first sight? ♥ (22) How often does your OC read romantic literature? ♥ (23) What is your OC’s favorite nice thing to do for themselves? ♥ (24) How does your OC determine that they’re attracted to someone? ♥ (25) Does your OC believe in soulmates? ♥ (26) Is your OC ever the first to say “I love you”? ♥ (27) How does your OC typically spend their Valentine’s Day? ♥ (28) What is something unconventional that your OC thinks is romantic? ♥ (29) What is your OC’s favorite love song? ♥ (30) What is your OC’s favorite romantic movie?

[lethargiccryptid]

Undoing || Alucard x Reader

You love Alucard, and you've no doubt that he adores you... but years of repression and shame leave you hesitant in matters of intimacy, no matter though, your love is a patient sort of man, willing to wait until you are ready for the ultimate undoing

“The potatoes must be in season.” Alucard mused, piercing one of the smaller field potatoes on his plate. Your eyes lingered on your own food, hardly touched. “Love?” His voice tempted you from whatever deep places your mind had wandered. Sighing, you pushed at the peas with your knife. 

“I fear I’m not inclined towards sex.” Alucard’s hand paused, fork centimeters from parted lips and looked at you wryly. 

“What has that to do with whether the potatoes are in season?” His lips curl up to show the barest hint of fang. 

You prattle on seemingly unawares of the diametrically opposed directions of your topics of conversation. “That is, it isn’t something that comes naturally to me. Certainly, I am capable of seeming like a sexual being, of affecting a nature similar to that of a siren of old.”  

Alucard simply continues with his meal, albeit with an air of bemusement, he’s come to find your seemingly random wanderings a thing of second nature. 

“Your affectation in the library yesterday afternoon was quite convincing.”Your neck flushed with the memory of his fingers and lips trailing along your heated skin as his voice bled into your consciousness. “I must say, I quite like your…affectations.” Looking up, you were met with the burning amber of his eyes. 

“It’s hardly- that was hardly, sex.” You whisper the word as though it were an ugly thing. Thoroughly unphased, he merely shrugged and popped another potato into his mouth. 

“The exploration of my fingers under your garments and yours beneath mine begs to differ.” He says the words as though he’s talking about nothing more than the weather. Your fingers, trembling, reach for your wine glass. The strong notes of currant and bramble berries assault your tongue, and as the bitter heat runs down your throat, you feel strangely grounded. Nose screwing in distaste, you lean back and close your eyes. 

“Be that as it may, there were still clothes involved.” Your voice waivers with the barest hint of nerves as you study the now empty glass. A single drop running down the side catches your notice, stealing your eyes away from Alucard’s. 

“I’m in no great hurry to undo you, my love.” You know he means to comfort, truly you do, but somehow, those words prickle at your skin more than if he’d admitted to being terribly impatient. Your lack of eye contact and stiff posture are not lost on your observant lover. Deftly, as only a dhampir can be, Alucard comes to stand behind your chair with preternatural speed. 

“It is alright to desire things.” The words spoken, velvety and soft are your undoing. Shoulders slumping, you fold in on yourself, coming to rest your forehead on top of steepled fingers. “It is alright to want things.” His voice comes as a welcome balm, as welcome as his fingers that toy with a curl at the nape of your neck. “It is alright to want things with me.” 

“Even things I’d like you to do to me, I suppose.” You murmur, tone acrid as the wine still lingering on your tongue. Alucard’s fingers come to a halt, his thumb tracing lightly at the back of your neck now. 

“Especially those things.” The heat growing around his words is not lost on you as his touch stirs prickles down your scalp, raising the skin of your arms to goose flesh. 

“I can hardly-” 

“There are no secrets between us mă iubire, I desire to know the things that stir your heart, and other places.” His tone takes on a teasing edge towards the end, lightening your mood a little. 

That had always been one of the things you’d loved most about your darling love. No matter how morose your mood or how dark the shadows that lingered about your soul, tinging your eyes, Alucard always managed to lighten your spirit without admonishing you to banish that melancholy entirely. He was content to sit with you in those dark spaces- as you did with him. 

Try as you might to muster up a smile, the embarrassment of years stayed and repressed kept your head bent and your shoulders sloped. “Alucard, I can scarcely tell you that I have the most… erotically devine imaginings about you.” Once the words start, they seem to have no beginning or end. “It wouldn’t be seemly for me to tell you that I thrill at the feel of your incisors at my throat. That I yearn for the warmth of your touch at my breast, your tongue between my-” Your face heated at the impassioned nature of your diatribe. 

Alucard scarcely gave you a moment to regret that confession, his lips quick to soothe any lingering hesitation as they mapped a path down to the base of your neck. Long fingers nudged at your jaw, waiting until you turned ever so slightly before he was on his knees aside you, pressing open mouthed kisses along the column of your neck in eager supplication. 

“Whenever you are ready,” He murmured against your ear, fingers settling at the swell of your breast over the satin of your bodice, “I will be here, and very much willing to undo you.” 

TL: @unintentionalseductress

[cescalovestowrite]

So, we know that in the Odyssey Penelope sleeps a lot. This can be interpreted in various ways.

In some cases it can derive from fairytale themes, for example the heroine who sleeps during the final battle and when she wakes up everything is solved.

If we try to immerse ourselves in her psychology we can also imagine that sleep is a moment of escape from reality for Penelope. A reality that causes her such anguish that she often begs Artemis to kill her. More than once the queen of Ithaca falls asleep because she is exhausted from tears.

We could also talk about the fact that Penelope has a very particular relationship with dreams. Some of her dreams are prophetic, others are sent by Athena, others derive from her intimate desires, as when she dreams of making love with Odysseus, as young as when he left for Troy.

But ignoring all these possible meanings for a moment, it would be so funny if Penelope slept so much because she completely fucked up her sleep-wake rhythms while undoing her shroud during the night. She spent three years undoing at night what she wove during the day, and I'm not suggesting that it took her all night every night, but surely after a few days at the very least she will have started yawning at the breakfast table.

Can you imagine the suitors discovering the deception and her being like "I'll think of something else to fool them, but finally I can go back to sleeping like a person". During the Odyssey she is still getting used to it, it will take her a while.

AND IN FACT when Odysseus returns and the two spend the whole night talking and making up for lost time, Penelope doesn't bat an eye. She had just taken the nap of her life (during the day of course). The text says that it is Odysseus who at a certain point is too tired and finally falls asleep. Obviously the fact that she is also sleeping is most likely implied BUT my new theory is that she stayed up watching him sleep, heart-eyed and finally happy again.

Sometimes I enjoy imagining stupid things.

[seasprincess]

Love is in the air? 💘

pt 1 || pt 2

Spencer Reid x reader. !fluff

Synopsis: a certain agent has picked up on a little chemistry between you and genius

warnings: none

Spencer Reid is a genius. Everyone knows it. With his 187 IQ, ability to read 20,000 words per minute and knowledge on so many subjects.

But they all mean nothing when you’re involved.

He shouldn’t get like this around you. Get all flustered and shy. Tripping over words when his eyes lock with yours. Watching as you bat your eyelashes at him when he goes on one of his rambles. Everyone else wants him to be quiet, but you? You look and listen to him like he's a prophet and you're his die hard follower.

But as Spencer lacks in the relationship department it means he doesn't catch onto the way you flirt with him. The way you smile and laugh a bit too hard at his jokes the rest of the team didn’t even crack a smile for. He’s blind when it comes to all the signs that you like him back.

But the rest of the team isn’t blind to those eyes you give him. For them it’s like watching a cartoon character’s eyes turn into hearts everytime you look at the genius.

But there’s one person on the team who notices these little glances between you too. Notices the way Spencer stares at you. And he’s decided to play cupid.

Ladies man Derek Morgan is sat across from you on the jet. Smirking as he gestures for you to take off the headphones that were blasting some new pop song.

“Yeah?” You say as you look at him, slightly on edge because of the muscular man's smirk. His eyes show that this conversation is going to make you uncomfortable. Thank god the rest of the team are either asleep or distracted doing something else.

“So you and Reid. What's going on?” The agent says as he tilts his head slightly. Of course he’s going to use his detective skills to use and analyse you.

With his words your cheeks heat up like the plane had suddenly just got really warm. You feel warm. A blush spread across your cheeks too. Usually you'd try to play off these reactions. And you're gonna do just that now.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You try to stay calm, try to not show that his words are affecting you. Why is he asking anyway? Has Reid asked about you? Oh god what if he thinks you're weird? What if Morgan tells him?

“You very much do know what I’m talking about.”

You sigh and put your hands over your face, trying to block out the smirking man that’s asking you the question that makes you want to run home and hide your face in a pillow.

“Is it that obvious?” You say as you look over at Spencer who is fast asleep. He's in the fetal position on the sofa. His arm propped under his head as a makeshift pillow. Completely knocked out from the latest case. He looks so calm which is not a usual look. He’s usually moving about or his mind is running at a million miles per hour. Seeing him like this makes your heart clench, he looks so cute and sweet and-oh my god. You've got it bad.

“It’s obvious to everyone but pretty boy.” Derek’s eyes glance to sleeping Spencer. Not looking at him with the same admiration as you.

You groan again as your forehead is placed on the table in front of you. Work strictly bans relationships between two members but there was no way in denying nor moving past the little situationship between you and the smart guy of the team. You could try to hide it but you'd never be able to get over it. Neither would he. You’re both whipped for each other in whatever geeky way that you both can be.

Spencer and you both being geeky when it comes to your interests meant you both like the same things and that you understand some of his references. Heavy on the some, cause sometimes you have no idea what he’s talking about. His references are just a bit too niche for you to grasp.

“Talk to him.” Derek says casually. Like he hasn't asked you to do one of the most stressful things you can think of involving your personal life.

“Absolutely not.” You reply as you say as you sit up straight in the seat. The jet finally coming in to land after what feels like a

“You gotta do it or you’ll regret it.” He doesn’t give you time to fire back before he leaves your gossip spot, presumably heading for the exit. Which is where he’s going. Not before he hits the sleeping boy's knee to wake him up, making your plan of sneaking past him nearly impossible. Derek just flashes you a smirk before exiting.

Sencer rubs his eyes as he slowly sits up, not wanting to move too quickly to avoid feeling dizzy. He glances down at his watch to only realise he had slept practically the whole journey. People walk past him, saying their goodbyes as he says bye too. Not coherent as he's still sleepy. He looks around the jet before his eyes land on you. You were packing up your things, getting ready to go back to your apartment and probably just crash. The case was really hard on all of you. But Spencer knows you struggle to sleep on planes otherwise he knows you would be fast asleep.

“Good nap?” You say with that sweet smile of yours that makes Spencer’s heart just melt. He has completely and utterly fallen for you. He looks at you softly. His brown eyes look at you softly. From your point of view it’s like looking into a deer's eyes. The big brown orbs looking at you with the sweetest look you've ever seen. But of course you’ll brush it off with the fact it’s because he’s just woken up and not because he could possibly like you.

“Oh um, can’t complain. Other than the fact I have more of my book to read now before I can sleep. Again.” Spencer likes to read a certain amount each night. Not that it takes him any significant amount of words per minute. He could do it in about three minutes.

Spencer reaches down to grab his book that had fallen to the ground due to his snooze.

“Hey so, um, I was wondering.” You say quickly before you can take it back and stop yourself. You know you need to get it out before you change your mind.

“Go for it.” He says with a smile. Standing up and looking into your eyes.

And your brain just melts, you can’t help it. You freeze on the spot and suddenly this seems like a really bad idea. It would be too awkward if he rejected you. What if he thought you were weird? Oh god. This is not a good idea.

“It can wait till tomorrow.” You say, covering up the emotions behind the words you wish you could say. “I’ll see you then. Good night.”

Spencer doesn’t get a chance to react before you've left.

And all he can do is wonder what the hell you were gonna say.

And what he wishes he could’ve said to you.

Part 2

a/n: not proof read😛

@littlelamy

[eclipixels]

Payback

Sylus x reader

Content: You don't like Sylus allowing other girls to flirt with him, so you take matters into your own hands to get back at him

A/N: pt.1 pt.2

[2,911 words]

      You sat with Sylus at the bar, your head resting against his shoulder, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the air around you. The two of you had arrived earlier than most, and now, as you watched the slow trickle of people filtering in, you couldn’t help but think that maybe Sylus had been right, you should have waited a little longer before coming.

      With a soft sigh, you sat up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I’m gonna go use the bathroom, okay?" you murmured, your fingers lightly squeezing his arm before you slipped away toward the restroom.

      The momentary break was meant to be nothing, just a quick trip before returning to his side. But when you emerged, your heart nearly stopped.

      A woman stood dangerously close to him, tilting her head in that familiar, flirtatious way as she batted her lashes. The dim lighting of the bar only made the moment more intimate, more insufferable. Then, as if to twist the knife deeper, she leaned in, her lips close to his ear as she whispered something you weren’t meant to hear, something that sent a searing pang of jealousy straight through you.

      Did you really believe him when he told you that you were the only woman he wanted? That he never entertained temptation? That he never strayed, even when countless women threw themselves at him?

      You wanted to believe him. You truly did. But watching this unfold, watching him stand there and allow her to linger, to bask in his presence without a single sign of dismissal—it gnawed at you. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t flirting back or even paying her much attention. The fact that he didn’t push her away, that he allowed these moments to exist at all, was what truly got under your skin.

      And who could blame her for being drawn to him? Sylus looked effortlessly breathtaking in his tailored black Versace suit, the sleek fabric clinging to him in all the right ways. He exuded confidence, mystery, an untouchable charm that made heads turn the moment he stepped into a room. If you were in her position, wouldn’t you want a man like him to look at you the way you wished he only looked at you?

      But why? Why couldn’t he make it clear that he was unavailable, that there was no room for anyone else in his orbit? The questions burned in your mind, threatening to spill over into words you weren’t sure you were ready to say aloud.

      Because no matter how much you trusted him, doubt had a way of creeping in like a shadow in the night. And right now, standing there, watching her linger in his space… that shadow felt all-consuming.

      "You okay?" a voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you turned to find yourself looking at some guy. Tall, effortlessly good-looking, with a broody, mysterious air that made him stand out.

      "I'm completely awesome. Just having the time of my life," you replied with a smirk, the sarcasm practically dripping from your words. "I mean, you agree, right? I am awesome. You know what? Don't even answer that."

      He gave you a small smile, the kind that was just barely there but still managed to be annoyingly charming. "As much as I’ve heard about you, you're more than just awesome."

      Your drunken mind barely registered the comment or who exactly had been talking about you. But if he had heard things, well, hopefully, they were good things. He had this whole mysterious, darkly intriguing vibe, and if you weren’t so hopelessly in love with Sylus, maybe—just maybe—something could have happened.

      "Do you wanna dance?" you asked impulsively, tilting your head at him.

      His eyes widened slightly, as if the question had caught him off guard. "I don't think that would be appropriate," he said, his voice polite yet firm.

      Seriously, what was it with men not wanting to dance with you today? You were an amazing dancer.

      "And why exactly wouldn't it be appropriate?" you teased, grabbing his arm before he could protest and pulling him toward the dance floor. Not that you were trying to make Sylus jealous or anything. But, you know, if it happened organically, you wouldn’t be opposed.

      "Just relax. It's just a dance," you grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him a little closer. You giggled as he let out a small breath, clearly debating whether to just go with it or keep resisting.

      Then, as if the universe had a twisted sense of humor, the music shifted into something slow and romantic, one of those songs you'd never heard before but could already tell was meant for lovers lost in each other’s arms.

      Perfect. Just perfect.

      You didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to see if that woman was still talking to Sylus.

      "You know," your dance partner said after a moment, "I learned how to waltz once. It’s been a few years, though."

      You chuckled, tilting your head at him. "Oh yeah? Think you still got it?"

      He smirked slightly. "Guess we’re about to find out."

      For a fleeting second, you felt Sylus’s gaze burning into you from across the room. You could almost hear the unspoken words in his stare. But you ignored it. To hell with him.

      The two of you danced so flawlessly, so effortlessly, that the energy in the room shifted. People took notice. Whispers spread, eyes turned. But you didn’t care. For the first time tonight, you were simply having fun.

      Then, with a fluid motion, he twirled you around, sending a rush of exhilaration through your veins before pulling you back into his arms. And finally, the grand finish—a dip, deep and dramatic. The moment lingered as you locked eyes with him, your breath slightly ragged from the movement.

      A slow smile spread across your face as you straightened up. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” you admitted, a soft laugh escaping your lips.

      "I'm glad I could make that happen," he replied, his own smile warm and genuine.

      Before you could say anything else, the sound of clapping caught your attention. You turned to see Wanda and Tara grinning at you, their faces full of approval and amusement.

      “You were amazing!” Tara cheered, her excitement practically radiating off her.

      Your dance partner chuckled, then took a small step back. “You should go join your friends,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Besides, I wouldn’t want any trouble for you.”

      And just like that, he turned to leave.

      A frown crept onto your face. His words confused you. What kind of trouble? He was fun to be around, easy to talk to. You had a feeling that if nothing else, the two of you could have been good friends. But he was gone before you could ask.

      The thrill of dancing, the lightness of the moment—it all started to fade as the weight of reality crashed back down. For a little while, the music, the movement, the laughter had made you forget. Forget about Sylus. Forget about the ache in your chest.

      But now? Now, it all came rushing back.

      You forced a smile as you said goodnight to Tara and your other hunter friends. They wanted you to stay, to shake off the sadness, but you were drained. Completely and utterly exhausted.

      All you wanted was to be alone. To cry in peace.

      And you didn’t care how you got home.

      Stepping outside, the cool night air did little to soothe the fire burning inside you. But as if the universe hadn’t tormented you enough tonight, there he was—Sylus, leaning against his motorcycle, waiting.

      The last person you wanted to see right now.

      At least he wasn’t with her.

      "What are you doing here?" you asked, voice sharper than intended.

      At the sound of your voice, he turned his head, his expression unreadable—until his eyes met yours. Then, just like that, his gaze hardened.

      "The real question is, what the hell were you doing in there? With that guy?" His tone was sharp, laced with something that almost sounded like jealousy.

      God. The sheer audacity.

      You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "It's called dancing, Sylus. You know, that thing people do when they're having fun?" You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing. "And honestly? The hypocrisy is commendable. Really."

      His brows furrowed. "The hypocrisy? What’s gotten into you, Y/N?"

      Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was the adrenaline crashing. Maybe it was the way your heart still ached from watching him with her. But something inside you cracked.

      "You know what? You’re right. I knew what I was getting into with you," you admitted, voice shaking, "but I can’t do it anymore."

      His expression faltered for the first time, but you didn’t let him speak.

      "Is this even a relationship to you, Sylus? Or am I just someone you’re fooling around with until you get bored?" The words came out harsher than you expected, but you didn’t care.

      For a moment, silence hung between you like a storm waiting to break.

      Then, something in his face changed. The sharpness faded, replaced with something else, something you couldn’t quite place.

      Hurt?

      "Is that what you really think of me?" he asked, voice quieter now, almost disbelieving. "Of us?"

      You swallowed hard, but he didn’t stop.

      "Is that what you think I’m doing?" He took a step forward, his usual cocky demeanor nowhere to be seen. "Just stringing you along until I get bored?"

      The way he said it made your chest tighten, but you wouldn’t let him turn this around on you.

      You stepped back, refusing to let your resolve waver.

      "That’s how you made me feel today, Sylus," you snapped, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you had held in. "You made me feel used. You made me feel small—like I was nothing compared to her. Like she mattered to you, and I didn’t."

      Your lips quivered as you tried to hold back the lump forming in your throat, but the words wouldn’t stop now.

      "You can’t let the most gorgeous woman in the room flirt with you, throw it in my face, and then expect me to just stand there and not care," you choked out, barely recognizing your own voice—raw, broken, angry.

      Sylus exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t trying to hurt you. You knew that. But that didn’t make it hurt any less. And maybe he hadn’t been ready for this confrontation, but neither were you—you hadn’t asked for this heartbreak.

      "She means nothing to me, Y/N," he said, his voice quieter now. "And she wasn’t the most gorgeous woman in the room."

      You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah? That’s funny, considering how easily you let her hang all over you."

      His jaw tightened. "Don’t use that tone with me, Y/N."

      And that—that—set you off completely.

      "Fuck off, Sylus," you spat, stepping back, fire burning behind your eyes. "You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to act jealous then get mad when I get the same way."

      As soon as the words left your mouth, Sylus closed the distance between you in an instant, crashing his lips against yours in a kiss that was rough, desperate, and possessive. He had heard enough. He couldn’t lose you like this. He wouldn’t let it happen.

      You wanted to fight back, wanted to push him away, wanted to scream at him for how much he had hurt you tonight—but you didn’t. Instead, you gave in. You kissed him back with just as much fire, all the jealousy, anger, and pain pouring into the way your lips moved against his. You wanted to rip his hair out, but at the same time, you wanted to fuck him senseless.

      His hands gripped your waist as he lifted you effortlessly, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around him. He walked forward until your back hit the wall, trapping you between the cool surface and the warmth of his body. A sharp gasp left your lips as he tangled his fingers in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back, exposing your neck to him. His mouth was on you in an instant, lips and teeth marking you, sucking deep enough to leave bruises. His marks.

      He wasn’t the only jealous one tonight.

      Watching you dance, hearing you laugh so freely with that guy—it had made something primal snap inside him. He wanted to be the one spinning you around, holding you in his arms, making you smile like that. He wanted to be the man who made you happy.

      His hands slid under your dress, gripping your ass roughly as he pressed his hips forward, grinding against you. You gasped at the friction, a moan slipping from your lips as you felt how hard he was through his jeans. You wrapped your legs around him tighter, rolling your hips against his, desperate for something to ease the ache between your legs. You were frustrated, upset, and so fucking turned on all at once.

      Then, before you could stop it, a single tear slipped down your cheek.

      Sylus stilled.

      He heard the soft, broken sob escape your lips, and his chest tightened. His hands, which had been gripping you so possessively just moments ago, suddenly softened their hold. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as his breathing evened out.

      His thumb brushed the tear from your cheek before he pressed a tender kiss there, his lips lingering. And then, slowly, he set you back down onto your feet.

      The loss of contact made you shiver, but you weren’t ready for this moment to end—not like this.

      “I'm so absolutely sorry for how I made you feel tonight.”

      “I just wish you would push those women away, why don’t you do that?” Your lips quivered. His heart broke, how could he make you feel this way? He was mad at himself.

      “I didn’t think it mattered. I thought you already knew I loved you.” He admits, feeling stupid for not realizing sooner how much it hurt you.

      “Still, it hurts seeing them flirt with you and you do nothing.”

      “I am sincerely sorry my love, I promise, I won’t let it happen anymore.” He closes the distance between you two. He wraps his arms around you tightly "you're my weakness y/n, I never wanted to have one but then you came along.”

      “You’re mine, okay?” You say firmly.

      "I am yours. So beautiful you are, the prettiest. I love the dress princess" he kisses your forehead

      "Thank you love, I got it in your color" you smile.

      "I know but It would look better on the floor” He grins wickedly. Oh my god, you really are stuck with him now.

      “Don’t think I’m forgiving you that easily, though,” you said, your voice firm, your expression stern.

      Sylus paused, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features, but he masked it quickly. “What do I have to do?”

      You took a step closer to him, a sly smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Beg.”

      His brows furrowed, and he blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What? You can’t be serious.”

      You leaned in, your gaze locking with his, a challenge in your eyes. “You heard me. On your knees. Beg me to forgive you.”

      His lips parted, but he didn’t immediately comply. “Y/n–”

      Before he could say anything else, you shoved him gently but firmly, guiding him to the ground. The sudden action had his breath hitching, but he quickly found his footing, settling on his knees in front of you. He looked up at you, his gaze filled with something between defiance and desperation.

      His thighs flexed as he kneaded his jaw, eyes narrowing in thought. Then, he finally spoke, his voice low and sincere. “Please forgive me, darling. I am so fucking sorry.”

      You raised an eyebrow, not satisfied with the apology.

      Sylus let out a soft groan, his hands resting on his thighs, looking up at you with a vulnerability that made your chest tighten. “I’m so, so sorry.” His voice dropped an octave, heavy with regret.

      And still, something in you wanted more.

      The sincerity in his eyes pulled at something deep inside you, but you weren’t ready to let him off that easy. "I want to hear you say it. I want to hear how much I mean to you. I want to know that you won't let this happen again."

      His breath hitched as his hands moved to the floor for support, his body leaning slightly toward you as if instinctively reaching for you, aching for you. “I won’t let it happen again, I swear to you. I won’t make the same mistake. Please, Y/n, forgive me. I can’t lose you. You mean everything to me.”

      You could see the desperation in his eyes now, the plea for you to believe him.

      "That’s better," you said, nodding slowly. "But words are just that. Show me."

      He lowered his gaze for a moment, then looked back up at you, his posture shifting as if he was preparing to give you all of him. And he did just that, all night long. You drained the life out of him, not stopping until you were satisfied.

[gutsby]

Too Close for Comfort

Pairing: Joel Miller x Babysitter!Reader

Summary: You’ve been babysitting Sarah Miller forever. One day, you’re surfing the web on her dad’s computer, and you find some…unusual things in his search history.

Or, Joel likes to jerk off to your lookalike on PornHub. It’s time you showed him what the real thing is like.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (m!receiving). Creampie. Mommy/Daddy Roleplay (HEAR ME OUT!!) Brief boot humping. Squirting. Perv!Joel. Breeding kink.

Note: ‘Just call me if anyone else checks in…and by anyone, I mean any swingin dick’ is a line from No Country for Old Men

Word count: 12.7k

Purple slime had been Sarah’s idea.

It was an innocent thing, really. The four-year-old had practically been bouncing on the balls of her feet, eyes wide and shining with excitement when she’d begged—‘Can we pleeeeease?!’—and who were you to tell her no?

You’d only be breaking one small rule of Joel’s, after all. One silly little admonition he’d made before leaving for work the first day you’d started babysitting for him. That had been over a year ago, and he hadn’t even sounded that serious when he’d said it. He probably wouldn’t mind if you bent the rule this one time at Sarah’s behest.

‘Don’t go in the computer room, please.’

Don’t use Joel’s desktop. Don’t rifle through any of the drawers in Joel’s office—it was a mess, but everything was in its place, according to him. Just don’t go in there.

But in exchange for Sarah agreeing to take her nap that day without protest, you’d promised to order her slime.

Purple, gooey, glittery, sticky stuff for her new collection.

You weren’t sure when the fuck putty had become the plaything of choice for kids in Pre-K, but you hadn’t been in a place to judge; whatever Sarah wanted to do, so long as it was safe for her to play with, was totally fine by you.

It was just one rule.

Surely if Mr. Miller knew how badly his daughter wanted the slime, he’d be fine with you booting up his computer once. That was what you kept telling yourself, anyway.

What kept humming through your mind as the desktop came to life and you toggled straight for Google Chrome.

Be quick, be quiet, it’s fine. It’s fine.

Purple goo—it was safe. Innocent. Completely justifiable.

What could the sweet, old, forty-something and forever polite Joel Miller possibly have to hide on this machine that made it wrong for you to buy this one simple toy?

You reached for the keyboard and inhaled a quick breath.

Then you typed one letter, and your heart nearly seized.

P…

…ornhub.com

It was the very first thing that appeared in the search bar.

You couldn’t unsee it. Instinctively, your hand clamped over your mouth, and your eyes widened. You couldn’t help but read the four URLs that immediately dropped down below the first; they were just so garishly inviting.

Hot, Naughty Babysitter gets POUNDED by her Boss!

Slutty Babysitter Gets Railed from Behind and Loves It

Big Dick Boss Gives Babysitter a Passionate Raw Fuck

‘I’ve Never Done This!’ Babysitter Deepthroats Cock

“Oh…my gosh,” you said, words muffled by your palm.

You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. It was just too bizarre, too far out of character, too unlike your boss.

The man had scarcely said ten words to you altogether that didn’t relate to your job in some way or another. He rarely ever engaged in casual confab, and he certainly wasn’t the type to flirt, or make you uncomfortable in the slightest. Frankly, in all the time you’d been babysitting, you always thought you were just…invisible to Joel Miller.

Not this. Never this.

You were still staring at the screen when you realized that you’d missed one URL title from the list. It was long.

It was the most unnerving one of all, you came to see.

Babysitter Lounging Poolside in Hot Red Bikini Gets a BIG Surprise—Her Old Boss Teaches Her How to FUCK

Your hand lowered from your face. It trembled, contemplating, before coming to rest atop the mouse.

Something about this seemed familiar. Strangely…off.

You couldn’t explain it, but your head and your heart and your hand gravitated to that one odd link in particular. You hadn’t even meant to move the mouse. Or press it with your finger. But there you went, following your instincts like some dumb, brainless ditz, and then the screen was changing. Going dark with the shift to an adult site before brightening anew with the thumbnail.

It was paused on one frame. Your jaw slackened.

The girl staring back from the scene was you.

Or looked exactly, uncannily like you anyway.

It was then that you noticed what she was wearing, too—what you guessed wouldn’t be on her body for long—and you glanced down to your own shoulder. Just like your on-screen doppelgänger, you were wearing the same bikini in a bright, cherry-red hue beneath your tank top.

You wore it under your clothes damn near every day, indulging in the Millers’ backyard pool more often than not, and even being allowed to swim there on the days Sarah had summer camp—Joel had been so obliging.

So accommodating and sweet.

You never thought he’d be seeking your fucking twin online on a porn site after watching you traipse around his property wearing it. Your gut clenched; you clicked.

“Hey, sweetheart! Everything go OK?”

The voice that rumbled through the speakers was low. Male. Vaguely paternal and with a hint of a Southern lilt.

You swallowed, knowing exactly where this was going.

You weren’t sure why you were even watching when you could already predict what would become of it. The camera panned over a body identical to yours; it landed on a face that was smiling and sweet and so like your own you almost had to question whether it might not be you after all. Had you somehow forgotten this secret porn alter ego in a bout of amnesia? You kept watching.

The girl bit her bottom lip and let out the phoniest giggle.

“Yes, sir. Perfectly fine. Do you like my new bikini?”

Be so fucking serious, you thought, critically.

Then you remembered it was porn, not an Oscar-winning film. You saw the camera tilt down to her tits, and you had to admit, she had a great rack. A bit nicer than yours.

For a beat, you wondered if Joel had thought the same.

You had to batter those thoughts away, because the next second brought a big, burly hand onto the screen. It reached for the girl with her perfect, perky breasts and it kneaded them softly. No further pretense or prelude was needed—they just jumped right in and let it happen, like this was a normal thing for a babysitter and a boss to do.

Maybe in some other universe it was. In a world where a girl your age could just smile, and bat her eyes, and let them roll back gently as a whimper crossed her lips and she begged him, ‘More, daddy, more!’ this was all okay.

The man squeezed the flesh harder. She whined, and he proceeded to push the red nylon aside and expose the whole expanse of her breast—and holy shit, even the nipple looked like yours. Your mouth opened wider, and for a moment, it was like you couldn’t breathe as you watched that old, sun-kissed hand fondle the breast of a girl who looked just like you. Who was peering up at a man who sounded almost like Joel, murmuring, ‘Attagirl.’

You’d heard your boss say that once.

It had been such a silly, off-handed thing that you doubted he even remembered saying it. But one time, you’d struggled to open the passenger door to his truck before he drove you home. Once you’d narrowly managed to pry it open and slide into your seat, he’d laughed and rumbled: ‘Attagirl.’ Your face had warmed.

Just like your cheeks were doing now, all hot and bothered and desperate to hear more. Presently, the man slid the top off of the girl’s chest, and her breasts hung freely. You could hear him groan behind the camera at the sight, and not too long after that, before he could reach to touch her tits again, she was crawling on her knees toward him. Shuffling easily and expertly across the lawn chair and undoing the belt, button, and zip of his pants in a matter of seconds. A hand smoothed over her head, and you could see her preen beneath his touch.

Before she’d even wrapped her lips around his cock, your stomach was churning. Your fingers were stirring from the mouse and moving gently—again, of their own volition, it seemed—toward the waistband of your own bottoms. It was sick, admittedly. So wrong to be wanting to touch yourself to the very same video your boss had indulged in himself, in the very same chair he had done the deed. But you couldn’t help it. Your fingers slipped under the the fabric of your shorts, then your bikini, then your throat let out the tiniest noise upon seeing a cock appear on-screen. It was abnormally large, of course.

Silently, you wondered if Joel’s might not look the same. Your stomach flipped as soon as the girl took it in her mouth, and your index and middle fingers landed on your clit. You barely needed to touch to feel a jolt of pleasure.

Her head bobbed up and down. You felt powerless to do anything else but rub. And circle. And moan the slightest bit when you saw her coat his length with her shiny spit.

You heard that your noises mirrored hers. You didn’t care. Really, it felt as though you were in a trance, and you couldn’t stop watching, or touching, until you’d had your fill. Like Mr. Miller had done himself. It was all too much.

Before you even realized it, five minutes had passed, the man and woman on-screen were shifting from oral to raw, penetrative sex, and you were nearing your peak. Right before the cock that had been lodged down the girl’s throat could slide into her wet, glistening cunt, you felt your stomach lurch. You rubbed harder, watching the fat and leaking tip of the man’s cock tease through her folds, and just as he was about to slide in and you could finally find your release…a door banged open downstairs.

You almost screamed.

As quickly as you could, you yanked your hand out of your pants and clicked out of that browser even faster. The second you heard footfalls on the steps, you scampered out of there. Half-sprinting, half-tip-toeing down the hall and toward the bathroom, before halting at the door. You made your presence known with one light stomp of your foot, pretending to be turning and walking out, and as soon as you did, Joel was right there. Staring.

Sweating.

Scrubbing at his face with one weary hand, before taking a rag and wiping it through his beard. He sighed heavily.

“Long day?” you chirped while trying to mask the panic.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Joel answered, voice wan, “How’s my little terror? Asleep? She give ya any trouble?”

Just asked me to buy her a toy online and inadvertently led me to find your internet Spank Bank archives full of women who look like me. Other than that, it was fine.

“I put her down about an hour ago. She was great.”

You forced a smile, and Joel seemed to believe it.

“Perfect. Need me to give you a ride home?”

“No, no, you should stay here with Sar—”

“‘S’alright. Tommy’s right downstairs.”

Of course he’d brought him home.

“No, really, I can walk. It’s fine—”

“Don’t be silly. C’mon, kiddo.”

Kiddo.

Kiddo.

The man had been jerking off to the thought of you for who knows how long, and now he called you ‘kiddo’?

You hated how arousing the nickname sounded from him

You despised yourself for rubbing your clit in his office.

Most of all, you loathed the way your panties had gotten wet the last time you’d climbed into his truck and heard that word crawl off of his old, drawling tongue: ‘Attagirl.’

Reluctantly, you nodded your head. You followed him downstairs and hoped the car door wouldn’t stick again.

He had to stop.

It was no longer a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ his dick would lead him straight off a cliff, and today, Joel was starting to think that precipice was looking extra nice. Tempting.

Almost as inviting as the divot he could see at the small of your back, glimmering with a couple hot beads of sweat under the midafternoon sun. He swallowed.

Sarah was at camp today. You’d had the time to yourself, and the weather was blistering hot, and of course, where else would you be but his backyard? He’d told you ad nauseum, ever since you started babysitting his kid, that his pool was open to you whenever you so chose to go.

Presently, Joel wished he could revoke that invitation.

Seeing how you were flipped on your stomach, body all soft and warm and splayed out on one of his deck chairs—wearing that fucking red swimsuit, of all things—Joel was left to ogle from his office window, and inside, he felt like a certified pervert. Arguably, he was. His old, worn hands had all but glided to find his mouse as soon as he’d sat down at his desk and saw you out there, and no sooner had his cursor found Chrome than his cock started to stir. He’d wanted to watch. If not you in all your bare, sun-baked glory, then surely the woman he could see getting her throat and cunt stuffed on his screen.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Was he really that much of a gooner he couldn’t let his kid’s babysitter lounge outside without stroking his dick?

Shit. He had the bottle of lotion in one hand and the box of tissues in the other in no time at all. He ripped three free Kleenex aside and reached for his mouse once more.

He was pissed at himself. He toggled over to the Hub with a grunt, and in no time at all, had you pulled up.

Joel liked to pretend it was you, anyway.

If he couldn’t have the sweet young thing every swinging dick in this town would’ve killed to have himself, he could rub one out to a girl exactly like you. He could fantasize.

He could skip the video to 8:53 on the dot, as he always did, and he could rub himself raw. It wouldn’t take long.

He always fast-forwarded to that exact part, without fail, because she moaned like you then. He’d never forget it.

It had almost been six months since it happened, and he still remembered that sound as clear as day. You’d been hauling your backpack off the couch in the living room, having stuffed the thing full with more school supplies than you could feasibly carry, and Joel had been in the kitchen, unseen. You’d lifted the bag with effort, and once you had, you let out a soft but audible whine. You dropped the bag back down to your feet, and when you bent to try again, you’d moaned fully. It was like the stretch had made you feel good, or something. You’d huffed and managed to get the weight slung over your back with modest success, then left, but Joel had been changed. Too quickly had he retreated to his office and swore to find any clip where a moan sounded like that.

“Please! Feels like a fucking dre-e-e-e-e-eam—oh, OH!”

Granted, the dialogue was cheesy, but the sound after it was identical to the one you’d made. Joel repeated it.

He hadn’t even noticed, but he’d already lathered his hand and cock with lotion. He was scrubbing vigorously while your twin wiggled her hips and begged her co-star to put it in, to quit teasing her pussy like that, can’t you see I’m practically dripping for you, daddy? Look at it!

Unfortunately, Joel’s head was turned the other direction—away from the screen, and toward the window—watching you where you sat out on the lawn.

He stroked harder. He groaned.

You had just turned onto your back. Your tits looked incredible. Joel reckoned they’d look even better with his dick pushed up between them, and at the thought, his mouth watered. His lips were slightly parted, and he feared he might drool. What a sight he must have been then: jaw slack, lids heavy, cock in hand, and moan after moan bubbling out of his throat. He got closer to climax.

“Gonna teach ya, honey. Teach ya how to please a man.”

It wasn’t long after that that Joel heard the girl whine in pleasure—the man behind her had notched in the first inch and told her to behave—and meanwhile, he watched your chest rise and fall, rise and fall outside. It was calm. Unlike the girl being taught how to fuck poolside, you remained untouched. Spotless. Placid and serene while your hands picked up a magazine and began flipping through it. While Joel’s orgasm crested inside him, he wondered if you’d ever want to try something like that. Roleplay. Or would it be fake at all? Had you ever been touched by a man, shown the best ways to give and receive pleasure, or was it all brand new, like it was supposed to be for the woman on his screen? Joel panted, and he fucked his hand harder. He groaned.

“Oh, daddy, it’s so big! Feels so good going inside me!”

“You love gettin’ fucked by an older man, don’t you?”

“Yes, daddy, yes! Please don’t stop—oh, OHHH!”

Joel wanted to be the only older man you had.

If he wasn’t the first, he sure as fuck could be the last. Give you all the dizzying, euphoric feelings your body deserved and stretch you open gently for the taking.

He could teach you so much, ruin you for any oth—

Shit.

What the fuck was this asshole doing here?

At the back gate, he saw his neighbor Dieter.

The man strolled across the lawn, and Joel’s orgasm receded in a blink. He was walking right over to you.

No. No, no, no. Joel released his dick from its vice grip and felt the thing twitch in indignation. Meanwhile, the sound of skin on skin continued to flood his eardrums from out of the computer speakers, where the happy babysitter-boss duo was hitting a brutal pace. The girl let out one over-the-top shriek of pleasure, and Joel clicked pause. He toggled out of the browser. Then he redirected his gaze out the office window, where his own girl was being accosted by Dieter. His blood boiled with anger.

Who did this creep think he was? The man never so much as looked Joel’s way or approached his property unless it was to ask to be ‘lent’ some booze or else ask after some friend, relative, or coworker Dieter wanted to be introduced to—he was perennially unemployed and a fuckboy bachelor to his core. The last Joel had heard, he’d spent the last year in Los Angeles, or Paris, or some other too-big city to chase his singing and acting dreams

And here he was now, hitting on his poor, defenseless babysitter. Joel wouldn’t stand for that in any world.

Though his dick was still erect, it had softened some, too. His rage facilitated that, and him shoving his length back in his jeans, zipping it up, and all but punching the desktop off made it spongier still. He walked like he was mad at the floor beneath his boots. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so defensive—he had just been rubbing one out to the sight of you less than five minutes ago—but now wasn’t the time for thinking. He had to act.

Protect, if he had to.

What if his neighbor wanted to go for a swim, too?

Joel would drown the man with his two bare hands if he so much as reached for your bikini-clad form. He stalked loudly down the hall and searched for a less sweaty shirt to wear, then some deodorant, then a comb. He peered in the bathroom mirror and saw his black-and-grey locks all out of sorts, and for a second, he contemplated taking a shower. You’d probably be able to smell his unsatisfied desire from outside. He looked, and felt, a bit unhinged.

Joel decided he didn’t care, before plodding downstairs.

Outside, you lay in the same position he’d seen you last. Your hand was shielding your face. You were smiling.

And beside you, Dieter was grinning even bigger.

Joel made a beeline down the porch steps, then across the lawn, like his life might’ve depended on it. Scowling.

“—but getting cast in Gladiator II would’ve been wild—”

Of course Dieter was yapping about his failed acting career. Of course. Joel could hear him drone on as he approached, though he didn’t register a word of what he said. Instead, he waved a hand. He feigned a calm tone:

“Dieter! How’s it going?”

And he slowed down, too.

Just as he drew in, his neighbor volleyed a look his way. Joel couldn’t miss how his smile twitched down a little.

“Joel.”

Accepting a cordial hand in greeting.

“Doing alright, how ‘bout yourself?”

Joel nodded fine, just fine and offered some offhand remark about not having seen him since last summer, and Dieter couldn’t resist the chance to puff up and mention a school he’d been attending. Joel didn’t hear it, or give a shit. His gaze was already trained on you. Your own flitted from Dieter, to Joel, then to Dieter again, and your lips were smiling kindly enough. You seem humored.

“Mr. Bravo just got back from Berlin,” you beamed.

Then Dieter met your look and shook his head.

“Dieter, sweetie, Dieter. Or Dee, if you want.”

Joel almost wanted to vomit in his mouth.

“Germany, huh? What brings you here?”

No sense in beating around the bush.

Joel meant to ask why Dieter was here, in his backyard, with his babysitter, of course. Why the fuck he was eyeing you like that, like your tits were two Emmys and the only way to earn it himself was to stare as long, and as hard, as possible. Joel cleared his throat instinctively.

Dieter blinked and cast a glance back to him.

“Oh, here. Yeah. I, um…I just wanted to see if you had that— that—” He snapped his fingers, “That leafblower.”

Leafblower?

He was so full of shit.

“My leafblower,” Joel repeated.

It was fucking July, for crying out loud.

Evidently, his neighbor didn’t seem to care. He met Joel’s gaze with an even look, and he nodded his head.

He doubled down: “Yeah, the leafblower. I’ve had some debris pile up in my yard since I’ve been gone, y’know.”

“Are you gonna be in Austin long? Or are you going back overseas once you’ve had that casting call?” you asked.

You cocked your head with genuine curiosity. Joel grit his teeth, but he tried not to let his discontent show anyplace else on his face. A muscle might’ve jumped when he saw how smugly Dieter smirked at your intrigue.

“Oh, I’ll be here long enough, don’t you worry,” he said.

That was it.

Joel gestured to the shed in the back corner of the yard, about to tell Dieter that the leafblower was in there, go knock yourself out, when his neighbor cut in once again.

“In the meantime, maybe I’ll have you babysit for me. I hate to steal Sarah’s pal, but maybe you can split your time between my place and Joel’s. What do you think?”

You blinked a little quicker, like you weren’t quite sure what to say at first. Joel took the chance to interject.

“You don’t have any kids, Bravo,” he practically growled.

“I know. I’ve got cats, though,” Dieter just grinned back, flitting a cheeky look to you. “And you have no idea how naughty those pussycats can get while a man’s away.”

That was really all Joel could take. He didn’t even let you answer; he just pointed to the shed and made a fist with his other hand at his side. His chest was heaving breaths.

“You and her can chat when she’s off the clock, how ‘bout that? Leafblower’s in the shed. Door’s unlocked.”

His words didn’t invite protest of any kind. Dense as he was, Dieter probably sensed that he’d ticked his neighbor off with the suggestive comment to his babysitter, and he backed away, both literally and figuratively. He bid a quick, cavalier goodbye with a shit-eating grin stretching his lips, and then he went to the storage shed and left.

You were still blinking, still creasing your brows tight, by the time the back gate had slammed shut behind him. You watched after him, teeth gnawing at your cheek.

“He seemed like a funny gu—”

“What do you think you’re doin’?”

Joel’s words appeared to sting like a slap in the face. You jerked your head back to him, seeming to say, ‘What?’

“You know what. Don’t play innocent now,” Joel griped.

You continued to stare, then started to shake your head.

“Mr. Miller—”

“Don’t Mr. Miller me, either,” he snapped, far shorter than he’d ever spoken to you before. His nostrils flared, “You’re old enough to know better. You did all of that.”

“All of what?” you shot back.

“Attracted men like Dieter into my yard.”

“He’s your neighbor! What do you expect?”

Offense marred your tone. He didn’t entirely blame you.

“No, no—he never sticks his nose over here unless he sees something he wants. You were flaunting yourself.”

At that, your mouth fell open.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Miller? Are you serious?”

“Language, young lady—”

“I don’t give a shit.” You stood up from your chair. Your eyes flashed with ire. Just like his hands had before, yours curled into fists. You stood your ground with him. “You invited me to come swim here whenever I wanted to. You did that, asshole. What did you expect me to sunbathe in, army fatigues and fucking combat boots?”

Joel blinked hard at that. He didn’t like being mocked.

“Still shouldn’t be that damn skimpy. And I said lang—”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, dad. Don’t act like you’re mine.”

Don’t act like you’re mine.

Joel’s chest tightened. His gaze seared into yours, almost as though he were as angry as you were now, but deep down, the man only felt remorse. Resentment. Whatever rage he harbored now was reserved for himself

He shouldn’t have gone there.

He shouldn’t have masked his own jealousy with pseudo paternal scolding. He looked like a dickhead doing that.

And you weren’t shy to let him know it in the slightest.

Presently, your finger was jabbed in his face. You were planted less than two feet from where he stood, and though you were noticeably dwarfed by his size, your next words had him beat by a foot, if he’d had to guess.

“I watch your kid, Joel. I am not your daughter. If you don’t want me hanging around here in my hot red bikini, then you can just say that. But don’t blame me for him.”

Joel bristled at your words, though he wasn’t sure why. When he opened his mouth to speak again, you added:

“And don’t blame me for that, either.”

Suddenly, he realized your finger was pointed at his legs.

Or, rather, what was poking up stiff between them.

Joel’s cheeks heated up to a thousand degrees.

You’d just caught him. You’d seen his arousal.

And you were turning on your heels again.

Before Joel could even try to summon the words to his tongue, you were grabbing your things. Shoving your shoes onto your feet. And Joel had only to stand there.

Feeling stupid and inert beside you.

As you went to the back gate, he somehow managed to call that you didn’t have a car, let him drive you back.

You didn’t even dignify his words with a verbal response.

You just raised your middle finger over your shoulder.

And then the gate crashed shut behind you.

You would be walking home that day.

Two big eyes and round cheeks were all you could see.

Then, they darted beneath the covers and were gone.

“Oh no, where’d sweet Sarah go?” you wondered aloud. Sitting at the edge of the bed and pretending not to see where she’d just dipped her head under the blankets, you furrowed your brows and proceeded to pat around you.

Everywhere you felt with your hands, you completely ignored the big lump under the duvet. It was a game.

A silly one at that—hide-and-go-seek was generally best left to places where you couldn’t figure out her location in the blink of an eye. But you played along. You heard a soft giggle. You continued feeling around the twin-sized mattress like this was the most bewildering puzzle of all.

“Whe-ere’s Sarah?” you sing-songed.

You heard a shuffling of limbs, a sniffle.

Your palm tapped right by those little feet.

And as soon as you did, she screamed. At four years old, Sarah hadn’t quite mastered the art of being stealthy.

You’d cut her some slack. You always had.

Blindly passing where her body lay, you glided to the opposite side of her bed and tapped inquiringly there.

“Is she…here?” You got a pillow.

“No!” Sarah shrieked back.

Such a helpful, obliging kid. She’d make a terrible spy.

“Is she…up here?” You rapped the headboard twice.

“No!!” she squealed.

You glanced over at the clock on her nightstand. It was approaching bedtime. Taking note of this, and knowing you couldn’t keep up with the charade for much longer, you let out a sigh. You stood from the bed, looked around the room with dramatic éclat, then started to walk away.

“Okay…I guess if Sarah’s not here I’ll have to leave…”

The second you said that, Sarah threw the covers back. She jumped up in bed, and she stomped her little feet.

“No! No! I’m here! I’m here!”

You spun on your heels, eyes wide with faux surprise.

“Sarah!”

And then you rushed back over, just in time to watch her drop to the bed and flash you a wide, exuberant smile.

“Your Sarah,” she corrected.

She adored it when you called her that. Your Sarah.

You nodded your head in agreement, “My Sarah. Sorry.”

She nodded too, like she’d just reminded you of the most important thing, and then she slipped back under her covers. She let you drag the purple duvet over her frame, all the way up to her chin, and when she was all snug inside, she gave another smile. She kicked her feet again.

“Stay,” she commanded, tone still sugar-sweet.

“I will, baby. ‘Til your daddy gets back, I’ll be here.”

“I mean forever!” Sarah dragged out the last syllable, and, not yet content with the answer you’d proffered, tried swaying you again, still more emphatic, “For-ever!”

If your daddy wasn’t such an ass, I might consider it.

Instead, you smiled back at her and shook your head. You smoothed the hair away from her face, then you leaned in and kissed her forehead with a gentle peck.

“Then my family would miss me. I gotta see them.”

“Says who?” Sarah’s pout was unmistakable.

Before you could reply, she cut in again.

“You can be my family. My mommy.”

Your throat constricted at those words. You weren’t sure what to say, or how to assuage your sweet Sarah then.

Again, you were about to open your mouth to speak, when your pint-sized companion piped up again. This time, her voice was softer. Surprisingly delicate and low.

“I want you to be my mommy,” she told you quietly, “Then you’ll live here. With me and daddy. And you’ll never have to go home again and we can play all day!”

Your heart ached. You kissed the tip of her nose and turned away, momentarily, to hide the hurt on your face.

Sarah Miller deserved much more in a mother than you.

When you looked up again, her grin was big. Hopeful.

“Don’t you wanna be my mommy too?” she asked.

“‘Course I do, baby,” you answered without hesitation, “But…don’t you think your daddy should have a say too?”

Somehow, her face got even brighter.

“He will! He— he…”

Sarah trailed off a second, as if considering her words. She didn’t understand what marriage meant. You’d help.

“Your daddy,” you finished for her, speaking slow and soft as you leaned in close, “is a good man who deserves a good woman to make your mommy. Don’t you agree?”

She bit the inside of her cheek.

“Yeah, but—”

“And a mommy’s gotta be someone he really loves.”

“But he…”

She was thinking again. You could tell. You pressed on.

“He is gonna find someone great someday. He’ll love you and her to bits, and y’all will get to play together all day.”

“But he loves you!” Sarah cried, at length.

A beat.

Your breath faltered.

The girl’s words had scarcely hung in the air for more than two seconds, and their meaning hardly registered in your brain before your own were coming out fast. Certain

“Your daddy doesn’t love me, baby. I’m just his friend.”

“Yes, he does! He told me so himself!”

Again, you shook your head.

“You misunderstood him, sweetie.”

You tried to smooth her hair back again, but Sarah’s head bucked away. She scrunched up her nose in clear protest and refused to let you cradle her face until she’d spoken her piece. When she did, her voice was pleading all over:

“Daddy loves you, he told me. You can be my mommy.”

And for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, you felt your heart balloon in your chest. Your gut clenched—but not for the reasons she or you wanted it to. The truth was that you didn’t have the words to tell a four-year-old girl that her father didn’t love you like that at all, that his head and his heart were anywhere but with you, and that, if you were being honest, you were furious with him. How he could so much as hint at such nonsense was beyond you. His little girl dreamed of having a mother. It was stupid and senseless and cruel to even suggest that that woman could be you. You sighed.

But, despite your every thought and feeling to the contrary, you knew you had to soothe the girl with some small semblance of hope. Something to hold her over for the night, so she didn’t cry herself to sleep thinking that you didn’t want to be her mommy. Gently, you leaned in.

You lifted the covers back up from where they’d fallen. You tucked them snug around her torso, and you paused.

Your tone was measured and soft when you spoke next:

“I don’t know about your daddy, baby. What I do know is that I would be the luckiest lady alive to get to be your mommy, alright? I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

And you meant it. You saw one look light up her face, and every ounce of anger that had been provoked by her father was forgotten in an instant. Her grin ensured it.

“Anywhere,” she parroted back.

“Anywhere,” you said, again.

Then you kissed the crown of her head, wished her sweet dreams, cut the little light off. You left the room quietly.

It was only when you were out of there and far enough away down the hallway that your skin started to burn.

You couldn’t help it. Anger was fast to trickle back.

This feeling was only compounded when the next moment brought a sound to the landing on the stairs. You glanced over down the hall, muscles all tensing at once, and when you saw him there, it was as though your rage just bubbled over. Your jaw clenched; your stomach flipped in a way so decidedly unlike how it had done for him two days ago, in his office, and suddenly, your throat was working again. You kept your voice low this time, keen not to draw Sarah’s attention out there, but the words you used were clear. Quiet. Doubtlessly effective.

Even in the dark, you saw his brows jump when he heard:

“Joel, we need to talk.”

It had been two years since he’d had a woman in here.

Joel wished it were under any circumstances but these.

Presently, your eyes were ablaze. The two of you had just stepped into his room and shut the door behind you, and with the click of a latch, you hadn’t thought to hold it in:

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

He blinked.

Well, many things.

Joel wouldn’t have had the space to explain it all if you’d given him a week, and still, he had to say something. He blinked again, made a sound in his throat as if to clear it, then shook his head. His shoulders sagged in his jacket.

“I…I’m sorry.”

For the other day. For getting caught up in his own anger and taking it out on you. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was apologizing for now, or what he should say, but he thought it best to start there. He shrugged his jacket off and set it over the back of the nearest chair. He turned to you again, where you were standing with a warning look.

“Don’t say sorry to me,” you said. “Say sorry to Sarah.”

Sarah?

Before he could speak, you went on.

“You’re just setting her up for heartbreak, you know that? I mean how selfish— how stupid could you possibly be?”

You pursed your lips like tears might threaten if you didn’t. This caught him off guard—his daughter? What could he have said or done to hurt her in any of this?

“What are you talking about?”

“You said I’d be her mom, Joel!”

He winced. You furrowed your brows and set your mouth in a line—really trying to fight the emotion behind it—and, while all the rest of you bristled in anticipation for what was to come, Joel softened. He didn’t mean to. He didn’t want to be the guy who lost his head at the thought of seeing you cry and forget the whole reason you were upset with him in the first place, but he couldn’t help it. Though you looked like you wanted to kill him right then, Joel drew closer. He shifted toward you.

“Did— did she, uh…call you…mommy?” he said, pained.

“Yeah. And you let her believe she could,” you spat.

He hadn’t meant to do that, either. Sarah had been calling you that for a while when you weren’t around to hear, and after enough times telling her otherwise, he’d just stopped correcting her on it. Sarah wanted a mother. You were the closest thing she had, and who was he to sabotage that? At the time, he’d just wanted to…pretend.

That was a running theme he had going with you.

Right now, you didn’t seem to care about that.

You just rolled your eyes in that cool, juvenile way when you didn’t hear a response from him, and he had to bite his tongue from saying something worse. He hated when you did that. It made him remember your age—the reality of you being his kid’s babysitter and how guilty he should feel for wanting to do something more about that eyeroll.

He wasn’t your father.

You weren’t Sarah’s mother, either.

You most certainly weren’t the girl on his computer screen, as much as he would’ve liked to see you that way, and even though you were standing here in his bedroom.

That was all fantasy. Make-believe. This was his reality.

You were visibly pissed and wouldn’t budge an inch.

“Is it really so bad if she says it?” he grit out.

Your eyes widened. You scoffed.

“Of course it is, Joel!”

You backed away.

He hated seeing that, too. He hated having you move from him, not toward him, wearing that scowl on your lips as you did. His fingers twitched—itched—at his side.

“Sarah’s young. She doesn’t…mean anything by it. She’ll grow out of it soon enough. And I don’t want to hurt her.”

“You’ll hurt her even worse by not telling her the truth!” you snapped. You sounded exasperated saying it now. “We’re not a family. I’m the goddamn babysitter, and— and— you’re Sarah’s father. Act like it, for Christ’s sake.”

That set his teeth on edge.

Joel felt the urge to fight back, but narrowly refrained. He flexed his fingers, and he bit down hard to keep the vitriol at bay. Because that was exactly what fathers did. They controlled their anger; even when faced with a smart-mouthed babysitter who wore his patience out.

Even when your arms were folded over your chest in that impossibly tight, white tank, and your tits looked like they might spill from the fabric at any given moment. Joel swallowed and refocused his gaze before going on.

“Don’t tell me how to be a father.”

Something flared in your eyes.

“Why? I’m fucking right.”

“Language, young lady.”

That only seemed to irk you worse; your hands flew up.

“Yeah, well,” you started, accusing, “If we’re playing house, I might as well be allowed to say what I like.”

“We are not playing hous—”

“But you want to, right? That’s why I’m always here.”

“No, I need a—”

“Maid? Mommy?”

You paced closer. Joel’s jaw clenched.

“Obedient little housewife?” you sneered.

Your eyes were shining like two derisive pools. With every blink, you seemed to mock him more. Goad him on and beg for your reward, though you hardly knew what it was.

“C’mon, Mr. Miller,” you chided, voice low, “What is it?”

What he was, or what he’d stand to take. It wasn’t this.

“Keep runnin’ that fuckin’ mouth, I’ll show you what.”

The words flew off his tongue before he could stop them.

It was a reflex—something that had been stewing in his mind since the second you’d set foot in his room and went on provoking him. But it was wrong, of course.

He was wrong for even thinking it, much less saying it.

Now your eyes were round, and your mouth was slightly agape, and your brain was likely working a thousand miles a minute to process what had just been said.

Joel had to fix it.

“That— that ain’t—” he began, already hating himself.

To his surprise, and embarrassment, a laugh rang out.

Its sound was explosive and short. It split the air with such hot, bitter force that his words dropped off. His gaze had no choice but to remain plastered on yours.

“Oh, I bet.”

You grinned, humorless.

You didn’t appear shocked in the slightest. In fact, his remark seemed only to embolden you then, as you teased that smile wider, drew yourself closer, and tipped your chin up. You looked doubly enlivened by his last admission. Vindicated in some strange, inexplicable way. Your breaths were warm, and the swell of your breasts came to hover just inches from his chest when the last thing he needed to happen, happened between you next.

You pointed again. Joel didn’t need to look down.

“‘Don’t tell me how to be a father,’” you repeated his words from before, voice taking on a low, faux baritone.

Your amusement was clear. His cock was hard.

It seemed you’d never let the latter slip past you.

“Is that what we’re gettin’ at here, Mr. Miller?” you asked, tone now precocious. Probing, “You showing me what a great daddy you are, and me being the mommy you al—”

“No.”

Joel pushed off. He didn’t want to hear another thing.

He headed straight for the door, prepared to usher you out of it. This conversation had taken an irreparable turn.

When he reached for the handle, though, he had to stop. Your voice made him stop, echoing from the opposite end of the room. Joel turned, and he saw you on his bed.

“I’m just curious. Is that really what you meant?”

You were sitting at the foot of it, legs casually hanging off. Your look was innocent, and still more knowing than Joel could bear. The heat left to swirl in his groin nearly suffocated him below the waist, and he inhaled deeply.

“Mean what? I didn’t…mean anything.”

His touch fell from the doorknob all the same.

Your feet were swinging when he faced you completely.

“Just like you didn’t mean for Sarah to call me mommy?”

Maybe he had meant it more than he let on. He couldn’t answer. Joel felt every bit the creep he knew himself to be—decades your senior and letting you rest on his bed, soft, smooth legs kicking back and forth as he watched.

He was good at that, wasn’t he? Watching. Waiting. Aching from the comfort of his home office while he watched those filthy clips on repeat, images of you flitting through his mind at every stretch, moan, and whimper. His will was powerless to his perverted needs. He had only to defend himself against their influence by planting his feet firmly in place and refusing to move.

“You wanna teach me, though. Don’t you, daddy?”

It was as though your words reached him from another place. Somewhere deep within the recesses of his mind—his memory—and the tone of it stirred him. It was familiar, in ways you couldn’t have possibly understood. Unless you were living in his head, there was no way in hell you could’ve known what those lines meant to him.

‘Gonna teach ya, honey. Teach ya how to please a man.’

It made him ache.

Joel still wouldn’t move, but you could come to him.

He blinked once, and you were there. Off the bed. Walking to him. Down on your knees in front of him.

This had to be the work of his own sick imagination.

He groaned at just the sight of your smile, curving slow.

And then you peeled off your top, revealing the bright, nylon, cherry-red fabric he’d seen far too many times on his computer screen and off it—on you, by his pool. Joel sucked in a breath and shook his head, gaze darkening.

“Thought you didn’t wanna play mommy,” he growled.

If this was all just in his head, he could talk as he wanted.

“I don’t,” you answered him soberly. Suddenly, your chin was in his hand. Your eyes were still glistening up at him. “But you need to get this out of your system. Just once.”

Out of his system.

Joel was out of his fucking mind with desire.

“Just once?” His voice cracked as he said it.

Only one time. That was alright. Forgivable.

From what he half-believed to be a figment of his own perverted mind came the word from your lips: ‘Once.’

The next had the thumb that was cupping your chin slipping between those same lips. Still smiling while your mouth slid down to his knuckle. You sucked him gently.

And in just one glimpse, one fleeting second on that lone, thick thumb, the sight below him had every other obscene thing entrenched in his memory beat by a mile. You were better than everything else he’d seen or tried to dream up. You were real, he hoped, sliding your shiny wet lips up and down the surface of his skin, and when you pried them off, and you asked for his cock, he had no choice but to oblige. He had to rack his brain for words.

This was his babysitter, his daughter’s companion, his—

“Sweet fuckin’ girl,” he said when he first felt you there.

Before he even knew what became of his belt, buckle, and zip, the base of his cock was in your hand, and your lips were hovering precariously over the tip. Your breaths were soft and hot. Your graze drank him in with curiosity.

“Should I kiss you here, daddy?” Your mouth lowered.

“Right there, sweetie,” Joel breathed out.

He truly couldn’t believe it when the warmth of you enveloped his tip. When the first lick of your tongue came to collect the bead of precum sitting at the slit and he damn near bucked his hips up. You licked at it again.

And again. And again. And again.

You whimpered lightly, enjoying the taste.

The second you pulled your mouth away, Joel hissed.

“Baby, please—” he started, tone strained.

“What? Where does daddy want it?”

The question was so innocent.

It was clear you wanted to hear him guide you through it, as evidenced by the way your lips twitched at his hand smoothing down and over the crown of your head. Joel held it like he might never get this chance again, and, at once, his voice lowered along with it. He scarcely recognized himself with how gently he spoke then.

“Let daddy show you,” he said, “Open your mouth.”

And you did.

Your jaw fell slack, your lips split apart, and your eyes peered up with a wide and open stare. In a look, you seemed already to say that you trusted him to fill it.

No sight on a screen could’ve made him so hard.

He fed you an inch, eyes locked with yours as he did. His cock slid in another, and another, then stopped. He pulled back. The wetness and the warmth of your mouth nearly did him in, and the way you whined for more had him fisting your hair tight. Trying to keep his composure.

“That alright, honey? Feel…nice goin’ in?”

“Yes, daddy,” you hummed obediently.

Your mouth opened wider.

“More, please?”

Your tongue was flattened in a second. Joel slid back in, and his shaft was greeted by the slick, shiny cushion of the muscle underneath. He sank in. He invaded every inch of your mouth he could find, and he breathed out.

“Just like that, sweetie. Takin’ daddy so well.”

What little gurgles he heard stifled between your lips at that, spit drooling gently from either side, he only found more endearing. When he pulled back and saw strings of your spit trail after its path, he felt delirious. You were real, coating the whole throbbing length of his cock with your saliva and your precious soft whines, and you were sweet for him. Pliant for his cock. Jaw obliging and inviting and hanging wide open for him to fuck again.

He let you have it. He slid in once, grazed your throat, slid out again. He cupped your face in his hands and thumbed your cheeks. He coaxed your lips wider for him. You took it all well; you responded to every tender little directive from the man who was stuffing your mouth, ‘Faster now, atta girl’ and ‘Take daddy deeper’ and ‘Keep that pretty mouth open and those eyes on me.’ Joel was so caught up in the feel and the friction and the intimacy of every passing moment that he almost didn’t see when you started to shift your legs. Parting them.

And, right when the head of his cock had reached the back of your mouth and was teasing down your wet, open throat, he felt it fully: your whimpering plea.

You grinding your cunt against the toe of his boot, and peering up at him with eyes all wet, wide, and needy.

You rutted your hips. It looked like you couldn’t help it.

It seemed as though it were a mere spasm of the body that you couldn’t control—like his cock down your throat was too good for your sense or your oversexed mind to handle. He’d scarcely stirred in place when he felt you humping him, whines rippling down his length with every bob of your head as you keened for some kind of release.

Joel had never seen anything like it. He didn’t know what to say or do except stroke his hand over your scalp and pin you with a look. His cock twitched in your mouth.

“Is that how we ask to get fucked in this house?”

His tone surprised him with how steady it stayed.

Your mouth still full of him, you tried to shake your head.

What came next was more instinct than logical thought; Joel pulled you off his cock and onto your feet. His touch on your body was soft. He couldn’t pinpoint a reason for his being so gentle, but every second that elapsed now seemed to demand it. He was teaching you to please. There could be no better place for kindness than here.

He’d lead you to the bed and guide you down himself. He’d tell you to open your mouth and then he would kiss it, and lick inside it. Maybe spit inside it, too. He’d tug at your bikini straps, watch your breasts give way to the pressure of the pull before bouncing right back in place. He’d take off your top. Latch his mouth around a nipple, swirl his tongue across the skin, and he’d kiss you again.

Joel did all these things, and you let him. You met him with whimpers, with wide open legs, and eventually, with your feet digging into the covers beneath you, begging, ‘Daddy, please put it in.’ Your gaze was febrile as you did.

Whether you meant it, or were simply pretending for him, gave Joel pause. Just as you’d tried to yank your jean shorts down your legs, he dropped his hands to your own. He stopped them in their path. He leaned closer.

“Do you know what you and me are about to do, hm?”

His question was barbed but sweet. Testing the waters.

Were you game to keep playing house? Did you want it?

These things mattered to Joel; whether the wetness between your legs was meant for him and him alone. Whether you needed him there, like the breath in your lungs. He wouldn’t fuck you if he wasn’t. He might feel lonely at times—desperate to feel your cunt squeeze his too-old cock like your life depended on it—but he was a man who wanted to be wanted, too. An instant of clarity hit, and suddenly he was asking it, plain and in your face:

“Do you wanna do what mommies and daddies do?”

Your mouth fell slack. Again. You nodded.

Either you were the single best actress, or you wanted it. Hoping desperately for the latter, Joel kissed the side of your face. You turned your head, quickly, and captured his lips in yours instead. You pulled him down to you.

“Like this?” you murmured, words muffled against him.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and then ground your clothed lower half with his—Joel’s cock was tucked haphazardly back in his boxers, and his jeans, unzipped, hung just underneath them around his hips. He felt like a teen again, clothes thrown askew and hormones all wild.

Except he wasn’t. He was a grown man, in his own bed, with his child fast asleep down the hall. He thanked his lucky stars that their rooms were as far apart as possible, and that he no longer had to worry about the prying eyes of his mom or dad trying to catch him out after curfew. This wasn’t high school, or a night out in college, or the time a condom had split and Sarah had been conceived.

Now if he could just make sure she didn’t get a sibling…

Kidding.

“Pill,” Joel choked out, just as your legs drew him in to meet your movements, “Are— are you on the pill, or—”

Am I going to have to hit up a Texaco at 10 PM to get some rubbers and admit I haven’t gotten laid in a year?

You grinned.

“IUD.”

That works, too.

Joel probably shouldn’t have seemed so eager. He probably shouldn’t have taken your face in his hands and kissed you so hard, either. But his skin was ablaze; his eyes were wild; his limbs were molten; and his head—you didn’t want to know where it was. What he was thinking.

What he wanted to tell you while he tugged his cock back out and started working his hand up and down it. It felt too intimate, too depraved, to be spoken aloud.

Then, to his shock, you said the words yourself:

“Show me how you’d make me a mommy anyway.”

If not for protection. If not for common sense. If not for that thrumming, pulsing, warning repetition in his head: Do not get her pregnant. Do not give your kid a sibling.

But this was all pretend, wasn’t it?

Joel yanked down your shorts, practically tore them from your legs, and situated himself between them, breathing hard and fast, before he nodded his head and kissed you. With his one free hand, he held the base of his dick, and he guided it closer to your slick, puffy, aching entrance through the barrier of your red bikini. He rutted his hips.

You were bare beneath him, save for that one scrap of fabric between your lower half and his. You smiled, and you wriggled your body against his, and you drew him in. Joel groaned when he felt you slide your bottoms to the slide and let him feel, for the first time, how wet you were. How warm, inviting, and tight that cunt must be and how badly he needed it. How desperately he had to be buried inside that heat—he all but panted the words:

“Can daddy put it in?”

You spread your legs wider. You nodded.

Then he did. Without one breath of a thought to the contrary, he pushed the head of himself past the fabric, through your folds, into that wet and precious spot he’d only dreamed he’d ever feel, and he let out a full-throated moan. He felt your walls contract, heard the tender little squelch of your body making room for his length, and he damn near blew his whole load right there. You felt good.

Your chest rose with a breath, and your eyes widened.

Like you hadn’t just had him down your throat, drenched in your spit and gliding in and out: “He’s so big, daddy.”

Joel’s lips kissed your cheek. His tip kissed your cervix. You whined a little, and he pulled you in closer to him.

“I know, honey, I know,” he cooed, rocking you with the softest motions, “Ain’t that what mommy likes, though?”

Your lips parted again. A strangled whine of assent slid out, just as his hips withdrew himself back to that shiny, bulbous head, and then he fucked back in. Back and forth, back and forth, Joel sent your body bouncing with every thrust. He felt you clench, and the strokes sped up.

The bed creaked underneath. It seemed to shake the whole room. In truth, there wasn’t a thought in Joel’s head except for the ones relating to you and how good you took his cock, but somewhere, not far off, there was the instinct of a father idling too. With every stab of the headboard against the wall and every moan of yours under him he had to smother with his lips, he was reminded you two had to be quiet. He leaned in.

Grazing your ear with a stubbled chin, and fucking you gently into his bed, Joel sank his weight even lower.

“Can mommy stay real quiet for daddy? Can she try?”

From the way your eyes were glazed, he expected you to nod. And you did, just barely, heels digging in the mound of his ass and your fingers finding his sides. But then you slid a touch up his ribs; you squeezed the flesh. You let him pound your cunt for a few more precious seconds, and just when he thought that was the end of it, you tilted your head to him. Your nose bumped his, and you grinned, flashing the single most pretty, fucked-out look.

“Feels like a fucking dream, daddy,” you breathed.

Joel balked. He almost stopped right then and there.

Please! Feels like a fucking dre-e-e-e-e-eam—oh, OH!

Oh.

You couldn’t have known that.

There was no shot you knew where the fuck those words were from. Or what they meant. Joel furrowed his brow and kept rutting his hips, hands tightening in the sheets beside your head as the scene from his naughty all-time favorite film flickered briefly through his mind. No shot.

Then your legs wound around the backs of his even tighter, and your eyes were all but shining with a fresh, twisted glint. With a measured tone, you went on for him:

“He’s so big, daddy. Feels so good going inside me.”

You even mimicked her tone. Joel paled above you.

His hips stalled a moment, and your cunt hugged him tight. Your teeth nipped at his chin, playfully, and before he could even try to speak again, your lips were there.

At his ear, whispering what he’d dreaded hearing most.

“You should really clear those PornHub searches after you’re done. Or at least lock your office while I’m here.”

Joel’s thrusts stopped completely.

He was about to search for his voice again, when your walls clamped down around him, and his vision went swimming. His cock pulsed inside you, and he groaned.

Then his hips picked up; it wasn’t a conscious decision. He just needed to fuck, needed to finish, needed to see the light twinkle and burst behind your eyes while he stuffed your cunt full. It didn’t matter what you knew—your lips were curled in such a sweet, smug smile below him, there was likely no use in trying to explain himself now. Joel just gritted his teeth, and he tried smiling back. He fucked you faster, and harder, than he’d done before.

When you clawed at his back, the pace grew merciless. Every inch of the space around him, it seemed, was filled with the sounds of skin slapping skin, whimpers, and moans. As before, Joel almost didn’t recognize his voice.

‘That so?’ was all it could manage to get out at present.

With your cunt fluttering repeatedly, hips rolling with his own, and those lips letting moans spill out one after the next, it was all he could do to try to keep his composure.

Joel kissed you, and then he flipped your body around. He moved back to find the headboard and rest himself against it, got your legs straddling his, and slid you down

Down, down, down on his cock. Stretching you out. Then moving you back up again. Making you bounce in his lap and have your hands fumble to find his shoulders. You squeezed his biceps and moaned, and at the same time, his slick-smeared lower half rutted to greet yours. Your essence drenched him; he could feel it soak straight through the black-and-gray hairs at the base of his cock.

You looked perfect like this—better than any girl on camera could’ve been. Your hips rolled, and you moaned while sliding up and down on his dick, again and again. Joel felt the trembling pulse through your body and his, groaned at the grip of your cunt around him, and helped you ride him. With one hand at the small of your back and the other cupping your face, he held you close to him. Your pace quickened, and the hand at your chin made its way to your throat, to hold you firmly there.

Joel had a thumb on your pulse and his eyes raking over your writhing form when he felt compelled to talk again.

Share a truth, since all the rest was coming out anyway.

He didn’t think so much as feel it flow from there, like the blood rushing through his veins. Joel winced at a fresh influx of pleasure and let you grind on him twice more. Then he was gripping you tighter, fucking up into you harder, and he was skimming his teeth along your skin. As a knot coiled deep within his stomach, he let it out:

“Wanna cum inside this pussy, baby. Fill her up with me.”

The head of his cock struck a dizzying blow to someplace close to your cervix, and you held him tighter.

“Yeah, Mr. Miller?” You couldn’t help the teasing tone.

You fought a breathless laugh, then were forced to suck in a gasp of air just as quick; his length sheathed itself inside you completely, and Joel’s grip constricted on your throat. He kissed you. He lapped his tongue into your mouth while he fucked up into you, again and again.

You whined, and he mumbled against you, “That’s right.”

You hissed at him deep in your guts, and he went on:

“Gonna stuff her full. Make her wet and messy and drippin’ with me. Show mommy how much daddy lov—”

He cut himself short. His balls were heavy, full, and ready to paint you white, but that line was a touch too far, even now. He couldn’t say it outright and not sound like a fucking creep, no matter how deep in this roleplay you happened to be. Joel squeezed your hips and grunted.

And, for what felt like the fifteenth time that night, you surprised him. Your chin tilted to his, your lips brushed against his mouth, and you smiled, again. It was tender.

“How much does daddy love me, hm? Show me.”

Your walls clenched at the end of the last sentence, and Joel couldn’t help but groan in your mouth. His eyes lifted to yours, and in your gaze, he found anything but incredulity—you already knew what he felt, somehow.

“Sarah tell you that, too? That I love you?” he growled.

He’d said it once. At the time, he hadn’t thought he’d meant it at all, but the words just sounded so good when it came to you. Sarah had asked him if he’d wanted you to be her mommy someday, if he loved you like a daddy loves a mommy, and he’d said he did. Looking back, it hadn’t felt half as good as it did right now: peering into your eyes, feeling your warmth swallow him whole, and sensing you were nearing your climax, all because of him. It made him want to say it over again, now face-to-face.

Be it roleplay, fantasy, fixation—he needed to say it now.

“Daddy does love you,” he went on, before you could even respond. His pelvis rutted against yours, and his gaze stayed steeped in desire as he felt you grip harder, “Loves you so damn much he wants to stuff a big load in that pretty little cunt. Make you his. That alright by you?”

Your gaze went blank in an instant. Your lips twitched.

Something delectably wet, tight, and far too tempting shuddered someplace inside you, and with pride, Joel sensed the remnants of it leak out and smear his tummy. You liked that idea. Still, you seemed hesitant as your teeth snagged your bottom lip between them. You drew one steadying breath, and you slowed your movements.

“I’ve never…had that,” you admitted quietly.

Then that sticky-sweet embrace your cunt held him in got even wetter. Like your mind wasn’t fully on-board, but your body was all in. You were close, by the feel of it.

But Joel would only give what you were fully ready to take. At length, he lowered one hand to the small of your back, and his thumb rubbed at the skin. He let you feel him in only the shallowest of strokes, bouncing you softly

“Ain’t gotta be inside, then,” he murmured, assuring, “I’ll shoot this load wherever mommy tells me to go, alright?”

That made you whimper.

From there, your mind seemed to be decided all at once.

“Cum inside. I-I want it.”

Joel swallowed thickly.

“You sure, sugar? I can—”

Suddenly, your hips were stirring. They started up quicker than before, and your hand was swift to plant itself flat on his chest, as though to stabilize yourself.

“Cum. In. Me.”

It was the most decisive, and desperate, you’d sounded all night. Your gaze flitted to his, and in it, he saw a plea.

With a look like that, Joel knew he couldn’t make you wait. He wouldn’t make you wait. Trying not to smirk as he did, he leaned in and kissed you, and felt you drip more arousal as something knotted in your belly. He smoothed your hair away and delivered the gentlest thrusts from below—he knew it wouldn’t take much.

“Mama goes first,” he prodded. He felt you tense, and clench, and leak a little more down his front, and when the head of cock nicked a soft ridge, he groaned, too. “Cum for daddy now and he’ll give you his load, OK?”

Then his touch slipped between your legs. You keened.

“Daddy, I—” you hiccuped, grip tightening like a vice when his thumb found your clit and started rubbing.

Joel circled faster.

“Breathe, baby. Breathe.”

“I can’t,” you cried, “Feels too—”

Good. Your body seemed to finish for you.

It started with a pulse. Then a pinch. A trickling warmth. Joel hardly knew what else to do but keep rubbing that little pearl between your folds, even when you started to gush around his hand. It wet his tummy; it drenched all the hairs around the base of his cock, and still, he kept thumbing your clit and rocking you back and forth above him. He let you cry out and bite his shoulder while your climax tore through you, and though he knew you had to be quiet, he couldn’t help but relish the sound. He smiled

“That’s it. That’s my girl. Give it to daddy.”

And, while he also told you to keep breathing and let him have it all, he was right here—in a matter of seconds, he was slipping off, too. He couldn’t hope to try and stop it. With one more pulse of your walls, you groaned and got your wet, spent, needy hole stuffed full of him, just how you’d asked. Joel flooded your insides with his seed and kept you fucked straight down to the hilt so he wouldn’t see a drop of himself escape. He hugged you tight and heard you whine at that primal sensation, getting pumped with rope after rope of his cum, then he felt your limbs go limp. Joel kissed the side of your face. He cradled you, held you securely in place, and let the last of his spend paint your walls in a couple more gentle spurts

When it was over, he stroked your back. He sensed the aftershocks of your climax pass through your tired frame, and he made sure not to rock you too hard against him. He just wanted you to feel that he was there, if the heft of his cum and his cock still deep inside you wasn’t enough.

His head grew clearer, too. While still drawing short, ragged breaths in time, he managed to find the words that had evaded him before—what he should’ve said.

“‘M’sorry,” he mumbled into your hair.

You just nuzzled your face deeper.

“Don’t be.”

“But I—”

Then you tilted your head—enough for your gaze to meet with his, briefly, and tell him all that he needed to hear.

“You’re a good dad, Joel.”

He opened his mouth, but you were already pressing on.

“And I don’t…mind if Sarah calls me what she wants for now. I’m sure you’ll find someone great to be her mom someday, and then this whole thing won’t even matter.”

For some reason, the sound of it made Joel wince.

He couldn’t quite place the feeling, but he knew he didn’t want you thinking that. His grip constricted around you.

“No,” he muttered, indistinct. Defiant.

“No?”

You almost laughed.

It was insane, admittedly—just last night he’d been dreaming of the feel of you in the grip of his fist, wishing for nothing but his own release and a fleeting thought of your body underneath him, and here he was, doing this.

You’d said it was a one-and-done deal, and maybe it was.

But for him, maybe, it wasn’t. He’d be remiss not to try.

If you shot him down and left him to pine and meander through the manifold archives of PornHub for the rest of his horny life, that would be alright. At least he had tried.

With these thoughts thrumming through his brain, Joel was about to pull you closer and venture to speak again, when, for the second time, his words were cut short. His voice was presently supplanted by a sound that startled you both, and in a moment, he recognized what it was.

A knock.

“Da-a-a-a-a-a-addy?”

Shit.

He nearly caught a knee to the gut with how quickly you tried scrambling off his lap, limbs revived and frantic and desperate to get your clothes back on before that tiny voice could resume its speech—or get a hand to the door

“Yeah, sweetie? Give— give daddy a—” ‘Fuck!’ he cursed under his breath as he tripped over your shorts on the floor, “—a minute. I’ll be right there. Just gimme a sec.”

Joel fell. You floundered. His hand snagged the edge of the bed before he hit the ground fully, while you set off across the room to fight the strings of your bikini top and wrestle the thing on. The second you sensed that battle was lost, you grabbed your shirt instead. You were just yanking it on, and Joel was just regaining his bearings and about to chuck your shorts your way, when a voice through the door stopped the two of you cold—again.

To your horror, it was hopeful. Too sweet to be real.

“Can I sleep with you and mommy tonight?”

You could’ve soundly beat Joel’s ass with that pretty, skimpy swimsuit in your grasp and not regretted a thing, if he had to guess by the look you were flashing him now.

He didn’t blame you. His hands shot up in silent defense.

“Mommy— mommy’s not here, honey. She went home.” Joel shortly tried, and failed, to keep the pretense of innocence alive, all while dodging the first swing of your bikini’s bra at his head. He ducked; you struck a lamp.

He jumped back, a wordless grin stretching his lips as he righted that fixture fast. With one look, it seemed to say:

I’m so, so sorry, baby.

But inside his head, he couldn’t help but admit this was a little bit funny. Probably sensing this, you swung again.

“Yes, she is! I heard her,” Sarah huffed outside.

Joel was sliding up his jeans. Apologizing with his eyes and also trying not to crack an even bigger smile at you.

“Don’t be silly, Sar—”

“You’re having a sleepover!” she accused.

Well, in a manner of speaking.

Joel had just buckled his belt and redid his zip when a flash of red nylon smacked him in the face. Playfully.

You were evidently beginning to fight a grin like his, dropping the feigned indignation and pacing closer.

“Sleeping my ass—” you started in a whisper.

And you were about to chase him again, or else propose jumping from the window to get out now and save face, maybe, when Joel felt an old, familiar feeling crop up inside him. Like before, it wasn’t the kind of urge he could fight; his instincts took over, and he did it swiftly.

Admittedly, the timing was terrible—but he kissed you.

He pressed his lips to your own and relished the feeling. He grabbed both sides of your face and walked you back to the bed—the same one drenched in sweat and your release, which he’d definitely need to change in a minute—and for a fleeting moment, it was all he needed. Your mouth was on his, grinning a little and promising silently that if Sarah ever does walk in on us, I’m gonna kill you.

Against his better judgment, he pushed you back on the bed. He dropped his weight over your body and kept the kiss ongoing, feeling need surge inside for something far beyond the physical. It couldn’t be ‘one-and-done’ here.

But for now, at least, in spite of his feelings, it had to be.

Joel didn’t want to let go or stop kissing, but the next second left no room for much else, unfortunately. His daughter’s voice returned, and the words that followed proved impossible to ignore, for either one of you then.

All color drained from his face, and your eyes widened.

“I heard mommy screaming before. Is she alright?”

[seokmn]

FOR3VER ?! ⋆⭒˚.⋆

pairing: vernon x gn!reader wc: 1.2k words warnings: curse words. lua’s note: happy a bit early vernon (and dokyeom) day!

“baby, it’s okay. it’s buzzcut season anyway”

“I can't do this.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can't,” you sighed and placed the scissors on the bathroom sink. “I'm so sorry, Vernon, I didn't mean to do… this to you.”

You looked at your reflection in the mirror, and there you were with red eyes and nose from crying and Vernon with a reassuring and comforting smile and burned hair. “Y/N, just do it. Really.”

“I can’t-“ your tears started to fall down again. “I'm so stupid, I'm so sorry.”

Why are you stupid? Well, you're the one who burned Vernon’s hair. In a very ridiculous way.

You and Vernon were celebrating his birthday with a small cake and some pastries you bought for him. When you were about to light up the candle, a mosquito flew right in front of your face, and as a way to make it fly away, you shook the hand that you were holding the lighter. Stupid mistake, you'd say, because the lighter’s flame touched Vernon's hair, and the damage was done.

“Fuck, Y/N!!” Vernon said in desperation, trying to put out the fire with his hands, but scared of burning himself. You looked at him with pure horror and immediately grabbed the glass of water that was resting on the table and threw the liquid at him, right at the flame. “I'm sorry!”

He looked at you and you looked at him, and you reacted to the situation at the same time, but in a different way. You started to cry like a child when someone steals their candy, and Vernon, on the other hand, started to laugh loudly. However, his laughter died as soon as he took the sight of you crying so hard that if someone walked in and saw you in that state, they’d think a loved one died or would send Vernon to jail immediately, thinking he did the worst to you.

That was the situation that led you to where you were, in the bathroom with scissors and a hair clipper waiting to be used by you at your boyfriend’s hair.

“It wasn't your fault, Y/N. It was an accident, so don't be like this. It's fine”

“It's not fine! You'll look like an egg!” Vernon laughed and shook his head. “I won't look like an egg, and if I do, I'll be the most handsome egg ever.”

He reached out for your hand and squeezed it gently, a way of reminding you that he's not mad at all. You took a deep breath and took the scissors in your hands.

You looked at your reflection once again. “Are you sure?”

“Is there any other way of taking care of this?”

“Fair enough,” you nodded and started to cut the strands of his hair. Your heart clenched a little bit more every time you saw the strand fall to the ground. “I can't believe I'm doing this.”

“This is exciting!”

“No, it's not. It's depressing and ridiculous. Can you imagine if… I don't know," you thought about one of his friend's names. "Seungkwan asks you about your hair? What will you say? ‘Y/N set fire to my hair so I shaved it’? That's ridiculous and stupid.”

“Hey, I bet not every couple has this story to tell. That’s unique! Plus, I'm liking it.”

“Pass me the hair clipper, please,” you mumbled as he took the scissors from your hands and then gave you the hair clipper. “Don't make me bald tho, make me look like a hot guy with a hot buzz cut.”

Vernon smirked, trying to bring some humor to change your mood, but he was failing since you only glanced at him before turning the hair clipper on and running it over his head.

“There you go… It's done,” you said as you put the hair clipper down. You avoided looking at him, embarrassed about having to shave his head.

“Damn, I look hot!” Vernon ran his fingers through his almost nonexistent hair. “Baby quickly, which one do you prefer, me or Humpty Dumpty?”

You snorted with laughter, still not looking at his hair. “I won't choose a fucking egg, Vernon.”

He got up from the stool and cupped your cheeks, making you finally look at him. “Come on, Humpty Dumpty is kind of a smash.”

You chuckled and ran your hand over his head with a small pout. “Your hair… I'm sorry, really,” Vernon laughed and shook his head. “Stop apologizing, babe. I swear it's okay, it's buzz cut season anyways. Plus, I look really good, don't I?”

Vernon looked at himself in the mirror with a proud smile on his face, and you looked at his reflection as well. He truly looked good, you smiled a little and placed your head on his shoulder. “You do look good, really good. That’s a real smash, not fucking Humpty Dumpty.”

He chuckled and kissed your forehead. “Come on, my birthday isn't over yet. Grab your coat.”

You left the bathroom and took your coats. “Let's go to the Han River and do the picnic you wanted to do,” you frowned, he wasn’t supposed to know about your picnic plans, it was a surprise. “How did you know?”

“I saw my sister’s message on your phone when you asked me to put it to charge.”

“Idiot, you could've at least pretend you didn't know!”

“You know I can't pretend that well, baby.”

“Look at that shining star, it's so pretty,” you pointed at the night sky. “Make a wish.”

“Don't you make a wish when you see a shooting star?”

“Yes, but we’ll pretend that that star is a birthday candle, because I'm not getting near a lighter so soon,” Vernon laughed and closed his eyes, making a wish. “Done.”

You looked at him, the moonlight kissing his facial features as he looked back at you. “Hope your wish comes true,” you reached out for his hand, your thumbs caressing his knuckles.

“It will, I just know it,” Vernon stayed in silence for a few seconds, appreciating your beauty as if it was his first time looking at you. If he wasn't already so deeply in love with you, he would have fallen in love even harder for you at that moment. (Un)fortunately, falling deeper for you was impossible. “I’ll love you forever, Y/N. Thank you for everything.”

“Even for the buzz cut?”

“Especially for the buzz cut. I've always wanted a buzz cut, so I loved it.”

“I'm glad my 'little accident’ made you happy,” you got closer and kissed the corner of his lips. Vernon, in reaction, let out a dramatic sigh, as if he was offended by your action. “How rude of you, kissing only the corner of your boyfriend's lips. Kiss me like you mean it!”

You chuckled and rolled your eyes before placing your hand on his cheek and pressing your lips against his.

“I was expecting a little bit more, tho,” he said as soon as you pulled away. "Well, I won't kiss you like you want in public. We’re not vulgar.”

“I wish we were,” Vernon sighed and looked at the night sky as his arms found the back of his head. He glanced at you quickly to take note of your reaction to his little joke. “Stop it!” You laughed in disbelief and hit his chest playfully, which made him laugh as well.

“But seriously now, how about we get back to my place?”

You checked the time on your phone and nodded. “Yeah, your family will already be there for the last surprise,” you knew that would ruin the surprise, but you didn't care at all since Vernon's reaction was priceless. “Poor baby, you thought we would be alone?” you cupped his cheeks and pouted, teasing him.

Vernon let out a deep sigh, he wanted to get frustrated, but he knew he couldn't. “At least I'm loved. Let's go to my last surprise of the day.”

"Maybe you'll have another surprise when they're gone," you teased.

"I liked that. I love my family, but I'm already thinking about when they will leave."

You chuckled, and Vernon wrapped his arm around your waist as he guided you to his car, going back home to enjoy the last moments of his birthday.

[lilianne-tarot]

⋆.˚PICK A CARD: "What Are They Really Feeling About You" ⋆.˚

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I. II. III.

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Hey there loves! Welcome to another PAC reading on my blog page—I hope you all enjoy it! Comment down what you felt about the reading and if it resonated with you and please show some love, Your support means everything to me!<3

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⋆✮ Pile I

"I have so many feelings for you, but I don’t know how to handle it."

These cards are laid out in front of me, and whew—the energy is giving emotional confusion and major mixed signals. Like, imagine someone typing out a long-ass paragraph to send to you, deleting it, and then hitting you with a dry "hey" instead. That’s the vibe we’re working with here. typical situationship situation. There’s this undeniable connection between you two—the kind which makes yalll like, "what are we?" . But The World Reversed tells me they feel like something between you is incomplete or not quite where it should be. Maybe y’all had a near miss, an almost-relationship, or things just never fully clicked into place the way they were supposed to. OR—they’re still caught up in past issues, cycles, or even other people who are messing with their perception of this connection. And then—BOOM—the Queen of Swords Reversed—This person sees you as intelligent, sharp, and perceptive, but also a bit intimidating. They might feel like if they were to step to you, they’d have to bring their absolute A-game because you don’t fall for weak, half-hearted energy. (And tbh, they’re lowkey scared of getting called out if they’re moving weird). They could also think you’re a bit distant or hard to read at times—like, do you actually like them back, or are you just naturally that cool? (Spoiler: they’re dying to know).

Okay, but what’s holding them back? The Five of Cups is coming in here , showing that this person is stuck in regret, sadness, or some kind of emotional baggage that’s stopping them from moving forward with you. If this is an ex or a situationship, they definitely still think about you, but they’re too caught up in the "what went wrong" instead of focusing on "what could go right." I just feel like this spread is mainly for people who are stuck in a situationship or are pondering over an ex. So yeah, they feel something deep and nostalgic for you, whether you’ve known each other forever or not. They might replay certain memories, old conversations, or even compare new people they meet to you—because you set a standard, babe. There’s something pure about how they feel toward you, even if their emotions are a hot mess express. They might fantasize about simpler times between you two, or even wonder if there’s a way to rekindle or repair things if you’ve grown apart. They feel drawn to you in a way they can’t ignore. You’re on their mind more than they’ll ever admit (probably even to themselves).

At this point, it’s their move. Will they break free from their past and step toward you? Or will they keep living in the land of "what ifs" and "almost"

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˙⋆✮ Pile II

"They are literally perfect, I’m obsessed."

Like, this person thinks about you way more than they probably should. Your person doesn’t just think of you in passing—nah, you stick in their brain like a catchy song they can’t get rid of. There’s something fated about this connection in their mind (Wheel of Fortune is SCREAMING destiny vibes, and especially when I RARELY get this card in my spreads so you just KNOW). Whether they admit it or not, they feel like you’re significant in some way. They don’t know why, they don’t know how, but the thought of you feels important—like a turning point in their life, even if nothing has happened between you two yet. But here’s where it gets messy (and a little spicy). The Judgement card is staring me in the face like 👁️👄👁️, and I’m telling you right now, your person sees you as someone who forces them to self-reflect. You’re triggering something deep in them. This person sees you as someone who’s put together, maybe even out of their league. You give off an "I know who I am, and I don’t settle for less" vibe—even if you don’t feel that way inside, that’s what they’re perceiving. They might assume you have high standards that makes them second-guess how they should act around you. (Like, are they worthy???)

And the funny part? They think you have your life figured out. But seriously, you project this energy of wisdom, tradition, and stability, and it’s making them think twice before approaching. "What if they don’t take me seriously?" is a VERY real fear they have. They don’t want to come at you wrong and fumble before they even get a chance. Also, sidenote—this card sometimes gives ‘teacher/student’ energy. Not literally, but like, they feel like they could learn a lot from you. Now, let’s talk about the Two of Pentacles Reversed, because this is where the real mess begins. This person is struggling internally when it comes to you. They admire you, they think you’re lowkey untouchable, and they are absolutely not treating this as just a casual crush or just lightly. Whether they realize it or not, And let me be real with you—they’re not going to approach unless the universe forces them to. They’re waiting for some kind of cosmic push (Wheel of Fortune) to make things happen because right now, they’re paralyzed by their own overthinking. THEY ARE TIED UP IN KNOTS ABOUT THIS.

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˙⋆✮ Pile III

"Who are they?? Why do they live in my head??"

Ohhh, Pile 3’s situation is serving mystery, intrigue, and a whole lot of overthinking on their person’s end. If this is someone who only sees you from a distance—like a coworker, a classmate, or someone —then whew, the way they have created an entire personality for you in their head is actually insane.

To them, you are literally the hardest puzzle they've ever encountered, and it's driving them nuts. Like, you know how in movies, there’s always that one person who walks into a room and suddenly the main character is hyper-aware of their presence? That’s you to them. Even if you don’t talk much, or at all, your energy is too loud to ignore. They probably observe you a lot but feel like they never get the full picture. It’s giving “they seem so cool but I have no idea what’s actually going on in their head”. You might be quiet, reserved, or just really selective with who you engage with, and that makes you feel even more untouchable to them. If you are talkative or social, you still confuse them because you might act differently around different people. One second you’re laughing with someone, the next you’re in your own world? It’s throwing them off. 😂 But here’s the thing: this isn’t just curiosity. No, bestie, this is a full-on obsession. They don’t just want to know more about you—they NEED to. Their brain is playing detective without their permission. The Magician here is interesting because it means they think you’re in control, while they feel completely out of control around you. It’s giving “they probably don’t even know I exist, but I can’t stop thinking about them” energy. due of 10 of cups here, I can say, they’ve already mentally placed you in a soft-focus fantasy movie of their future.(just marry yall😭😭) They don’t just see you as someone cool—they see you as someone who could be the perfect person for them. even if they’ve never spoken to you, they already imagine what kind of relationship they’d have with you. You are the “dream person” in their head, but here’s the problem: they have no clue who you actually are. It’s like they’ve created a whole storyline about you without fact-checking it first 😭. Basically, their mental image of you is 50% real, 50% a fanfiction they wrote in their head.

Bestie, listen… If you’ve ever caught them staring at you like they’re trying to solve a crime, that’s exactly what they’re doing. They’re dying to know who you actually are because right now, you exist as a walking mystery and a romanticized daydream in their head.

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Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog—it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! ♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not predict the future in a fixed way. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

[gublerryswift]

Museum meet cute | Spencer Reid x Reader

meet cute | fluff

In which you have your own meet cute in a museum visit

Warnings: None

Content: Reader meets spencer in a museum and he does a classic Reid ramble (she loves it, it's cute)

All the studying for your master’s degree was starting to get to you, the sleepless nights, the stress and one of the most draining: the lack of fun. You had never been one to spend weekends in parties and clubs, hating the crowded spaces and loud music, your type of fun consisted more of slow things like vising libraries, museums and expositions, but lately you couldn't even find time for those little things that brought you so much joy. Well, this ended tonight. 

After sending what you hoped would be the last draft for your thesis, you decided you deserved to finally have some fun. You got ready in your favorite outfit, and stepped out the house, the first stop was your favorite coffee shop to grab a caramel macchiato before heading to your favorite museum. You had heard of this new exposition of a painter caller “Walter Sickert” that sounded fascinating and were excited to finally see it, as you walked into the exposition you were mesmerized by the beauty of the work there, never been one to totally understand art and all the meanings and references, but you always had a soft spot for it, a thing that captivated you to those paintings and sculptures. 

As you walked into the exposition, the soft lights above the paintings, the faint sound of the surrounding conversations, it all made you feel at home, you noticed how much you had missed these places. One in particular caught your attention, a painting of a woman looking straight out, her gaze seemed lost and half of her face was not painted, you were intrigued by it and stood there trying to make understand what might be the history behind what you were seeing.

A couple of minutes later, you felt a presence beside you, you looked to the side and saw a tall man standing there dressed with a cardigan you internally wished were yours and these glasses that made him look like one of those philosophy professors, his hands inside his pockets also admiring the painting. 

“Mesmerizing, isn't it?” He speaks, pulling you out of your thoughts. His voice is soft and quiet as to not disturb the other people in the gallery, you look over to him, a small smile forming on your lips as you nod. 

"Absolutely." you reply. "There's something about this style of art that just catches my attention, it's so…" You drift off, trying to find the right words for how you were feeling 

“Hauntingly beautiful” He completes your sentence, giving you a small shy smile that made your heart flutter 

“Yeah, exactly that. I couldn't put it into words before”

You two fall in a comfortable silence, admiring the painting in front of you until he breaks the silence. “You know, some people believe that this artist was actually Jack the ripper”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, not expecting the random mention of a serial killer,  “What, really? Why?” You turn to him, your genuinely curious expression seems to only fuel his excitement, he smiles and begins talking. The words roll out his mouth like he’d just been waiting for the moment to drop this. 

“Some DNA analyzed from the letter jack sent to the police matched with the author's, also he has a series of paintings called 'Camden town murder’ which were made at the same time jack committed his crimes in the same town, also he is said to have worked in a studio that once was occupied by the ripper himself” You nod along and smile, being a sucker for true crime and history you really were interested in what this guy was saying, plus the speed in which he talked was perfect for your brain, and you found yourself immersed in his explanation. 

“However” He lifts his pointer finger in a way that makes you hold back a giggle, god this man was cute – Why were you finding a man who was talking about a painter possibly being a killer cute? Maybe all the time inside your house made you lose your self-preservation skills. “Forensic scientists believe that most, if not all the letters sent to the police weren't actually sent by the killer, and all the other possible evidence is very circumstantial so the probability of him actually being jack the ripper is almost none, still an interesting hypothesis though.” He smiles and nods as he finishes his explanation, and he starts fidgeting with the strap of his satchel bag. 

“Wow, that's actually really interesting, I would never imagine it” You smile at him “It's really impressing how you just know all that” 

“Thank you, my brain is basically filled with a bunch of random facts just waiting to be said” He chuckles, and you notice a light blush showing up in his cheeks as he looks away from your gaze, going back to staring at the painting. 

“I never got your name” You say, trying to keep the conversation going, you were drawn to him for some reason and didn't want to part ways so soon. 

“I'm Spencer, and you are…” You tell him your name, smiling at him. 

You were never the girl who would ask guys out or try their number, always being shy you were terrified of rejection, but right now you met this really cute guy who seemed so smart and was exactly your type, and you really didn't want to just leave it at this, so with a sudden courage you decide to take the plunge.

“You know, this museum has a really good coffee shop downstairs, would you like to go?” You smile at him, feeling your heart thump on your chest from the nervousness. 

Spencer's eyes widen in surprise, but a warm smile spreads across his face as he nods eagerly, agreeing to your spontaneous invitation “Yes, I'd love to, maybe I can find more painter fun facts to tell you”

“Oh can't wait” you let out a giggle as you both start to walk out.

[slavicdolls4mangione]

troubled lu healing through meeting you hc:

a/n: i’d like to preface that this is purely fiction because none of us know how lu’s relationship with his parents is, i’m sure he loves his family and that they love him just as much. that being said i hope you guys enjoy, especially the lovely anon who made the request <3

- when lu first meets you, he introduces himself as “mark," an identity he’s crafted to protect himself in a way

- lu is desperate to be someone who’s not tied to the suffocating expectations of his family

- "mark" is the man he wishes he could be: calm, “normal”, free of the burden of his past; he’s a little rough around the edges, secretive, and distant, but there’s still kindness in his eyes that he tries to suppress

- it’s hard for him to trust anyone, especially with the guilt of what he’s left behind by running away

- over time, as you show him warmth and understanding, he starts to feel something he hasn’t in years: hope

- there’s a tenderness in your care, a kindness that doesn’t feel transactional like his family’s love did

- your laughter is a comfort to him, a sound he didn’t realize he had longed to hear, you made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he could have a normal life outside of his family’s demands

- and slowly, lu begins to falter, "mark" begins to slip and luigi emerges slowly, quietly

- at first, it’s just little things—his smile softens, his voice becomes less guarded

- one night, after a difficult day when the weight of his past feels heavy on his shoulders, he confesses to you

- it happens almost unintentionally as you’re lying together in silence, his head laying on your chest, arms wrapped tightly around your waist, his breath shaky as he whispers, “i’m not... mark” his voice cracking with emotion he hasn’t let himself feel in months

- he would see your eyes widen, but there’s no judgment in them, only confusion and concern

- that’s when he tells you about his family, about the pressure to live up to impossible standards, to become the perfect “heir” to his grandfathers legacy

- his past was a life of suffocating rules that crushed every bit of freedom he could have had as a child; he feels like he betrayed everyone by running away, but at the same time he can’t bear to go back

- there’s a lot of guilt tied to his escape, he never wanted to abandon his responsibilities, he was raised to be the heir after all, the one to take over the family’s empire, to be perfect

- he was always told he could never fail, but the more he stayed, the more his soul withered, and he realized that living in that suffocating cage would mean losing who he really is

- lu would tell you he can’t help but feel selfish for running, and sometimes you would catch him waking up in the middle of the night, cold sweat dripping down his face, his heart pounding from the nightmares of what he left behind

- you can tell he’s terrified that he’s abandoned a life most people would kill for, and yet... you both know he can’t go back to it

- when he has emotional breakdowns, you’re always there to hold him, to remind him that he’s safe, even when he doesn’t believe it himself

- one of the most heartbreaking moments happens at the beginning of your budding relationship when you, unaware of the depth of luigi’s trauma, casually share a carefree memory from your childhood, such a simple and happy memory, but for lu, it’s like a slap in the face

- he can’t even look at you as you talk about your childhood, because in contrast, his own was filled with expectations; his parents didn’t care for him the way they should have

- they didn’t let him be a child, instead of playful summers, he remembers long and boring hours at his family’s estate, being forced to study, to work

- and he starts to feel this overwhelming sense of grief and rage, as if something fundamental was stolen from him

- lu would take a deep breath and tell you : “i remember... i remember being a kid, and one day my father caught me playing... he said it was a waste of time and scolded me for it”

- you would listen to him sharing stories from his childhood with tears in your eyes, but you refused to let yourself cry because you wanted to be strong for lu, didn’t want him to feel like you were pitying him, that’s the last thing he needed

- since that day, you’ve understood that his wounds ran deep and vowed to help him heal his inner child

- you became his safe haven, the one place where he could finally be himself without fear of judgment

- you listened without pushing, comforted him without trying to fix him all while staying firm in reminding him that he deserves happiness, that he’s not broken beyond repair, and that he’s allowed to let go of the past

- you encouraged him to find his own path, to rediscover joy and slowly with your help, lui began to let go of the weight of his guilt

- he knew that, although it would be a long journey, you’d be by his side every step of the way, loving him unconditionally for who he truly is

- through your guys’ relationship, luigi learned that it’s okay to be vulnerable, and that love can be a source of strength, not just something he has to hide from

<3

[bratbarzal]

for ur valentines blurb pretty please these prompts with quinn hughes ☺️😘

¹⁾ “you really planned this?! remind me how you’re single, again?”

⁴⁾ “c’mon, like i need an excuse to spend time with you.”

⁵⁾ “i can’t help but think that this is a little more effort than someone would normally put in for their friend.”

✩‧₊˚ bratbarzal's valentines event!˚₊‧✩

idk why I give prompts and then continue to go off script but I honestly think I have a problem with being told what to do lmao. something about scripted sentence cuts a creative wire in my brain. THE SENTIMENT OF WHAT I WROTE IS THE SAME!!!!! I promise. also I like this one lmao!! I hope you like it too thanks for requesting!! and stacking the prompts is very cool gave me a nice little story to follow I love it!!! I wrote this whole thing and realised I didn't mention valentines once, but it's belated, so..... we're going to pretend it's okay I've decided on your behalf thanks love you

this ended up at 3.4k words lol - warnings for fade to black type smut, slightly angsty

Quinn: you coming over tonight?

A text from him has never filled you with anxiety like this.

But then again, for as long as the two of you have been friends, you've never actively avoided Quinn until now.

Monday had been one word answers, Tuesday had been emojis, Wednesday had been reactions, and Thursday had been radio silence, because he hadn't texted you, anyway.

It's not that you're mad at him. You wish you could be mad - wish you had any reason other than your own shame to be turning down all attempts at contact. But instead, all you can think when you see his name is how much you had fucked everything up the last time you saw him.

You: idk

And only because you feel instantly bad about how short that is, you immediately follow up with:

You: work has kicked my ass this week

You see the little dots keep popping up, and you're only torturing yourself to watch them come and go as he figures out what to say - how to salvage what you'd so carelessly made a gigantic mess of only last weekend.

You should really just say yes, you think - be the bigger person. Fridays have been your thing, all season. The day of the week he most frequently has the night off, and an end to your usually-hectic work-week, it has just made sense for the two of you to hang out, to make a routine of doing so.

Bailing on him is harsh, you know that. And with such a weak excuse too - you've had much worse times in your job, and it's never come between the two of you before.

And you know that he knows what you're doing. It's obvious. It's just whether he's in any mood to try and recover whatever scraps of your friendship still remain. Whether he even cares, anymore.

Quinn: please?

The two minutes it took for him to type just one word dragged longer than they ever have in your life, and you blink at your phone screen as you see the dots jump up again.

You chew nervously at your lip and wait, tapping your foot against the side of your desk and watching this time as it stays.

Quinn: I've already bought enough to cook for us both

He's such a guilt tripper.

You sigh, typing back and sending an immediate response, figuring a week of the bare minimum is punishment enough without blanking him or making him wait.

You: okay

A heart pops up below your message almost immediately, the reaction only worsening your anxiety at the thought of how hard keeping your distance is.

You: I'm finishing later than usual, should be there around 8

Quinn: ok I'll have dinner ready for then!

--

You knock on Quinn's door a little after 8pm - still in your work clothes, although that is usually how you come over, in your defence. Quinn loans you something comfy, and you usually change, but changing means staying over, and you're kind of trying to avoid all that again.

So when he welcomes you in, you awkwardly pat at his back as he tries to embrace you, before hovering around the kitchen instead of making your way back to his room.

He frowns a little as he watches you - he's in a hoodie and sweats, settled in now for the night with no intentions of getting back up once the two of you have eventually sunk down into the couch together - and waits a second to see if you're just on a delay, if you're just beat from work, like you said.

"I left a change of clothes for you on my bed," he says once he realises you aren't shifting, glancing quickly at you before he starts to busy himself with dishing up dinner.

"I'm good," you tell him, short, with a tight lipped smile sent his way when his eyes meet yours, narrowed in curiosity.

You're wearing a skirt and heels, for Christ's sake, and a blouse that's a little too restrictive around your shoulders. You've been in them all day, too. Of course you aren't good, and of course he knows that, but he drops it, a resigned nod and an awkward shift of his gaze back to the task at hand, spooning an assortment of green vegetables beside the rice on your plate.

You chance a good look at him while he's distracted - his hair soft, pushed back messily in a way that makes it flop straight back into place, and he looks a little tired, but he's had a long week, too. Back in training, pushing himself, dealing with a best friend who isn't reciprocating his energy. He's probably exhausted.

His jaw is clenched as he finishes the meal off, clattering utensils a little louder the longer you're quiet, and letting out heavy sighs when he's clearly growing more frustrated with how little you're giving back.

"How was work?" he tries, reaching into the draw and retrieving a knife and fork for the two of you.

"Long," you sigh, offering a small smile when he looks over to let him know that this particular instance of a short response isn't personal. You are genuinely exhausted - you'd worked an extra long day, just to get a major project finished, and, if you're honest, you're just ready for bed. "Glad it's the weekend, I'm probably gonna hit my pillow tonight and not see tomorrow."

The initial spark that lit up in his eyes when you started speaking a full sentence to him dulled immediately when he realised that you had all intentions of going home.

"You're not staying over?"

"I can hardly sleep here until Sunday, Quinn, that would be insane." Like you haven't spent consecutive days around his apartment, before. Like you haven't spent weeks with him back at his lake house in Michigan in the summer. Like the two of you didn't isolate together when you both got covid, probably from each other.

He nods, brief and sharp, jaw tensing again as he mutters out a bitter, "Right."

God, this is hard.

"Do you want me to carry anything?" You ask, trying to be helpful, just to make yourself feel better.

He wordlessly hands over the cutlery before turning to grab both plates on his own, nodding for you to make your way out of the kitchen for him to follow.

You do as he asks, holding the door for him so he doesn't struggle, stepping nervously behind him as he guides you through to where he's set the dining table up.

His curtains are drawn, a picturesque view of the nightlife of downtown Vancouver, twinkling city lights and the distant flash of vehicles passing by below stands as the most perfect backdrop to his set-up - the table candle-lit, a vase of fresh flowers in the middle, wine glasses and a salad bowl situated around the nice placemats you'd made him buy the last time the two of you went shopping together.

You hesitate when you get a little closer, eyeing up the setting reluctantly as Quinn places the plates in your retrospective places.

He's usually neat when it comes to his dinner table - usually likes to set things up so that they look nice, placemats, coasters. cutlery and napkins - but it's never like this.

"What's all this?" You ask, meeting his eye as he leans across the table to place down the knives and forks you hand to him.

"You said you had a bad week," he shrugs, "Wanted to do something nice."

He shuffles around you, the light placement of his hand on your hip as he does so jolting you toward the table, head swivelling to watch him disappear back toward the kitchen.

"You planned this?" you call after him, turning to look down at everything - a meal that he cooked, something nutritious and filling, knowing you wouldn't have the energy to make as much yourself, pretty flowers, and a calm, ambient atmosphere flooding the room. Your fingers poke softly at the petals on the flowers, lifting them a little to get a better look, mindful of the roses in the arrangement, careful not to be pricked by their thorns. "And you said you didn't think you'd be a good boyfriend,"

The latter sentence is muttered to yourself more than anything, a remembrance of something he'd said a while ago now - something that had always been in the back of your mind when you considered anything more - but your heart drops when you hear him chuckle from not too far behind, spinning on your heels to look at him, wide-eyed and apologetic. "I didnt-,"

“It’s fine,” he assures you, dipping his head but still keeping his gaze on yours, “Wine?”

He holds the bottle up in one hand, and your mouth goes a little dry at the sight of the label, mind going straight back to this time last week, when you had shared a few glasses with him. When things had gone too far.

Quinn's hands were holding you in place on his lap, soft fingers slipping under the hem of his sweatshirt that you wore, sliding up to press into the warm skin of your back, rocking you on his lap as his tongue swiped languidly against your own.

You couldn't quite tell whose mouth the taste of plummy Malbec sat within, but at that point, you didn't care - you'd both drunk enough of it to find yourselves in such a situation, you were at equal fault.

Not that any of it felt wrong in the moment, his hips bucking up as you straddled his thighs, your fingers clutching where his hair grew thick at the back of his neck. Quinn was humming soft, delicious groans straight between your lips, his own closing around your tongue as he sucked on it - all other bodily movements frantic and stuttered until he was repositioning the two of you, laying you back on the couch and gripping the elastic waist of your sweatpants.

It can't have been wrong - not with how easy it all unfolded, your hips lifting until he slid your bottoms off, his fingertips sneaking their beneath the hem of your panties - too drunk to care how sexy they might have been, never expecting to have to even consider such a thing around Quinn - all the while his mouth pressing firm, bruising kisses to your own.

"I shouldn't, I'm driving," you mumble, a soft shake of your head supposed to let him down easy, and to bring your senses back to the present, but his frown just deepens, the crease between his eyebrows now almost a fold.

"You can stay, you know," he tells you, pouring his own glass. "I don't care if you sleep until Sunday, it's not like you haven't spent the weekend before."

"I don't know," You sit cautiously in your seat, watching as he lowers into his own, face morphing into a hard scowl before he lets out a heavy sigh. "What?"

"It's like you've been making excuses not to hang out."

"Or maybe you've been making excuses to hang out," you retort, cringing yourself at how stupid it sounds, looking down into your lap as you place your napkin there so that he can't see the visible curl of your features.

"That doesn't even make sense," you know that, obviously, but you've been avoiding him for a reason - you don't want to have this conversation. You're not ready. "I don't need an excuse, we're friends, it's what friends do."

And God, you wish he'd just stop saying it. It's getting annoying now, your jaw tensing as you huff a short breath out, still keeping your head down to avoid him reading you like an open book - a book that may as well be pictures, at this point, or written for children with the most basic reading comprehension, one sentence per page and clear as day.

"What friends do," you mutter, in disbelief. He's one to talk about what friends do.

Friends don't do what you did last week.

Quinn's body had pretty much completely flopped onto yours, his chest rising and falling in heavy pants, but still careful enough not to bare all his weight on you so that yours could do the same.

Your skin felt clammy all over, baby hairs sticking to the back of your neck and your forehead, your neck slick from where his lips had been pressing all into it, sucking and nipping and you swear you'd even felt the glorious scratch of teeth at one point, and the heat of him above you was doing little to remedy the feeling.

You brought a hand up, almost absent-mindedly, to scratch softly at the back of his head as he came down, an overwhelming dizziness gripping at your eyelids, pulling you down as you felt him follow.

"You're making me feel like I'm going crazy," you sigh, "You can't seriously set all this up and not realise that it's way more effort than anyone would normally put in for someone that's just a friend,"

"You're not just anything," he counters, "When did I say you were just anything?"

He looks annoyed, that much is obvious - and yeah, you've technically been avoiding him, just like he assumes, but he was the one who made you feel like you had to.

A soft, sleepy groan was the first sound that brought you into consciousness the next morning - raspy and thick, and so close to your ear that the feeling of it buzzed the whole way down to your toes.

Then came unassuming movements, a twist of his torso, a shuffle of his hips, the stretch of his legs, all of which had been pressed right against all the same parts of your body - the sticky warmth of him catching your skin and rousing you fully from your sleep.

His arms tightened their hold around you before you really thought he knew what he was doing - a lethargic sigh huffing from his nostrils as he got comfortable again - and you had maybe a solid minute in his embrace until he fully came to.

The two of you were naked, one of the throws from the back of the couch draped lazily over your modesty, but that didn't really matter when you could feel the heavy press of him all over - your chest, your stomach, your hips, your thighs.

His fingers tightened, pressing a little into your waist before his touch disappeared completely. Before he was retreating, untangling himself from your body and sitting up. You felt the couch move as he shuffled around doing God-knows-what - felt the soft drape of the throw back over your body, and the whoosh of cold that followed and refused to leave.

When you dared to open your eyes, he was sat on the other side, leaning over, head in his hands after shrugging his boxers back on.

"Quinn?" you asked, your own voice thick with sleep, straightening to face him properly and rubbing at your eyes until they focused. "What's going on?"

"How much did we have to drink last night?"

Your heart dropped at the question, but your eyes floated over to the coffee table, two empty bottles standing on the other side. "A lot, I guess."

"Shit," he cursed, pushing himself up and pacing in front of the couch, refusing to look at you. "Fuck."

"Q, you're making me dizzy."

"I just," he stopped in place and scratched at the back of his neck, eyes lowering down your body in a way that made heat creep back up your neck, and your shoulders practically fold in on themselves consciously. "I didn't mean for it to go that far."

Your lips parted, although you didn't really know what to say to that. All you could do was nod, stuttered and slow, your gaze shifting too until it landed on the carpeted rug in front of him, focusing too hard on the pattern. "It's fine."

You could feel the weight of his stormy stare, but you couldn't look up - too afraid of rejection, too afraid of regret.

"We're friends, you know, you're-,"

"I know," you confirmed, not needing to hear how he didn't ever intend to be anything more. "We were drunk, Q, it's fine."

Your attempt at a reassuring smile probably looked a little more like a grimace, but you were saved probably by the fact that the two of you had had a lot to drink, and you were honestly a little queasy.

And maybe it had been the cold hard slap of rejection you woke up to that made you feel that way - after years of wanting more with Quinn - but he didn't need to know that. Not if he was already 10 toes deep into a regret spiral so soon after opening his eyes.

"We're friends."

"You said it last Saturday," you frown, "Saturday morning."

"No, you said we were drunk. I said we were friends, but you cut me off-,"

"Yeah, 'cause I didn't really want the first thing you said to me that morning to be that you made a mistake!"

"And here you are again, cutting me off!" his voice is a little raised now - so unlike the soft-spoken Quinn you're used to - easy going and well natured. "I can't win with you, you're either avoiding me like the plague, or you're not letting me speak, either way, I can't clear all this up!"

"What's there to clear up?" you scoff, "I don't need you to hold my hand and give me the full speech, okay, I get it, you don't want to be anything more than-," your body is jolted quickly by the sudden scrape of your chair across the floor, Quinn's grip firm on the leg as he pulls, "Hey, what are you-,"

And he's at the perfect height, then, to meet your lips once you're close enough, his hand leaving the chair to grip at your face - hold you in place so that you can't protest, can't cut him off in this, too, like you have been doing with every other way he's tried to communicate his feelings for you.

His kiss feels familiar, achingly so, the swipe of his tongue soft at the parting of your lips, his own mouth closing in a soft pressure against yours, over and over at a disorienting intensity - all thoughts melting away at his endeavour.

When he pulls away, he keeps his hands in place, watching intently as your eyes flutter open, and you slowly sink back into consciousness, pupils blown when they meet his, intense in their focus on you.

"You're really important to me."

You frown, because your brain will only allow you to process that as the start of rejection - followed by, which is why we can't go further - but that's not the direction Quinn is taking this.

"I wanted to do all of this right. That's why I freaked out last week. I didn't want you to think it was a drunken mistake."

Oh.

You're still a little dazed from the kiss, if you're honest, and so you find yourself blinking slowly back at him, mouth bopping open and closed while you figure out what to say.

"What?" Is all that comes out when you find your voice, watching as he rolls his eyes - part exasperated, part amused.

"Now you have nothing to say?" He scoffs, thumb swiping gently at your cheek as if to show you he's kidding. "I like you. I have for a while, and I want to be more than friends. I want you to stay at my place whenever you come over, and wear my clothes, and eat my food, and drink my wine," he lists, dipping his head closer and closer until you're face to face, a mere inch or two from him kissing you again. "And I want you to sleep here until Sunday. Maybe even after."

"Okay." you respond - the kind of one word answer you've been throwing his way to avoid getting hurt all week. And because you feel guilty, you add, "I want all that, too."

He breathes out a sigh of relief, closing his eyes and smiling slowly - an infectious kind of smile, that has you doing it right back, noses just brushing before you kiss him, again.

Stone cold sober, no longer looking to avoid your feelings, with the intention of being so much more than his friend.

[livelaughloveluffy]

love languages - monkey d. luffy

a/n: new series alert?!!! i guess valentine's really got the idea in my head for this and now i gots to see it through, and of course, i had to start with my babyyyy, monkey d. luffy 😌

a/n: wrote this kicking my feet and giggling while listening to one of my fav queen songs

nothing but fluff here 💗

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how he shows love:

physical touch - it should come to no surprise that luffy adores physical touch. he's just so naturally clingy. personal space? what's that? the captain of the straw hat pirates genuinely has no idea of that concept. and it comes from the purest form of affection. he can't help but just press himself against your body, soaking in your warmth, and the closeness of it all. in the cutest way possible, if he could crawl inside your skin, he would do it in a heartbeat second.

words of affirmation - luffy has the most pure unadulterated devotion to anyone close to him, and that is beyond true for a romantic partner. so it it breaks his heart to see you sad or talk poorly about yourself. he just wishes you could see yourself the way he saw you, so he tries his absolute best to describe it.

"you're just... you're like pure sunshine. everywhere you go, you brighten the place up. you're so vibrant, you just seem to glow.."

and when you're having a tough time, he's always there to encourage you. somehow always saying exactly what you need to hear. his easy-going outlook can be surprisingly helpful when it comes to solving a lot of your problems.

how he feels loved:

quality time - you could be dling the most boring mundane thing in the world and luffy would still want to be by your side as you do it. it doesn't really matter how you two spend time together, just being in your presence alone is a huge comfort to him. and as much as he adores having your undivided attention, luffy is also surprisingly good at parallel play.

physical touch - words can't describe how much luffy just melts when you lean into his touch, moving your hand to tangle your fingers within his dark raven locks. the captain is typically used to people brushing off his affection, or getting annoyed with his closeness, so when you initiate and return his touch, it means the world to him. he's the happiest when you two just get to spend the day lounging around in each other's arms.

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tags ♡: @dindjarins1ut @3v37773 @chibinasuu @irethepotato @dreamcastgirl99 @acesdiary @erose-0707 @vamphoria @kcch-ns @hamhamhamtaro @sparkyvibes @chillerkiller @all-by-myself98 @phoehav @gracefulcargo51 @moonpri @thissaintjessi

want to join the taglist? click here!!

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[aliceramblez]

HSR Men Spending Valentine's Day With Their S/O 💌

Feat. Phainon, Aventurine, Jing Yuan, Sunday & Dan Heng!

Tags: GN!Reader & lots of fluff!

Happy belated Valentine's to all my besties out there who've been cursed with having the love of their life be a video game character T_T

Phainon

Doesn't have the slightest clue what Valentine's even is until you teach him. One of the downsides of living in a world disconnected from the rest of the cosmos, you suppose.

Rest assured though, once he gets the gist of it, he's showering affection all over you for everyone to see, much to your dismay.

He asks you to be his Valentine in the middle of Marmoreal Market, kneeling down and offering you a red rose as your face practically combusts from the grand gesture, all while people stop and mumble at the scene.

“P-Phainon, everyone's staring!”

“Of course they are, αγάπη μου. They can appreciate true beauty when they see it.”

Your room has been filled to the brim with presents of all kinds once you come back from training later in the day—flowers, desserts, trinkets, you name it and it's there. Tribbie actually complains to you, wishing you never told Phainon anything in the first place. You can take a guess as to who helped him set everything up.

Once he's done with his own duties, the Chrysos Heir visits you and is ready to take you out to have a romantic evening on the streets, but after seeing how exhausted he is, you can't help but giggle and suggest you stay in and cuddle instead. He's all for it.

“It's not much compared to everything you got me, but here you go.”

With Aglaea's help, you ended up weaving him a new tunic, specifically a chlamys for whenever he went out on expeditions with colder temperatures.

His eyes light up as he grabs the garment, shoves it to the side, and gently pulls you against his chest with a content sigh leaving his lips. You return the gesture gladly.

“You are too good to me...”

Aventurine

This man will pull no expense when it comes to you. And honestly, would you expect any less?

Want some flowers? He's bought you an entire cart. Chocolate? He scoffs at you saying you only having a ‘small craving’, so he comes home with at least two crates worth. Jewelry? Has no problem in getting something valuable with all his connections.

Despite you telling him he doesn't have to get you all this stuff—even though you're grateful and love everything he gets you—he'll just chuckle with that darn teasing smirk of his.

“If a Stoneheart can't spoil their loved one on Valentine's Day, what good do all those earnings do me?”

Did I also mention he's doing all of this while still at work? He texts you to make sure you've recieved the gift, and then gets back to his own business.

Suddenly, Topaz of all people messages you with a reservation for a fancy restaurant and asks you to “please tell your idiot to focus, we're in the middle of a meeting” and all you can do is apologize profoundly.

Despite the evening being filled with lots of luxury, Aventurine eventually takes you out into the balcony to have some privacy as you relish in each other's presence. Contrary to popular belief, the blond doesn't like big crowds—he can manage being social only for a while for his job, but will then retreat back into the comfort of your arms to relax.

That's when you decide to give him his gift.

“...W-What's this?”

“You didn't think you weren't getting something from me, did you?”

You wrap a bracelet around his wrist encrusted with Garnet—a gem that symbolises love and devotion. Aventurine seems to understand the meaning because for a fleeting moment you can see Kakavasha, the man you fell in love with, staring at you with nothing but utmost dedication.

He places a kiss at the back of your hand with a smile that makes your heart leap with joy.

“You are truly the most beautiful gem I've ever found in this galaxy...”

Jing Yuan

Unfortunately, due to his position as General and being confined to the Seat of Divine Foresight, he can't actually go out with you anywhere for this special occasion, much to his dismay. You completely understand, but he's much more saddened about it than you are.

This doesn't mean he hasn't made arrangements for you to receive the very best on this day—flowers are sent to your house by the time you wake up along with a handwritten letter, all delivered via Cycrane.

“I apologize for my absence for such a marvelous occasion, but hopefully you can find it in your heart to forgive me with the tokens of appreciation I have planned for you. Happy Valentine's Day, my dear.”

The rest of the day is also pretty much luxury after luxury—from a delicious gourmet meal, to beautiful Lafou accessories, to even a beautiful flight via starskiff courtesy of Madam Yukong.

It's at this moment that you decide it's just not fair for you to be getting all the attention, so you decide to enlist some help from Sushang to carry out your new plan.

After visiting plenty of hot spots in Aurum Alley, the two of you are able to come up with a small meal that will hopefully satisfy your lovely general. So after thanking and bidding your friend goodbye, you head for the Seat of Divine Foresight.

It's already dark outside by the time you arrive, so you're almost worried that Jing Yuan might have already left for the day. But you are very much wrong once you go through the double doors.

You see him working his way through paperwork at his desk, a somber and almost exhausted look in his eyes which breaks your heart slightly. Once he notices your presence though, it's as if his energy has been rejuvenated, because he's smiling at you just like he always does, albeit there's a hint of curiosity in his gaze.

“I figured the General of the Cloud Knights didn't have lunch today.”

As he looks at the bag of takeout in your hands, he chuckles softly as he stands from his seat and reaches you in mere steps. A kiss is placed upon your lips and all you do is hum in delight.

“You never cease to amaze me, my love.”

Sunday

He's freaking out by the time the date arrives because he's never had anyone to celebrate such an occasion with—he's never loved anyone as much as he loves you.

Since you two haven't been together for that long, he's asking the members of the Express for insight into what things you might like and just general advice on how to showcase his affections.

You can imagine the chaos that ensues from that.

The whole day he's shifting from one personality to another, presumably to see what best suits your tastes and trying to be as romantic as possible—he tries (and fails) being suave and unbothered as he gifts you a bouquet of roses.

He tries cooking something using Himeko's recipes, and you and the entire crew are pretty sure you'll be dead before the food reaches your plates.

It isn't until he has you cornered in your room and tries (and fails again) to be flirtatious that you finally push away from him and ask why he's been acting weird all day.

He shrinks under your gaze.

“Forgive me, I just... I've never had anyone I've wanted to show my devotion to on a day like this. I only wanted to give you the best, but didn't particularly know how...”

“So you asked March 7th for advice?”

The pink on the tips of his ears is enough confirmation. You're going to have a talk with that girl about taking advantage of their newest member.

“I wasn't expecting anything from you, Sunday. Just being together is enough for me. I love you and I know you love me, so, isn't that enough?”

He stares at you as if you've just uncovered the secret of the Aeons, and a smile instantly lights up his face while he brings your hand to his lips to kiss. You giggle at the sensation.

“You always know what to say. Thank you for loving me, my dove.”

Dan Heng

Always found the tradition to be unnecessary and, quite frankly, sometimes even a scam. There's no need for a specific time of the year to showcase how much he loves you—he tries doing that every day!

But he doesn't want you thinking he doesn't care, so he's sure to knock on your door at the exact moment he knows you'll be awake, where you open up and he greets you with a bouquet of carnations and a box of chocolates he purchased on their latest visit to Belobog.

“Happy Valentine's Day...”

“You don't seem too excited about having to say that.”

“W-What do you mean? I—”

Before he can continue to fumble with his words, you go back into your room and start digging through your drawer of knick knacks, and come back with a book in hand. You hand it over to him and Dan Heng instantly recognizes it.

It's a hardcover edition of one of the books he already owns on the history of Penacony. The Express had gone back a few weeks prior for some business—them being shareholders and all—and you saw the way your boyfriend's eyes lit up in curiosity when seeing for the first time, but he ended up putting it back.

“This is...”

“To be honest, I wasn't sure if we were gonna do anything for Valentine's, so I just bought this as a random gift. You never get things for you, so I figured, why not?”

You then suggest to head downstairs to grab some breakfast to take to the Data Bank so you can eat and have a chill morning of light reading.

The Vidyadhara is looking at you as if you grew a second head, but then he smiles that one smile that's only reserved for you. You return it eagerly as you close the door to your room and interlock your fingers with his.

“Very well. Shall we get going?

[delilahsturniolo]

! ! barista!reader taking care of sweetheart!matt when he’s sick

୨୧ find more on this au here!

“mmm..” matt groaned groggily as his eyes slowly fluttered open. he grunted as he lazily turned over in bed, looking at the digital clock on the side table that slightly illuminated the dark room . It was 5 AM, and he felt like absolute shit, which was a complete understatement. as of right now, you were in the bathroom getting ready for work, while matt was pouting in bed.

“y/n…” matt called out weakly. when you didn’t respond, matt slowly got up out of bed, feeling as dizzy and lightheaded as ever. his throat was sore, his nose was stuffy, and his head was absolutely pounding.

matt lazily stumbled over to the bathroom door, opening it slowly. he saw you doing your makeup in the mirror, swiping mascara on your eyelashes with precision. you saw matt standing at the doorway of the bathroom through the mirror and furrowed your eyebrows, setting down the tube of mascara.

“matt? baby? why are you up so early?” you asked, concern and confusion laced in your voice as you turned around to face him. matt was known for waking up at 1 PM every day, so this was different, you were immediately able to tell something was wrong, he didn’t look good at all.

“i don’t feel good..” matt murmured, walking over and sitting on the closed toilet seat, burying his head in his hands. you felt horrible for him, all the happiness and positive spark in him was gone, and that didn’t sit right with you.

“what’s wrong hon?” you encouraged him gently, shoving your makeup aside on the counter and walking over to matt who sat hopelessly on the toilet seat. he groaned and looked up at you weakly. “my head and stomach hurts…i feel so nauseous and my throat hurts..” matt whined.

you frowned, delicately feeling matt’s forehead with the back of your hand. “matt, you’re burnin’ up.” you hummed. right now, matt was your top priority. you didn’t really care if you were gonna be late to work, maybe you shouldn’t even go. you didn’t have the heart to leave matt alone while he was sick and unable to do most things for himself. “i’m gonna take the day off today, i can’t leave you alone.” you decided, matt was completely taken aback, he knew how much your job meant to you, and he didn’t want to be a burden after all.

“what? no no, you don’t need to do that y/n. i’ll be okay.” matt turned your idea down, sniffling harshly. however, you only shook your head. “it’s okay, matt. it’s just one day.” you shrugged.

matt sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. “okay..” he murmured, his voice as soft as ever. you hated when he got like this, it hurt your heart. matt’s excitement and burst of happiness and laughter was just all gone now, and transformed into a stupid sickness. you knew damn well he was gonna be clingy and whiny with you all day long.

“now c’mon, i’ll make you some tea and get you some medicine.” you helped matt up, he put an arm around you as you led him back to bed. as matt flopped lazily back into bed, you went into the kitchen to grab some stuff quickly.

medicine, water, crackers, a rag..

a few moments later, you returned with the stuff, and his cup of peppermint tea too. considering you were a barista, you knew every remedy, especially what drinks were good for what. you set everything down on the side table, turning the lamp on to cast a warm but dim light into the room. “baby? can you sit up f’me?” you gently tapped his cheek. matt grunted as he sat up, propping himself up on his elbows he looked into your eyes. god, he loved so fucking much. all he could think about was how lucky he was to have you.

“thank you love, really. this means a lot to me.” matt smiled at you, his blue eyes squinting slightly as he did so. you smiled back, seeing the slight spark in his eyes, even though they looked tired. “of course matt, i’ll always take care of you.” you replied, cupping his cheek, his stubble brushing against your fingers.

“if you get sick though, don’t blame me.” matt shrugged sarcastically. your laughter filled the room as you playfully smacked him. “you’re insane.”

© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.

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[imaginesfordifferentfandoms]

In Another Life

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Prompt - ‘In another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.’

Bucky Barnes was nothing if not a man who felt too much. He’d fight fiercely for those he loved, he’d make an idiot of himself to get the attention of the woman he loved. He let himself get knocked around if it meant he could catch a glimpse of her scowl that he’d always manage to turn into a smile.

“Seriously, Barnes?” You groan as you walk into the medical tent, seeing the familiar sight of James Barnes on one of your beds.

“It wasn’t my fault this time!” He lied, watching as you shook your head but there was a fondness to it.

Bucky could read you like his most favourite book at this point. You’d been appointed to 107th to join their medical team and it didn’t take long to capture the attention of the Sergeant. He had fallen for you in that first meeting, watching you boss around men twice the size of you, putting them into place without fear, putting him in his place when he tried to play off a pair of broken ribs as nothing.

Since then Bucky had done anything to be around you, he’d had his nose nearly broken, he’d fractured his wrist, he’d faked more stomach bugs than he could count. You didn’t buy any of them, you never did and yet you still let him take up one of the beds in the medical tent for hours on end. 

“We both know that’s bullshit.” You called him out and he didn’t even try and look guilty anymore, instead he shot you a bright grin and shrugged in a what can you do way causing you to roll your eyes though there was no heat in the gesture. “What is it this time?”

His smile widened impossibly as he lifted his shirt up, noticing the way your eyes took in the sight appreciatively before they widened at the cut across his torso, a blood soaked rag falling down as he lifted his shirt.

“You’re a real piece of work, Barnes, you know that?” You asked, starting to gather your supplies before sitting next to Bucky, the grin still firmly in place, slightly more smug now that he’d seen you take him in.

“Don’t deny it, doll, you love me patching me up.” Bucky said confidently, knowing that you could have demanded one of the other nurses deal with him if you really didn’t like him.

“There’s better ways to get my attention, no need to go get yourself all cut up on my behalf.” You told him, watching as his eyes widened slightly and a smirk pulled at his lips. “Ready?” 

“For you, doll, always.” He smirked and you groaned again causing him to laugh, though it was quickly silenced as you pushed the needle through his skin, slowly patching up the wound and letting Bucky fill the silence, fighting back a blush as he spoke.

“There’s my most favourite nurse!” Bucky called as he stumbled into the med tent, leaning heavily against another soldier, his skin pale and sweaty.

“What happened?” You ask straight away, gesturing for the soldier to put Bucky on the bed closest to you as you get to watch stripping the uniform of the man and frowning at the amount of blood pouring from two wounds on his stomach.

“He got shot, ma’am.” The soldier answered and your frown deepened, looking up at Bucky who’s eyes were half lidded but he was still grinning at you, apparently no injury was bad enough to wipe that damn grin off his face.

“‘M fine, Y/N.” He tried to assure you, seeing the frown between your eyebrows deepen and you could help but let out a soft huff of laughter, moving to get some needles, tweezers, gauze, pads and everything else you need.

“Told you there’s better ways to get my attention, didn’t mean go and get yourself shot, Buck.” You say softly, sitting next to him and cleaning the blood, checking him over and seeing both wounds were clean through, good no need to go digging for bullets.

“Shit, doll, you’re calling me by name. My dying?” He asked, slurring the words out and your heart ached at the slight tremor in his voice.

“Come on, it’s me we're talking about. You really think I'm about to let you die?” You ask him, forcing a smile onto your face and looking up at him assuringly before focusing on the worst of the two wounds.

“Better not let me die, Y/N/N, gotta take my girl out on a date.” He breathed out, looking at you so softly, groaning when you pressed down on his wound. “Fuck, doll.”

“Your girl, huh?” You shushed him softly, keeping him talking, needing him to stay alert for your own sanity more than anything.

You took a deep breath, knowing you needed to stay calm in order to make sure Bucky got through this, to make sure he didn’t lose any more blood than he had. You needed to push aside your feelings aside and focus on the patient.

Even if that patient was Bucky Barnes.

“Best girl around.” Bucky slurred out, a choked laugh escaping him and you let yourself smile. “Fixes me up all the damn time, even though she knows I’m an idiot.”

“You certainly are an idiot.” You agree easily, watching as he glares at you, a dazed smile still firmly in place. 

You had cleaned the wound well enough that the blood had stopped pouring from it and focused on patching it up, keeping Bucky talking the whole time, even as he winced and flinched, his eyes falling shut.

You were fine so long as he kept talking.

The second gunshot wound was much easier to patch up, you had it cleaned and packed quickly and once they were both dealt with you sat back heavily, looking at Bucky’s face, watching as he forced his eyes open and looked at you drained.

“All done, doll?” He asked, voice thick with tiredness and you smiled softly at him, eyes stinging slightly as you swallowed around the lump in your throat.

“All done, soldier. Get some rest.” You told him, your own voice thick with emotion and you stood up, needing a minute to yourself, eyes watering but a hand on your wrist stopped you from leaving.

“Stay, doll?” Bucky asked softly and you couldn’t bring yourself to say no, a single tear slipping down your cheek as you turned around and sat back down, Bucky forcing his heavy eyes open and frowning at you. “M’alright.”

You nodded, you knew he was, you were the one to patch him up and yet you felt like you couldn’t catch your breath now that you were done. Bucky practically lived in the med tent, you were used to him being hurt, used to fixing up his many injuries. This one was different though, this one was serious.

You’d never really had Bucky in your med bay because he needed saving. There were so many factors that could have changed the outcome, if the gunshots had caught Bucky a bit to the right it could have caused damage you couldn’t have fixed, if it had taken them any longer to get Bucky to you he could have lost too much blood. It was the first time you’d had Bucky in serious danger.

It’s not like you were stupid, you knew who he was, what his job was but when it was just the two of you it was easy to forget there was a war going on outside, easy to forget that seriousness of his job. 

“You’re alright.” You breathed out, another few tears making their way down your cheek and Bucky reached down, threading his fingers with yours and bringing them up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand, his eyes closed. “Sleep, Buck.”

Bucky nodded, following the command easily.

After that day you let yourself give into Bucky’s flirting, giving it back just as quickly as he gave it, realising it could all be snatched from you all too soon.

It was a few weeks later, you and Bucky had practically been inseparable. All his free time had been spent with you in the med bay and he savoured each moment he got with you, his little piece of heaven during the war.

You frowned as you walked towards the med bay, hearing one of the nurses raise her voice. It wasn’t entirely uncommon, most of the soldiers looked down at a woman doing a job, sometimes it was called for but when you stepped closer your eyes widened when you heard Bucky.

“Sergeant Barnes-” The nurse tried again but Bucky cut her off.

“No! I want Y/N.” Bucky demanded, like the med tent was the sort of place to be making demands. 

You rolled your eyes stepping into the tent, Bucky not noticing you but the nurse's face filled with relief as she saw you before glaring at Bucky.

“You know,” You say, causing Bucky’s head to snap over to you, your eyes immediately going to the trail of blood falling from his temple. “When your head’s bleeding, people usually aren’t picky about what nurse they have.”

“What can I say? I have my favourite nurse, no point ending up in this place if I don’t get to see my girl.” Bucky grinned at you and you rolled your eyes though there was a fondness you couldn’t deny and you nodded at the other nurse, taking over.

“What happened this time?” You asked, holding a damp rag against the wound.

“Cut my head jumping out of the way of a bullet.” Bucky told you and you sighed, pulling the rag away and seeing the blood had already begun to slow. “Hey, when are you finally gonna let me take you out?”

Bucky had been asking you out ever since he got shot and each time you never gave him a real answer because how could you? There was a war happening, even with his free time he couldn’t just leave to go on a date with you.

“Come find me when you’ve won the war.” You finally told him, watching a blinding grin spread across his face, eyes lighting up as he nodded.

“Doll, I’m gonna marry you once the war’s won.” He swore and the way he said it, you had no choice but to believe he would, you weren’t complaining, the rest of your life with Bucky Barnes seemed like a pretty good life.

“You promise?” You grin back at him, the man unable to help himself, pulling you closer to stand between his legs and closing the distance between you, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tilted your face up to his, his gaze intense, before his lips claimed yours in a fierce, passionate kiss full of promise of a future. You couldn’t help but gasp at the sudden intensity, your hands clutching at his shirt. The world around you faded away as you both lost yourselves in each other, the kiss leaving you both breathless.

“I promise. I’m gonna marry you when this is all over.” He promised and rested his forehead against yours. “On my life, we’re gonna spend the rest of our lives together.”

You hear the tent open and turn around from where you stood sorting through your supplies, rolling your eyes but not stopping the grin that spreads across your face.

“Here comes trouble.” You say to yourself, loud enough for Bucky to hear and he just grins back at you, sitting himself on the closest bed to you. “What is it this time then?”

“Oh nurse Y/N, you gotta help me.” Bucky groans, clutching his heart. “My heart is hurting so bad, think I’m having withdrawals from seeing my best girl, think you gotta cure for that?”

“You’re an idiot.” You laughed at him, swatting him with a rag before going back to organising your supplies, knowing the men were heading into another battle and you’d need everything ready for when they came back.

“Come on, doll.” He pouted dramatically over at you, jumping from the bed and turning you to face him. “A kiss for good luck?”

You rolled your eyes again, something you did a lot in the presence of James Barnes but couldn’t help but smile up at him. Bucky smiled down at you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek in his hand, delicately running his thumb across your cheek bone before he guided you up to him, meeting you halfway and then his lips found yours, gently at first. Slowly, he deepened the kiss, becoming more passionate as he pulled you impossibly closer, his other hand moving to the small of your back and you couldn’t help but melt into him, arms wrapping around his neck, a soft sigh escaping your lips.

“Come back to me, soldier.” You told him when the two of you finally pulled away, foreheads resting against each other.

“I got promises to keep, doll, course I’m coming back.” He said, watching as you blushed at the reminder of his promises.

Bucky stole another handful of kisses before one of the men came in, telling him he had to leave.

“See you soon, gorgeous.” He grinned, pressing one more breathtaking kiss to your lips before running out of the med tent and you sat on one of the beds, watching the spot where he had stood, smiling like a fool in love but you couldn’t deny that’s what you were.

Too much time passed, not enough information was given. You paced holes in the med tent floor, he should be back by now. Something was wrong, there were whispers but nobody would tell you anything, everything was on a need to know basis and it was driving you mad.

It had been well over a week since Bucky left and the ache in your chest grew as more and more days passed without a single word.

When the med bay tent opened your head shot round, there were dark circles under your eyes, your hair was a mess from the amount of times you’d ran your hands through it. You shook your head when you saw the commanding officer step into your tent.

“Don't.” You said firmly, eyes already filling with tears and the man frowned, a grim look on his face.

“Nurse Y/LN,” He started and you shook your head, “I regret to inform you that Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes is missing in action and after our best efforts to identify the location of him and the 107th, we believe he has died in the line of duty. I know this must be difficult news to hear, but please know that you have the full support of the military and all available resources to assist you during this difficult time." 

You felt your legs give out, hitting the floor and sobs wracked your body, the choking feeling you got seeing Bucky shot coming back in full force, head shaking as you pleaded with any god that would listen to bring him back.

The commanding officer left, leaving you a sobbing mess on the floor. 

“He promised.” You choked out to nobody. “He was meant to marry me.” 

You stayed there for a long while, crying for hours for the loss of what could have been. It would have been amazing, a lifetime with James Barnes and now, now you had to miss him for longer than you had known him.

Maybe in another life he came back to you, maybe in another life the war was won and he came back to you, swept you up in his arms and kept every promise he ever made. Maybe in another life, you had lazy mornings in bed, in another life you did the mundane stuff like taxes and laundry together.

Maybe in another life you had more time.

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[ribbonedreverie]

Can't help myself, have to request again because I was thinking about this the other day, and I need to see what you would create out of this scenario:

The men of BSD reacting to their lover calling them drunk. (reader insert) just like a mini-drabble of how they'd be in this situation because we know they'd all have drastically different takes.

If you're not comfortable with this specific scenario maybe just them reaching out to them when they need help (like they're out late at night and they're scared) just like an interesting/vulnerable-ish moment is what I'm interested to see how they would each handle.

You can do whatever men you want but I was hoping for: Ranpo (I love how you write him), Dazai, Chuuya, Akutagawa, Fydor, Mori, Fukuzawa, Oda, and Ango if at all possible. Just because I'm most curious about them. I know that's a lot though so no worries if it's less or not possible.

It was just an idea I had and was curious about how you'd handle but never feel like you have to. I know you're working on other things and if this doesn't fall within things you'd like to write about, no worries at all. I just love seeing your natural dialogue flow and wanted to see where you'd go with this interesting scenario and cast of characters.

I hope you'll consider the request <3

Whispers Between the Lines

This contains several heavy psychological and emotional themes, including psychological manipulation, gaslighting, Stockholm syndrome, unhealthy dependency, emotional coercion, control, power imbalance, toxic relationship dynamics, alcohol use, intoxication, loneliness, isolation, emotional vulnerability, implied emotional abuse, existential despair, and feelings of entrapment. (Most of these are for Mori)

Chuuya Nakahara: “Love Spilled Between Midnight Calls”

The moment he picks up, the world stills.

His breath catches, sharp, and when he speaks, his voice is edged with urgency.

“Where are you? What happened?”

He thinks something’s wrong.

But then you speak—soft, trembling, a quiet storm of love and longing spilling from your lips.

And oh—

Chuuya goes silent.

You tell him how much you love him, how he is everything, how you never thought you’d have this kind of love.

How you don’t deserve him—but God, you love him anyway, with every trembling, aching piece of yourself.

And Chuuya—

He is drowning.

His chest is too tight, his heart hammering like it’s trying to break free. He presses his fingers against the bridge of his nose, his breath uneven, his grip on the phone unsteady.

You don’t say these things often—not like this, not in this raw, unguarded way.

And you’re drunk, which means you are honest.

“Damn it.” His voice is thick, heavy with something he can’t name.

“You really think you don’t deserve me?” A breath—sharp, unsteady. “You—God, you’re my whole damn world, you idiot.”

And if your voice wobbles, if you sniffle even a little—he’s done for.

“Alright, that’s it. Stay where you are—I’m coming to get you.”

He doesn’t care if you tell him you’re fine.

He doesn’t care if you say it’s nothing.

Because the thought of you, alone, drunk and overwhelmed with love, is unbearable.

And when he finds you—wherever you are—he doesn’t speak at first.

He just pulls you in.

His arms are strong, steady, unyielding, as if holding you tight enough might press all your shattered pieces back together.

You can feel it, the way his heart slams against his ribs, how he clings to you like you are something sacred.

“You love me, huh?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s a tremor beneath it, something fragile, something breaking.

You nod, small and hesitant, as if love could slip through your fingers like sand.

And then—he kisses you.

Your hair, your forehead, anywhere he can reach. Soft, reverent, like a vow written into your skin.

“Good,” he breathes, his lips ghosting over your temple. ”‘Cause I love you more, and I’ll remind you every damn day if I have to.”

Dazai Osamu: “Whispers at the Witching Hour”

The phone rings, slow and syrupy in the late-night hush.

A lull of static, then a voice—soft, silken, and just the slightest bit unsteady.

“Dazai~,” you purr, your words curling like smoke, slipping through the receiver in lazy ribbons. “It’s late, isn’t it? Or… early? I can’t tell. But does it matter?”

A pause—just long enough to feel like a caress, just long enough to let the silence hum between you.

Dazai leans back, the corner of his mouth twitching into a knowing smirk. He recognizes that tone, the way it drips with something dangerous, something intoxicating.

“I’m bored,” you continue, sighing, and he can hear it—the delicate tilt of your lips, the way amusement colors the edges of your voice like the last traces of dusk. “And I thought of you… Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Dangerous?” Dazai hums, fingers twirling the cord of the phone absentmindedly. “My dear, you wound me. Are you saying I’m a bad influence?”

A giggle, light as the clink of ice in a glass. “Oh, Osamu… don’t play coy. You know exactly what you are.”

There’s a shift in your tone now—something teasing, something languid. It trails down his spine like fingertips dragging over silk.

“Won’t you come play with me?” you muse, voice dipping into something rich, something molten. “The night feels lonely without a little trouble to keep it company.”

Dazai chuckles, but there’s something sharp beneath it—something intrigued.

“And what kind of trouble are you looking for, my sweet?”

A laugh, breathless and honey-drunk. “Wouldn’t you like to find out?”

Dazai exhales slowly, staring at the ceiling, a lazy grin pulling at his lips. He can picture it—the way you’re likely sprawled out, limbs loose, eyes heavy-lidded and glittering with mischief. The way your lips would part just so as you speak, as if inviting him closer even through the distance.

His fingers twitch against the receiver, the weight of the moment settling over him like a silk sheet—thin, delicate, and undeniably electrifying.

“Come find me, Dazai. If you dare.”

And then, just like that, the line goes dead.

Dazai blinks. For a beat, he simply sits there, the air thick with your lingering presence. Then, a slow, breathy chuckle escapes him, rolling through the quiet like the first drop of rain before a storm.

“Ah…” he murmurs to himself, running a hand through his hair. “What an interesting little game you want to play.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his mind already spinning. He should let it go—chalk it up to drunken whimsy, let you stew in your own mischief.

But where would the fun be in that?

A dangerous game, indeed.

And Dazai has never been one to resist temptation.

Ranpo Edogawa: “Dial Tone Confessions”

Ranpo doesn’t answer immediately.

His phone buzzes once, twice—persistent, an insistent little thing that refuses to be ignored. It’s late, too late for reasonable conversation, but curiosity flickers in the depths of his knowing eyes as he finally picks up, bringing the device lazily to his ear.

“Hmm~,” he drawls, the syllables of his greeting stretching like melted caramel, smooth, slow, indulgent. “It’s past your bedtime, isn’t it?”

A giggle bubbles through the receiver, unfiltered and weightless, like the clinking of glass bottles on a city curb. Ah. He tilts his head, amused. There’s a slur in your tone, subtle but telling, a looseness that drapes over your words like silk slipping off a shoulder.

“Ranpooo,” you sing, voice syrupy, teasing, like you’re calling for a stray cat that refuses to be tamed. “Guess where I am.”

He exhales through his nose, a smirk curling at his lips. “On the floor.”

A beat of silence. Then a dramatic gasp.

“Okay, that was a lucky guess.”

“It wasn’t.” He yawns, stretching an arm over his head, already sinking further into his couch. “You’re drunk, and when you drink, you get clumsy. And when you get clumsy, you fall. You should be thanking me for my genius, really.”

Another laugh, softer this time. “What would I do without you?”

Now, that’s interesting.

His eyes glint with something keen, sharp, something infinitely amused but not entirely unserious. It’s always been like this between you two—an intricate push and pull, a game of cat and mouse where neither wants to admit who’s chasing who.

But here, in this hazy hour where the world is quiet and the walls are thinner, the game bends just a little.

“You’d be lost,” he murmurs, voice dropping into something quieter, something almost fond. “Obviously.”

You hum, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the faint crackle of the call, the weight of something unsaid pressing between you.

Then—

“You know,” you whisper, conspiratorial, as if telling a secret meant only for him. “If things were different… if I didn’t—if I wasn’t—” You hiccup, cutting yourself off. “We would be something.”

Oh.

Ranpo stills, lips parting slightly.

A lesser man might have asked something what? But Ranpo isn’t lesser—he is all-knowing, all-seeing, and the answer is already curled around his ribs like an old, familiar ghost.

Something ruinous.

Something catastrophic.

Something that would burn too brightly, too quickly, until all that’s left is the memory of its light.

But instead, he only chuckles, airy, effortless, a magician tucking a trick up his sleeve. “Oh, you,” he muses, closing his eyes. “You say the sweetest things when you’re drunk.”

You whine, half-complaint, half-laughter. “You’re so mean to me.”

“And yet, you keep calling,” he counters smoothly.

A pause. Then, barely above a breath—

“Because you always pick up.”

Ranpo’s eyes flicker open, caught, for the first time, off-guard.

But then, his grin returns, sharp and knowing, curling like the last move in an unwinnable game.

“Well, of course,” he murmurs, voice lighter than air but grounding all the same.

“I already knew you would.”

Mori Ougai: A Late-Night Conversation Between a Caged Bird and Its Keeper

The world was spinning.

Not violently, not chaotically—just in a slow, dizzying waltz. Like a star drifting off course, like the ocean tide lapping at the shore in endless repetition.

You lay sprawled across the floor of your dimly lit apartment, the ceiling blurring in and out of focus. A forgotten bottle of wine rested at your fingertips, its contents long since emptied.

Drinking away the silence had been the plan.

It didn’t work.

Loneliness settled deep in your bones, unshakable and cruel, whispering the same tired truth over and over: There is no one. You are alone. You will always be alone.

Your numb fingers fumbled with your phone. There was no thought behind the action, only instinct, only the need for another voice—any voice. The names on the screen blurred together until one stood out, sharp and clear.

Mori Ougai.

A dry laugh broke the silence. What a ridiculous idea. Calling Mori was like calling the executioner when already on the chopping block—foolish, dangerous, and yet… strangely inevitable.

Your thumb hovered over the dial button.

Don’t.

Pressed it anyway.

It rang. Once. Twice. Then—

“My, my. What an unexpected surprise.”

His voice was smooth as silk, sharp as a scalpel. He didn’t sound tired. He never sounded tired.

A shaky exhale. Hanging up now would be the right choice. Tossing the phone across the room and pretending this never happened would be the safest option.

But the line remained open.

“…Mori.”

His name slipped out, barely more than a breath, slurred just enough to betray your state of mind.

A chuckle. Soft. Knowing.

“What a rare occasion. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

You press a hand to your fevered forehead, warmth from the alcohol spreading beneath your skin.

“I… I don’t know.”

A pause. He was listening. He was always listening.

“Are you drunk, my dear?”

A small, breathless laugh. “Maybe.”

“And yet, you called me.”

The implication lingered.

Your fingers tightened around the phone. Maybe this had been a mistake. Maybe a distraction was all you needed—something to chase away the unbearable quiet, not… this.

But there was no taking it back now.

“Lonely, are we?” Mori’s voice was almost mocking, but not quite.

Silence.

He didn’t push, didn’t demand an answer. He didn’t need to.

“…Yes.”

A slow inhale. Then—

“How tragic. Loneliness is such a cruel thing, isn’t it?” His tone softened, coaxing. A doctor speaking to a patient on the verge of breaking. “No one to talk to, no one to hold you. It must be unbearable.”

A lump formed in your throat.

“It is.”

“But you called me.”

Not a question. A claim.

Shame coiled in your chest. What was the thought process behind reaching out to him of all people? Comfort from Mori? A joke. A pathetic, laughable joke.

“I should go.” The words were weak, barely convincing, but you said them anyway. The phone was halfway pulled from your ear when—

“Ah, but… if you hang up, you’ll still be alone.”

Your breath caught.

Because he was right.

It didn’t matter how dangerous, how cruel, how suffocating he was—he was still the only one answering the call.

Tears burned at the edges of your blurred vision. They weren’t welcome.

“Why are you doing this?” The voice that spoke barely sounded like your own.

“Doing what?”

“Being… this.”

A pause. A smirk, audible even through the phone.

“Being what, my dear? The only one who picks up the phone when you call?”

Damn him.

“If you need me,” he continued, smooth as a blade sliding between ribs, “all you have to do is ask. You know I take care of my own.”

Your breath hitched. His own.

Was that what you were now? Just another piece in his careful arrangement of pawns?

The worst part was that you couldn’t even argue.

Silence stretched between you. Long. Unspoken. Dark.

“Go to bed,” Mori commanded, voice deceptively soft.

A quiet rebellion flared in your chest. “And if I don’t?”

A chuckle. “Then you’ll stay on the line with me all night.”

A shiver ran down your spine—not from fear, not from warmth, but from something worse.

“…Goodnight, Mori.”

The call ended.

The phone slipped from your numb fingers, clattering against the floor.

But the damage had already been done.

The call had been made.

Ango Sakaguchi: A Call at the Edge of the Night

The phone rings at an ungodly hour.

You don’t expect him to pick up.

You don’t even know why you called—only that the weight in your chest was too much, too unbearable, and for some foolish reason, he was the first name your trembling fingers found.

It rings once. Twice. Three times.

Then, a click.

“Angoooo…”

His name slips from your lips, loose and unguarded, tangled in something fragile. Something you’ve spent too long trying to swallow down.

A long silence.

Then, a sigh—one you feel more than hear.

“Where are you?”

Of course that’s the first thing he says.

Not why are you calling me?

Not what do you need?

Just the same, measured question he asks when dealing with people who have become problems—something to be contained, something to be handled.

You laugh, but it’s small. Hollow.

“Does it matter?”

You hear him shift. The rustle of paper, the faint scrape of glasses being adjusted.

You can picture him now—sitting in that dim, quiet apartment, surrounded by papers that dictate the fate of people he’ll never meet.

Maybe you’re just another name on a list to him.

Maybe you always have been.

“You probably think I’m pathetic.”

You don’t mean to say it. But the words are already there, slipping through the cracks in your chest before you can stop them.

Another silence.

Not denial.

Not agreement.

Just Ango, sitting in the space between words, like he always does.

“What happened?” His voice is quieter now.

You close your eyes. Nothing. Everything.

It’s too much, and yet not enough to explain the weight pressing against your ribs.

Because maybe it wasn’t just tonight.

Maybe it was the months of exhaustion settling in your bones, the ache of always giving and never being given to, the unbearable loneliness of knowing someone cares but never quite enough.

And maybe—maybe—that’s why you called him.

Because Ango never lets himself care.

And somehow, that makes it easier.

“Ango,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, “If I disappeared… would you come looking for me?”

The silence is deafening.

Your heart twists.

You shouldn’t have asked.

You shouldn’t have asked because you already know how this ends.

Because you know what happened the last time he lost someone who mattered.

Because Ango doesn’t allow himself to want. To hope. To save.

Not anymore.

But then—his voice, low, steady, aching.

“Yes.”

Your breath catches.

It’s a lie.

Or maybe it isn’t.

Maybe it’s worse than that. Maybe it’s the truth he doesn’t want to admit.

You swallow hard, chest tight, fingers gripping the phone like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered.

“You shouldn’t say things like that, Ango.”

It comes out softer than you intend. A warning. A plea.

And maybe you imagine it, but for just a second, you think he wants to say something more.

But he doesn’t.

Because Ango always stops himself before he gets too close.

Before he lets another name become something more than just another loss waiting to happen.

The line goes dead.

And you’re left sitting there, staring at the empty screen, wondering why you ever thought he could be the one to pull you back from the edge.

Wondering why, despite everything—you still wanted him to.

────

Apologies for the delay; I found myself immersed in capturing these gentlemen as I perceive them. Admittedly, I might have enjoyed a drink or two while penning some of these. Additionally, I was engrossed in my psychology and philosophy classes, both demanding papers recently. I will post the remaining characters soon. ♡