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equius · 1 day ago

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i come from the midwest, smack dab in the middle of the bible belt, and gun laws are fairly lax out there, especially when it comes to gun owners and open carry policies. it was not uncommon for me to see holstered guns at people's hips at places like the gas station, walmart, or even just walking around my small hometown.

when you're a kid, you don't think too much about it. when you get older, you start to notice more. you learn about gun violence, you see news about school shootings and deaths from firearms and you start to get paranoid. you become hyper-aware of people who are carrying weapons openly, and then later on, you start to worry about people who have conceal-carry licenses. people who could have a gun in their backpack, who could sneak it into a movie theater, library, or a church. you think about it a lot and you worry about it. i know i have had my fair share of this kind of fear. let me tell you what really helped me to overcome this fear.

my mom has always been extremely conservative. i'd wager that she'd be down the qanon rabbit hole by now if i hadn't forced her to stop using instagram and engaging in facebook groups. i told her that she needed a hobby, something to get her out of these internet spaces. did not expect her to turn to firearms as a hobby. given her political views, her conservative beliefs, and the kind of circles she had been running with for years, i thought the worst of her hobby. i assumed that she was now just a gun-toting maniac who would shoot a gay person or something. but i was wrong. she started working at a local gun range, and got involved in women's shooting groups where she met lots of women from different backgrounds; it's actually more common than you'd think for leftist/progressive women and lgbt folks to be part of women's gun groups. they often seek the means to defend themselves, and groups like these welcome them with open arms. my mom did, too. as time passed, she became even more involved, and wanted to get certified as a firearms instructor. she has always loved teaching things, and she worked hard to obtain whatever certificates she needed that allowed her to host classes and teach people about gun safety and things.

and then one day she asked me to come visit the gun range with her. she wanted to show me her hobby. at first i was extremely against the idea, guns scared me and i wanted nothing to do with them. however, i had to remind myself that she is a certified instructor, and that she would never let anything harm me. so i went. i met her coworkers at the range; they're all openly carrying, and they were very kind people. we spent a couple hours in the range together; it was very loud and overwhelming, but i paid attention as best i could. she spent a lot of time teaching me basic gun safety, letting me use a practice gun before i was able to use a real one to fire at paper targets. i did better than i thought i did. it was actually kind of fun.

i'm not saying that my opinions of guns changed overnight. but it did help to go to an environment where it was nothing but guns, and learning how to use them safely made me realize that basically everyone out there also knows gun safety. the majority of people who open-carry in public, whether it's able to be seen on their hip or concealed in a backpack, are usually just regular-ass people. people like my mom and my stepadad who just enjoy guns and want to be able to protect themselves, or should a situation arise, be able to protect others. yeah, there's a guy in franklin, indiana, who carries an AR-15 or some shit who parades it around downtown and acts exactly like that stereotypical insane gun person, and it's important to understand that even in that conservative town where probably over 50% of the residents have guns, that guy gets made fun of by everyone. they think he's acting a fool, and that he's giving gun enthusiasts and owners a bad name. most people you will meet who carry guns are not going to be like that guy. if they are conceal-carry people, you won't even know that they have one. they're not waiting for the moment to use it; they're carrying it for the event that they might need to.

regardless of how you choose to feel about guns, just remember that one, there is genuinely nothing you can do to stop people from carrying them. all the laws in the world could be passed to forbid people from carrying them, but people would still do so. what i would suggest is that you familiarize yourself with the gun laws in the area that you live in. see what's permissible and what isn't. think about what you're truly afraid of in regards to firearms, and pinpoint what you could do or research to alleviate yourself of that fear. gun laws exist for a multitude of good reasons; people like criminals, gang members, and other unsavory characters will always have access to firearms and will always carry them no matter what; gun laws allowing normal people like you and i to carry them ourselves is what can protect us from people like that.

look into local firearm groups. look for women's shooting clubs. visit a gun range and just look around; you don't even have to do anything there. ask questions from the employees; they're all very autistic about guns and would love to talk to you and answer your every question. someone would also be thrilled to teach you about gun safety and even instruct you how to shoot.

taking ownership of this very real fear is something that i would mandate for everyone who also has this fear. i have been there myself, and i have since then worked on my fear and have done more to educate myself about firearms, researched my town's gun laws, and met a good handful of gun owners who were also very sane, normal people. it really helped to readjust my mindset, and helped me learn that not every gun owner is an insane maniac just itching to shoot up a place somewhere.

and if you don't want to do any of that, i would suggest therapy. because all of that extreme fear and paranoia you're experiencing is not healthy in any way, and i sincerely hope that you can find a way to assuage it someday. please feel free to dm me if you have any questions about anything, i'm happy to answer what i can, and my mom would be happy to answer what i can't.

Americans - how do you function in daily life knowing there could be a gun on the same street / in the same bus / in the same Walmart as you? At any given moment? Like how do you not go insane with fear? I am genuinely asking.

#long post

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moondustbaby · 3 days ago

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Checkmate, Baby

nerd!Rafe x sorority girl!Reader

a/n: based on this request! 💌

summary: It’s halfway through the semester and Rafe’s been trying not to fall for his biology partner. But with his annual chess banquet coming up, he finally works up the nerve to ask her to be his date.

⸻

Rafe doesn’t mean to stare.

But you’re chewing on the end of your pen, a tiny crinkle between your brows as you skim over your shared notes, and you’ve got your nails painted this soft glittery pink that makes his throat go dry. You’re wearing a sweatshirt from your sorority, your legs tucked up under you on his twin bed like you’ve always belonged there.

“I’m thinking we test your reaction times next,” you say, glancing up at him. “Y’know, just to compare how caffeine hits differently.”

“Oh. Yeah. Cool.” Rafe nods too fast, nearly sending his pencil flying. “That’s good. Good idea.”

You grin. “You okay?”

“Fine. Perfect.” He laughs awkwardly and looks away, praying the heat in his ears isn’t as visible as it feels.

God, you make him nervous. Still. And you’ve been doing this for weeks.

It’s not like he hasn’t gotten to know you. You’re actually… nice. He was half-convinced you were just humoring him at first—some social experiment or sorority hazing ritual—but you’re smart, and kind, and always refill his water bottle when he forgets. You remember his favorite color. You ask about his research.

And maybe that’s why this whole chess banquet thing has him practically breaking out in hives.

“So,” he says finally, voice cracking halfway through. “There’s this, um… event thing. It’s dumb. Super dumb. You don’t have to come.”

You tilt your head. “What kind of event?”

“It’s—uh. It’s a chess banquet. End of season.” He rubs the back of his neck and refuses to make eye contact. “They make us go. There’s trophies. Lame speeches. But there’s food? And tables. And probably bad punch.”

He swallows. “And I was wondering if you might want to go. With me. Like… as my date.”

You blink. “Wait, really?”

His stomach lurches. “It’s totally fine if not. I get it. It’s not your thing. You probably have better plans. Just forget I—”

“Rafe.” You smile softly, reaching over to touch his arm. “I would love to go with you.”

His eyes snap to yours. “You would?”

“Yeah!” you beam. “Like, are you kidding? A banquet? With trophies? And nerdy speeches? I’m so in. Should I wear a dress? Like, is it formal?”

He blinks at you. “I mean… kind of? I think people dress nice. Like, business casual. But you could wear… anything. You’d look—uh. Great. In anything.”

You giggle. “You’re cute.”

And he short-circuits right there.

⸻

By the time the banquet rolls around, Rafe’s sure he’s going to pass out.

You’d insisted on meeting at his dorm, and now you’re standing in his doorway, dress swishing around your thighs, a little black ribbon in your hair, and a smile that could kill him dead. You’re holding a tote bag with snacks “just in case,” and he has never felt more like a man in his life than when you reach for his arm without hesitation and say, “Ready, date?”

He can’t stop looking at you. You’re so excited to be there. Asking him about the other chess guys. Complimenting the dorky trophy table. Holding his hand under the table when his palms get sweaty from the guest speaker calling him “Cameron the Kingmaker.”

At one point, you even say—dead serious—“I hope there’s a team photo. I want to be in it.”

Rafe nearly faints.

Later, he walks you back to your sorority house. You’re barefoot, heels in hand, still glowing from the cheap sparkling cider they handed out like champagne.

“I had so much fun,” you say, spinning in front of him. “Thank you for asking me.”

He ducks his head, sheepish. “I thought you might laugh at me.”

You frown. “Why would I laugh?”

He shrugs. “I dunno. I’m not exactly the kind of guy sorority girls usually go for.”

“Well, lucky for you,” you say, stepping in close and booping his nose with your finger, “I don’t go for just any guy.”

Then, before he can short-circuit again, you press a kiss to his cheek. “Night, lab boy.”

And he just stands there on the sidewalk, grinning like an idiot.

a/n: i LOVED writing this. flustered boy genius + supportive pretty girl?? my roman empire. i’ll never recover from rafe saying “uh. you could wear anything” while internally combusting. sorry this took me a bit to get to, but thank you so much for sending a request in angel!! 🫶🏻

♥️ lani

Send Me Requests! 💌

Masterlist

𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉:

@tiaajosephin

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womanofwords · 1 day ago

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Audience Participation (Part 5)

Neglected!fourthwall!reader x yandere!batfam

The next thing on the agenda was making sure they definitely couldn't find you. You went through every single piece of clothing you had and sorted them by least to most distinctive. While doing so, you found a small amount of strange, flashing tags on your favourite clothes. Trackers. Considering how much you were warned about your folks being nuts, this wasn't as many as you had been expecting, but was still a shock to see.

Your family really was crazy.

You weren't going to go too crazy with the false hints. If your family really was as smart as they said they were, then they'd probably catch up with the hints pretty quickly. The chat wasn't calling you smart for nothing.

First, the bouquet of dahlias that you got for yourself from the florist. Dahlias being Mexico's official flower, someone had to get the hint about this. You made sure to mention it to Alfred. "Aren't they pretty, Alfred?" you said, showing the British butler the flowers you'd obtained.

"Very pretty," Alfred admitted. "I'll send you a vase to put them in."

"Thank you, Alfred." You scooped up the flowers and skipped up to your room.

The chat had suggested that you use some fake hobbies to throw you off the trail you'd leave, so you went to the library. Some books about Mexican food and pottery were sure to entice them. You read in front of them at every opportunity, occasionally turning pages so they wouldn't be confused about why your eyes never actually looked at the book. In secret, you learned French and searched up how to apply for Canadian citizenship on your secret second phone that you sequestered away in the pocket of a coat you never actually wore.

But the real strokes of genius came with the trinkets. Bruce forgot your birthday without fail, but would buy you expensive jewellery that you never wore about two weeks later without fail. You sold these trinkets one by one at different pawn shops. Thank goodness he never got you anything personalised.

After you came back from trading a pendant for cash, you checked the comments section again. The little people were saying lots of stuff since the last time you'd checked. They were congratulating the alliance you'd made with Clayface while telling you to save it for later. They were also telling you to change your appearance when going as 'Alex Mass', which you were already doing. You attached a fake mole to your chin every time you went to work, a notable difference that Y/N Wayne didn't have. In case that didn't deter police, you also clipped fake bangs to the front of your hair after you left the house and took them off just before the security cameras saw you.

Since you had some time to kill, and nobody went near the part of the house where your room was (you bet that only Alfred even knew where it was), you decided to answer the questions that the comments section had.

"Why marine biology? I picked marine biology because I just love the sea. It was so peaceful and at the same time, it could be so violent. And so much of it's unexplored while at the same time, it's closer to us than the stars and galaxies. Marine life looked so much more mysterious and fun than life on land, so I wanted to get as close to it as possible."

Another comment asked you what your favourite part of the day was. "Leaving the house. I feel like such a weight has come off once I'm out of Wayne Manor. Other than that, showering is one of my favourite things to do. I just love being clean and I often feel so dirty around my family."

The chat wanted to know what your hobbies were. "Water colours. I just love them. I make water colour paintings of sea creatures, although they are straight up terrible. I do it because I like it. My fake hobbies include basket weaving, pottery, and conspiracy theories. Send them down some really weird rabbit holes just for the hell of it."

"Oh, and by the way, Alfred doesn't go into my room because I clean it myself. I have successfully raised to $10,000 I needed to escape this hell. Thanks for your support. Now, I'm going to be cashing some stuff in and making plans."

First

Taglist: @bunniotomia, @hai-there-how-are-you, @crystal-freak24, @maskedvoyance, @cupid73, @lettucel0ver, @wisefuncherryblossom, @lineakazuh16, @leeiasure, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @ee-1ovelifedownthedrain.

#creative writing #my writing #writing inspiration #writers #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #yandere #platonic yandere #yandere batfam #batfamily #batfamily x neglected reader #fourth wall

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romanoffshouse · 2 days ago

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Bowling with The Thunderbolts* the new Avengers

A/N: Thank you for the idea @lives-in-midgard and helping me out.

Masterlist

It was Alexei's idea to do something for bonding purposes

Alexei suggested to go bowling.

You really liked the idea but the others weren't so fond of it.

Yelena thought it was embarrassing to go bowling with her dad and her new friends.

Ava and Walker just didn't want to go.

Bucky hasn't played since the 40s and thought it would be cool to try it again. But it also brought some memories back to him, he remembered playing it with Steve.

Bob didn't really say much to the idea, but you could see in his expression that he actually got excited. You weren't sure if he ever played bowling before and if he did then it probably was a long time ago.

"Come on, guys. Let's go, it will be fun" you said, trying to convince the others.

Alexei laughed, happy to have you on his site "See, that's the spirit" he said with his delighted Russian accent.

You wanted to convince Yelena first, knowing that if you would convince Yelena to go, the others would go as well.

"Come on Lena, even bob wants to go, right bob?" You said and looked over to Bob, who looked at the mention of his name and then nodded.

There was a small smile tugging on her lips and then she said "Okay, fine.. let's go"

Alexei clapped his hands together and cheered "YES!!"

"Okay, let's go Bobby." John said and patted Bob on the shoulder, which made you smile softly.

"Yeah, I think it could be fun, I haven't played in a very long time though." Bucky said as they made their way to the car.

"At least you have played before." Ava mumbled.

"We'll teach you." You said and gave her a soft smile, Ava smiled back at you.

After a short drive in Alexei's limo, you arrived at the bowling center.

When you arrived there, John asked "What does the winner get?" "Hmm?.. Nothing, we're just doing this to have fun" you said back.

A few moments from the game:

When it was John's turn and he didn't knock down any pins, everyone started laughing because he was bragging earlier that he will be the best. "Maybe next time" you said to him with a chuckle and he gave you an annoyed look at that comment.

Yelena was really good, when it was her turn she almost knocked all the pins down. "That's my daughter!" Alexei yelled proudly in his thick Russian accent.

"It's your turn Mr. Soldier" Alexei said, patting Bucky's back. Bucky didn't attmit it but he looked a bit nervous, he closed his eyes for a moment and then threw the ball. He almost made a strike. When he turned around you smiled at him and gave him a thumbs up.

Then it was Ava's turn, she never played before and wasn't so good. So you decided to give her some tips to help her with her next turns.

You were quite good at bowling and one time when you had a strike, Yelena and Ava held their hands up to give you a high-five. Bucky smiled at you and said "good job" and John gave you a nod. Alexei was clapping with a smile and Bob said "So, that's why you wanted to play" and you chuckled at that.

One time when Bob knocked down all the pins, everyone was cheering and shouting at excitement. Bob was getting a bit nervous at that. He just gave a shy smile and ran a hand through his hair, you decided to walk over and hug him. What you didn't expect was that the others approached you. Yelena was the first who joined the hug, then Ava, John, Bucky and last Alexei. Bob was smiling at that, feeling safe and comforted. It was such a beautiful moment. But not only did he feel loved, you did too. You are a family now.

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hadoriel · 22 hours ago

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Does anyone remember that post that would go around every Pride Month for a while that said something like 'it's illegal to be straight and asexuals are on thin ice' with a bunch of Pikachu? Like... This was posted EVERYWHERE and it was the common thought for a long time that ace people were only allowed in queer spaces if they were 'otherwise' queer in identity (like romantic orientation or gender). For years people in the aspec community tried and tried to get the message across that separating us like that was blatantly wrong and undermined our community. I felt really unsafe when I would see that image plastered on even what I thought were inclusive blogs

To this day, I don't know where I'm welcomed and still get harassment on anon when I talk about being aspec and in the gray zone of all orientations and genders. I used to be very vocal about it from 2010 - 2014 but all I could do was hope my statement in my bio about being ace wouldn't get me too many threats from 2015 - 2018 when the hate campaigns were at their peak

I also, even recently, saw someone talk about how aspec people have 'always been lesbophobic and vile' when, in my experience, we were pummeled by terfs and exclusionists for 'lumping gay people in with straights' when trying to use the word 'allosexual' to explain our experiences. We never had an upper hand while receiving death threats and discourse. Frustration at our community being torn apart was misconstrued as privileged people 'wanting to be oppressed' and scorned by the wider queer community at the time. I do remember the 'moodboards' of evil people being headcanoned as aspec 'for a laugh' to make fun of us. I do remember everyone being told to kill themselves until it hard switched to 'pee your pants' because they'd gotten slapped on the wrist for harassment. It still affects us and scarred every ace person from rebuilding. People STILL see us as fake and attention seeking and babies and many of them don't even think of themselves as terfs or exlusionists despite falling into their misinformation and harassment campaigns

It sucks and I miss when our community was building hope instead. I miss wearing a black ring and happily teaching people new terms and ways to frame things like orientation. I've never stopped using ace labels and never erased them from my bios, but I feel that fear, that I'll be kicked out of anything both online and off, for just wanting to support and inform. That people will think I'm a community parasite and better off dead. Even when people would say we should 'just have our own community and get away from the 'real' queer groups' - we did until they got bombed by those same people. They never wanted us to collaborate in any manner, saw us as wrong despite the hypocrisy. I hope the next generations allow us to rebuild again, but until then, any of us older aces will probably stay scarred and timid to contribute, unless some very active campaigns happen to try to amend the damage

It all... just sucks. So much. It hurt us more than I think any non-aspec people know

I don't think younger/newer users fully grasp the shit show that ace discourse was around 2014-17

It was so hostile that, to this day, discussions that begin to derail just enough can make me physically nauseous, some specific mockery trigger crying sessions years later. We lost most accounts with any sort of ace positivity. There was no information, no support, and all this damage was done predominantly by other queer people.

All this to say that you, however you identify yourself, should be engaging with aphobic comments the same way you do any hate. We don't sugarcoat or try to be comprehensive with people who are blatantly racist, homophobic or terfs, so why give it a pass just because it's coming from a queer person? I see how this tolerance goes and it's done enough damage as it is.

#long post #asexuality

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barleyo · 2 days ago

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Wax Poetic.

Obsessive! Scandalabra X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: this was 100% just written for myself, i refuse to apologize. scandalabra, the man you are, the things you do to me... it's crazy. special thanks to the lovely @fuckinbanjos for letting me yap about this version of scandy, go check her out. reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

Tags: stalking (?), obsession, slight yandere themes, slight emasculation/force feminization, praise, p in v

Wordcount: 2k

Scandalabra was never one to feel a normal amount of anything towards others. Hate was exacerbated to comic levels. Friendship came with an emphasis on the "forever" part of "friends forever." Love was a different story.

It was possibly why other objects tended to ignore him. Along with the fact that he was a gossiping instigator, he was easily obsessed with those who stuck around him. Whether due to the fact that people rarely chose to be around him, or perhaps because he had attachment issues, he clung to you especially hard.

In his eyes, you were all he had. When the others quickly got tired of his nonsense and dramatics, you fed into it and humored him. You laughed at his scandalous quips at the expense of others.

You made him feel things physically.

You chose him first. In a room full of other people, you would choose him. Despite sleeping around and having your own life outside of the house, you were still there. Your cucking came with equal parts reassurance and love, something he had no idea he needed. Your busy schedule always had an empty slot for him. That was a special feeling for him, one he had never felt before.

So, yes, he loved you, but it was far more than that. It started as love, but obsession and addiction was an eerily slippery slope for Scandalabra. He feared that if you knew about how felt on the inside, you would leave. That's why, once you left for work each day, he stuck to his rigid schedule of sneaking around the house, making sure you wouldn't catch him.

He had certain things he liked to do that he couldn't do while you were home. He feared judgment, especially from you. All he wanted to do was feel closer to you, probably too close, and those perverted little rituals he carried out made him feel like you were still with him.

Scandalabra ran to your bedroom as soon as you left for work, arguably his favorite room in the house—it smelled just like you. Your essence was embedded into the very walls. On a less desperate day, he'd take his time and snoop around your drawers a bit. That was not what type of day he was having, though. He had a list of things to get to, no room for wandering: bed, diary, closet, vanity.

He moved with the cautious haste of an adventurer discovering a new relic site. His eyes traced the room, as if he had not already explored it dozens of times before.

He dropped to his knees next to your bed and ran a flat palm under the frame. He pulled out the black shoebox you kept tucked in the private darkness under the bed, hidden with the dust bunnies and forgotten socks. He had dug through the box many times before, but he always checked it, hoping he would find something new, something fun and exciting that would give him more insight into you.

Sadly, there was nothing new yet. He palmed the small stack of polaroids and aged birthday cards. Memorabilia of a life that didn't include him. He felt a familiar sting in his heart that made him wonder. If you were okay before, living normally without him, would you be okay without him now? He pushed the question down and took the old receipts you kept, reading over them for the umpteenth time.

Next, your diary. He always felt a bit ashamed of this part. He often thought that it was perhaps too private, but then he would give in, and what he read in return made the guilt all the more worth it.

He skimmed through the entries, rereading old ones with equal reverence to recent ones. The way your handwriting looped and curved interested him deeply. He could visualize it now—the anger that flowed through your hands in the sections where the delicate paper had been dimpled too strongly. He could hear your sighs when he read over pages that your pen died on, seeing the quality switch in ink.

Most importantly, he searched for his name in the pages. Any mentioning of himself. He knew you loved him, but to have it on paper, that would be something special. Written proof that his mistress loved him equally, that you thought of him even briefly.

Your diary was mostly trivial recollections of your day. A successful meeting here, an idea that fell through there. Your grievances with the HR Department's director and the stupid paintings in her office. Near the end of the last written page, though, he saw it.

"Scandy has been acting so clingy lately. I wonder why."

He stared at the sentence for a moment or two, lips parted in ecstasy. His tongue prodded at the slight gap in his front teeth, dancing behind them in thought.

You were thinking about him. You spared room for him in your mind. Even if out of concern or suspicion, you were thinking of him! He could work with suspicion. He thrived on suspicion, actually. Suspicion could be his new favorite thing. Anything that you had for him, he'd take.

Including your clothing.

His hand trembled as he slid open the closet door. Your scent was strongest here. Some days he would just skim through your clothing, taking of note of each new piece that popped up in your wardrobe. Simple and tasteful little observations, nothing much. Nothing alarming.

Other days, he would huff the scent of your detergent and perfume off of the garments. Scandalabra snatched a blouse off of its hanger. Warm, soft, velvety—just like your skin when he ran a hand over you. He felt the collar of the shirt, taking it between his index and thumb. He stroked it softly and closed his eyes, imagining the cloth being the back of your gentle hand.

Usually, he would get immersed in your scent and snoop around a bit, then he would be off to the next thing. He had missed you especially so now, stopping wasn't an option.

Just as quickly as he had the thought, he stripped his own shirt off and let it fall to the ground, instead enveloping himself in your shirt. He sighed wistfully as the soft material draped over his form. It looked much better on you than him, but it excited him to be in your clothes. It was just a step away from being in your skin. Not that he wanted that—that would be.. strange. Right, and definitely not something he thought about all the time. Definitely not.

As he buttoned the blouse up, he moved onto the final thing on his list.

He saved the best for last every time. Your vanity. This was the best part of each day, he thought, as he dug through your makeup bag.

Of course, Scandalabra had his own powders and rouge to use, but it wasn't a matter of making himself look pretty. He wanted to feel the dip in the lipstick that the curvature of your pouty mouth left. To taste the trace bits of you left on your chapstick and glosses.

He opened each bottle of foundation and palette you had to offer. He loved to watch as the imprints of your thumb grew deeper in each eyeshadow pan each day, or how the bottles of concealers got lower. Small details that reflected your day.

Your perfumes sat untouched on the vanity, he could still smell the bit you had sprayed earlier. Besides, you would kill him if you found out he had been wasting such expensive fragrances. He was smarter than that, at least. Instead, with greedy hands, he snatched the hairbrush that sat on the countertop. He saw the stray hairs that stuck to the bristles, weaving and curling around the brush. Just as delicate as the hairs on your head. If he focused hard enough, he could smell your shampoo.

It was like you were right behind him. Mostly, because you were.

When you came home early, the last thing you expected was to see your lover boy strung up in your clothes, digging around in your vanity. Confusion was the initial reaction, then slight anger, but once you saw how pretty he looked, how desperate and shameful he was, you couldn't hold anything against him.

Guilt would be eating Scandalabra up if he weren't enjoying himself so much right now. His gentle mistress had yet again proven herself far too forgiving. He snooped around and dug up trouble, and what had you done to him in return?

"You're already so pretty, Scandy," you said between rough, open-mouthed kisses, "y'don't have to go play dress up in my closet. Can't complain, though. You look so good for me."

The lipstick he had greedily applied earlier has bled across his mouth, leaving his cheek with a messy, red stain. His teeth were in no better shape, as your deep kisses left similarly red stains on them as well.

His legs wobbled underneath him. He could barely last under regular circumstances, but with you talking to him like this, teasing him? Playing with him? He could burst at any minute. Not just that, but you were so beautiful. Spread out in front of him, legs wrapped around his waist as you sat atop your vanity. More than beautiful, more than—

"Ah, I've messed it up," you said with a soft sigh, running the pad of your thumb over his bottom lip, eyeing the way the red had leeched over the corner of his lips. "Come."

He paused before leaning forward, closer into your embrace, and inadvertently, your heat.

“You—mmph—you weren’t supposed to see me like this, darling,” he panted, eyes darting between your face and your hands, terrified and thrilled at once. He was knocking on pleasure's door, fearful of ecstasy answering too early.

"What, see you all dolled up in my clothes and makeup? Well, it isn't what I expected, that's certain."

He shifted under the weight of your words, suddenly feeling very out of place. Your approval was his goal, and although terribly embarrassed, he still meant to meet that goal.

"You must understand," Scandalabra attempted to defend himself before you shushed him and rolled your hips forward, teasing him with an whisper of friction, "I—"

"You what?" Again, another stiff roll, watching as his eyes blew wide. "Look at you, love. What would everyone say if they saw you like this? Fucked dumb and dressed in women's clothing? Covered in lipstick stains and perfume?"

His chest heaved with each word, the silken fabric of your blouse clung to his sweat soaked body. It fit poorly and the buttons were maladjusted, but he had never worn anything that made him more comfortable.

With a rather cruel grin, you twisted the tube of red and gripped his jaw, not roughly, but enough to tilt his head up to look at you.

"Hold still."

You painted his lips with care and tenderness, watching as the smeared color got a new, vibrant coat. You shifted slight, angling your body so that he could see himself in the mirror behind you.

Awestruck. He looked like he had been attacked by a devil, then kissed by an angel. In a way, he had.

"You're perfect," you said, thumb stroking his jaw.

He hummed, eyes glossy as they looked up at you. "And yours."

"And if you ever go behind my back again to go through my things, I'll properly punish you."

With a shiver, he nodded.

He hoped dearly that you'd come home early again and catch him, so you could make good on that real punishment.

#date everything x reader #scandalabra x reader #date everything scandalabra #scandalabra date everything #date everything smut #date everything #x reader #smutfic #barlabra

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calcifiedunderland · 2 days ago

Note

hey so how do you think the octo dorm boys and Ruggie would deal with a reader who grew up on some rough streets in a kingdom/city there’s gangs and men selling snakeoil constantly there.. This reader is overall nice, just wants to have peace and fun, but if Floyd threatens to squeeze this reader all threatening, this readers just like “Do it! Bitch! We’ll see who ends up in the medical bay!” With zero fear, staring Floyd down. (Ruggie attempts to pick pocket this reader, grabs his hand, and reader ruffles his hair, “awe that’s cute you thought you could steal from me. A for effort”)?

💌Request received! Thank you for your message~

I’m having fun with these headcanon requests lol 🥰 enjoy!!

Ruggie Bucchi

💛For whatever reason, Ruggie got a different vibe from you. Like you knew more than you were letting on. You were still really sweet and kind to everyone, so he just brushed it off. After all, it was unusual for NRC students to be as kind as you for nothing in return.

💛Ruggie got the feeling you and him weren’t too far off from each other. You didn’t always talk about your past, growing up on rougher streets and dealing with schemers.

💛At some point, he’d taken to gently teasing you. And old habits did die hard. He saw you with your wallet in your back pocket, nearly about to fall out, and he grinned. You hadn’t even noticed him either. He’d just nick it and replace the money later~… or so he’d thought.

“I know your games, Ruggie.”

He stopped, feigning wide-eyed confusion. “Huh? What do you mean, Prefect?” Your wallet was now tucked into his back pocket, perfectly concealed by his oversized blazer. You had no idea he was there. He’d made no sound.

You clicked your tongue, angling your head to the side softly. “Aww~” you strode up to Ruggie, reaching behind and plucking your wallet from his back pocket. You then reached up and ruffled his hair.

You smiled at Ruggie, but a chill went down his spine. Your eyes were icy as you stalked up to him, hands still clutching your wallet. “It’s cute you think you can steal from me~”

You ruffled his hair, watching him grimace and fix it as he watched you go. You looked over your shoulder, waving your wallet with a hint of mischief in your eyes, “A for the effort though~ It was good for your first try!”

Azul Ashengrotto

💙To Azul, you’re not a major threat. Sure, you may have a lot of friends and connections on campus, but you have a kind disposition and no magic at all. He figures that, since you have no bark nor bite, you probably need others to defend you. Surely he could help you there~

💙He had Jade and Floyd look into your background discreetly. When they discovered that you’d grown up on rough streets, dealing with gangs and dubious sellers, he didn’t fully believe it at first.

💙That all changed when he made the mistake of trying to swindle you into a deal. He messed with the wrong person…

Azul smiled at you, “this is beneficial to both of us. You’ll be running errands here and there, and getting paid. Simple as that.”

Azul had managed to stop you as you were scampering around the school on some errand. It was just you and him alone. You watched Azul with wide eyes as he held the golden contract closer to you, smirking. “Perhaps I could even offer you more benefits if you’d agree to be an anemone~”

You, on the other hand, seethed. You were tired of being swindled by this half-rate takoyaki. A scary look came on your face, and for a moment Azul’s eyes widened. “You just don’t know when to quit, huh?”

You leaned in close to Azul, and he shrank back a bit. “You’d better not mess with me anymore! Thought you learned back then, but if you want more, then I’ll give you more!” Azul blinked rapidly before composing himself. He’d never expected you to react like this. Perhaps you weren’t just bark and no bite.

You glared at him before walking off in a huff. For a moment, Azul observed you with a curious look in his eye, before smirking. He pushed up his glasses, a new plan rapidly forming in his head. He called after you, “Prefect, perhaps we can discuss this further!”

Jade Leech

💙You knew Jade Leech was a schemer from the moment you saw him. You kept that thought to yourself though, but you just continued to intrigue him the more time went on.

💙You weren’t particularly combative or imposing, Jade mused, but you were resourceful. He’d quietly watched you get out of scrapes and scuffles by simply avoiding any funny business, and somehow you smoothly dodged any of his attempts to fluster you. Oh, you were a fun little shrimp indeed~

💙While collecting information for Azul, he’d managed to corner you in the Botanical Gardens. He tried to fluster you, teasingly taking your notebook and holding it out of reach. He grinned down at you, mismatched eyes glinting. What would you do now?

Jade fully expected you to curl in on yourself, blinking your lashes up at him in a flustered state. You merely leaned in, tilting your head up in challenge.

“You wanna go toe to toe with me?” You straightened yourself up, getting in Jade’s face just like he was getting in yours. He was surprised (and sadistically delighted) to see the fire in your eyes.

“You wanna try something with me,” you seethed, a on your last nerve because so help you, you were exhausted, “then we’ll see who ends up in the medical bay.” You stared down Jade.

He backed off, still smiling charmingly. “I see,” he said, eyes glinting as he watched you frown in confusion. “Huh?” He hummed, “here you are. I hope to see you soon, Prefect.” Jade had a mysterious look on his face as he handed you back your notebook, turning and walking out of the greenhouse. His grin only widened, heart thumping. This was intriguing.

Floyd Leech

💙Floyd doesn’t really think too much of you at first. Usually you’re just normal, bubbly, boring Shrimpy who tries to make everyone get along. It’s fun watching you try to keep the peace between everyone.

💙Floyd’s interest eventually piqued when he saw you take on some guys who were trying to mess with you. Does Shrimpy have a secret bossy side?

💙Try as he might, Floyd could never get you to show that side to him. He’d mess with you, poke you, but you usually took it in stride. Until he managed to choose the wrong day.

You were this close to throwing someone out of a window.

You’d been given a boatload of tasks by Crowley, who’d gone missing hours ago, not to mention you had to dig Grim, Ace, and Deuce out of more trouble. You were at your wits end, and now you had to deal with a giddy Floyd who wouldn’t leave you alone.

“Shrimpy~ you’re no fun! You’re so boring lately.” Floyd loomed closer to you. He had a crazed look in his eyes, “maybe I oughta give ya a lil squeeze~” he expected you to shrink back, maybe even plead with him.

He was shocked (but honestly delighted) when you got in his face. “Do it, Leech! We’ll see who ends up in the medical bay!” You looked him dead in the eye, your own face looking as crazed as him.

Floyd just stared at you. Onlookers slowly backed away, no one who yelled at Floyd normally walked away without a bruise at least. They didnt expect Floyd to throw his head back in laughter as you stomped away, grumbling. He trotted after you, still giggling, “Shrimpy! I knew you weren’t boring after all!”

I couldn’t bring myself to be mean to Ruggie I’m ngl. Giving the octotrio a taste of their own medicine is fine any day tho 🥰 Anyway thanks for reading!!! I’m working through the requests fic by fic, I’m hoping to finish them all up soon!! Xoxo Calci~

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thatknifeanon · 1 day ago

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yearning today so doing this :] ty for the tag

1. ideal date location?

lakeside. We feed the ducks (not bread, grain and seeds and proper food for them) take a walk, talk, maybe a picnic by the water?

2. favorite mlm song?

heather

3. what makes you feel loved?

accommodating to me. I know it’s stupid and just the bare minimum, but not just for big things. Like, if I had to sit next to an old guy who I didn’t like, he would switch seats with me

4. are you single or taken?

utterly, hopelessly single

5. how many crushes have you had?

to many to count

6. what's your type?

tall and lanky, fluffy hair, glasses, cute smile, outgoing but nerdy, hoodies I can steal

short and shy, fluffy hair, passionate about his interests, black cat energy

7. do you develop crushes quickly?

so quickly dude. This is a girl but once I was just chilling at theater and this girl needed to ask someone something and then she turned around anD STARTED SPEACKING FLUEBT RUSSIAN. I ALMOST FELL OVER. LOVE AT FIRST… sound? Idk

8. best show or movie for a date night at home?

>:) something scary that gives us an excuse to cuddle

9. what are your favorite flowers?

California poppies. For a bouquet… this is really stupid but all the schools I’ve went to have this edible spicy flower…

10. what would you give as a gift on an anniversary?

pack the day full (if they’re comfortable with that) make them a present and a card. If we went to the lake also buy them a little duck figurine.

11. what's your favorite album?

godddd… maybe rise and fall of a midwestern princess (that’s a mouthful)

12. what's your love language?

gift giving

13. what are some pet names that make you blush?

anything I get easily flustered. I would say anything but babe because my dad? Calls me babe sometimes? Idk man he’s just funky like that

14. do you read fanfiction?

I would say less read and more consume like a ravenous wild beast

15. any fictional crushes?

soo many rn it’s Kieran pokemon and Jax tadc

16. loud boys or quiet boys?

both?

17. any characters you headcanon as mlm?

Glenn and Troy from theater camp are soo gay for eachother I will die on this hill

18. what's your comfort food?

my moms chili cheese dip :] in general probably pizza (basic basic Ik)

19. last song you listened to?

Jessie’s girl

20. best compliment you ever received?

not meant to be a compliment but “omg you look like a guy 👀” thanks

21. kiss on the lips, cheek or forehead?

foreheadddd

22. scalp massage or back massage?

back. I have scoliosis and my back never stops hurting. (Also my backpack is 20 pounds but shhh we don’t talk about that)

23. any celebrity crushes?

Timothee Chalamet 😔 (his old look with the fluffy hair)

24. what's your guilty pleasure?

I don’t really know… maybe making more gay jokes around my straight friends? Idk it’s fun to see them squirm >:3

25. do you like PDA?

yess show me you’re not afraid to like me and to let people know that

26. how do you prefer to be comforted?

hugs :)

27. favorite way to express affection?

gift giving yeah, or just complimenting them. I compliment people all the time (yes it’s over anon often shut up tho)

28. big spoon or little spoon?

idrc I could do either. I would do big spoon but I’m too fucking short 😭😭😭

29. freebie! ask or prompt to share something random

I love men so much man 😭😭😭

mlm ask game!

1. ideal date location?

2. favorite mlm song?

3. what makes you feel loved?

4. are you single or taken?

5. how many crushes have you had?

6. what's your type?

7. do you develop crushes quickly?

8. best show or movie for a date night at home?

9. what are your favorite flowers?

10. what would you give as a gift on an anniversary?

11. what's your favorite album?

12. what's your love language?

13. what are some pet names that make you blush?

14. do you read fanfiction?

15. any fictional crushes?

16. loud boys or quiet boys?

17. any characters you headcanon as mlm?

18. what's your comfort food?

19. last song you listened to?

20. best compliment you ever received?

21. kiss on the lips, cheek or forehead?

22. scalp massage or back massage?

23. any celebrity crushes?

24. what's your guilty pleasure?

25. do you like PDA?

26. how do you prefer to be comforted?

27. favorite way to express affection?

28. big spoon or little spoon?

29. freebie! ask or prompt to share something random

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noctiva · 3 days ago

Note

I just keep imagining us stalking the boys after they break up with us, wondering how they'd react to finding out

ooooooh fun!

Toby:

Folds almost immediately

Toby has crazy attachment issues, to the point where regardless of what you did that prompted him to end it with you, he’ll still find himself regretting it after the fact. Asking himself if he did the right thing. Trying to cope, but failing miserably. Not having you around feels like missing a limb.

He’d spend weeks thinking about you. Wondering where you are, who you’re with, if you’ve moved on, if you’re hurting like he is. He’s still in love with you, he probably always will be, and he does a horrible job of convincing himself that he’s not. He probably catches you because he cracked one day and decided to try and hunt you down. You run into each other like two frightened deer - and it’s just so difficult to try and stay strong when he sees your face again - when he realizes just what you had been doing.

“You… You really m-missed me, huh?”

Jack:

Not amused.

Jack broke up with you for a reason, and he truly genuinely believes that he made the right decision - no matter how much it aches within his chest. He wasn’t right for you. Wasn’t made for you. Wasn’t made for anyone. He couldn’t ever give you the life you deserved.

So… When he finds out.. First off, stalking Jack isn’t easy. He probably finds you out on the first day. He could track your scent from a mile away. At first, he thinks it might just be your essence lingering around his home - but he knows it’s too strong for that. He tracks you down, corners you, and dismisses you with a coldness that just barely disguises the pain lurking underneath.

“Go home. You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

Brian:

He’s both annoyed and amused.

Brian broke up with you because he just didn’t want to be in a relationship anymore. Didn’t want the baggage, the obligations, the expectations. He just didn’t believe that it lined up with how he lived his life. He didn’t hate you, nothing of the sort, he just… Couldn’t be there for you, mentally, the way you would’ve needed.

He catches you because that’s what he does. He’s the stalker. He’s the shadow that lurks. What you’re doing seems amateur. Childish. He laughs when he first catches you. He doesn’t fold, he doesn’t break, he just waves you off with a half-hearted smirk.

“You’re kiddin’, right? Don’t do this, darlin’. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Tim:

Absolutely heartbroken

Tim left you for a very similar reason to Jack. He truly believes that you would live an exponentially better life if he wasn’t a part of it. He brings too much gore, too much danger to a life as untainted as yours. He was the stain on your otherwise perfect record. He wants nothing more than for you to try and erase him.

So to find out you’re stalking him? Clinging onto him? It kills him. Wrecks him to know he’s left such an impact on you. He tried to break it off cleanly, tried to just up and disappear from your life - but you weren’t letting that happen. It killed him. He will plead with you.

“Please. This - me - is not what you need. You know that, don’t you? You can’t do this to yourself.”

Cody:

Completely caught off guard.

Cody never expected something like this. Sure, he had been kind of an asshole when you guys broke up, but he never expected you to be so attached you started stalking him. It feels strange, foreign to have someone so… obsessed with him. It feels like an itch crawling under his skin. The worst part is that he does miss you, and you’re just making this so, so much harder

He’d catch you because of carelessness. Cody is adept, observant - he notices things most others wouldn’t. Like a few strands of your hair lingering around his lab that he knows weren’t there a few days ago. He waits. Sees how long you’ll keep at it, and when you don’t stop? He cracks, confronting you with a quivering frown on his lips. Trying to understand you.

“What are you doing? Shouldn’t you have moved on by now?”

Habit:

Pissed right tf off

So, as i said in a previous list, Habit wouldn’t break up with you - he’d just kill you. So, in order for any of this to happen, you’d have to be a ghost. And boy, would that fact sink under his skin the moment he realizes what’s going on. Because you’re kidding, right? He killed you. Watched the life drain from your eyes, and you’re just… Back. It feels like a sick joke.

He’ll dismiss you. Ignore you. Pretend that you don’t exist, and that he’s just going crazy. Keep a strong face no matter what you do to him. But… Only for so long, eventually he can’t take it anymore and he’s cracking - lashing out like a cornered animal.

“You’re kidding, right? You’re dead. Done. Are you really going to keep clinging on just to torment me? That makes you worse than me, y’know.”

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iqxatlantic · 1 day ago

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ft. shidou ryusei . birthdays . ok hes subby too kinda . is he ooc? . yeah probably . gn! reader . implied afab! reader . fluff . imagines . drabbles . i don't even know at this point . established relationships . unreliable narrator . not proofread .

shidou has so much love for you, so much that it was practically TRAGIC. this man would cling onto you like leech whenever you had to do something productive with your life. not that you cared, it's shidou. you'd just slowly pry him away and get your work done.

so on july 7th, shidou woke up, turning to his side, ready to bombard you with kisses. next to him was air — your place was empty. "what the fuck?" he'd whisper to himself, "there goes my baaaby..." he'd sing.

he rolled around in bed — because he could. though he was upset his partner wasn't in bed with him, he wasn't really complaining. after minutes of stalling, he got up. walking towards the balcony door and slamming the door open. he walked out, the sun itself for sure feared his presence.

i mean — he's literally radiating. soaking in the sunlight for a bit, he took in a deep breath, shidou yelled, "IT'S MY FUCKING BIRTHDAY AHH! another year of being an absolute blessing to the world!" the crickets were silenced. the birds were gone, no where in sight. it was as if a mass population wipe happened.

for a moment, shidou felt a wince of pain. EVEN THE ANIMALS LEFT. but, to be fair he's just so... charismatic that the animals were afraid to be graced by his presence..!

the eccentric man got dressed and headed down the stairs. nothing. oh. maybe a pang of pain hit him. (realistically speaking i guarantee you it was a whole brick wall) "well fuck," he shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "it is what it is, i being myself is the biggest birthday gift..."

this man is ALLERGIC to doubting whatever is going on. modern day founding father of assumption i guess. shidou just accepted the fact everyone forgot and called it a day. which is odd because he would NOT be afraid to rub it in people's faces.

yeah, that accepting facade was quickly shattered the moment you came back. he was like a little puppy that was waiting politely (ahem he was rabid af??)

"[name]! you're back! you didn't forget about me, right..? riiiight?" he excitedly pressed. you demanded him to dress up nicer and he agreed with a snap of a finger.

dragging him by the ear into the car, you two finally made it to your destination. A CLUB? "pfft, a club? with hookers? honey, i already have yo- oh okay," shidou folded immediately.

into the club you two went and oh — oh my gods. there was a whole room DEDICATED for his birthday. with a fat golden happy birthday ribbon taped onto the walls, colourful flashing light. sae. rin. his rivals. his team members. at this point shidou was just in awe. how the hellyante did you get his rivals to join? that is a question no one is bothering to answer. (you're just that good!)

"happy birthday, ryusei!" everyone cheered in unison. tears pricked his eyes as he raised his hands to cover his mouth. turning towards you, he swooped you into a kiss before you could even react.

"best birthday ever," he smiled with such a childish demeanour you felt so healed.

— ©iqxatlantic / isaisliterallyhim, 2025

tags ! : @shidoglazer (because its shidou ok </3)

a/n : had to write for my twin honestly #inshidouwet(h)rust! i dont even think any of this make sense wtf is this mischaracterization maybe don't jump me let a girl have fun 😔

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felixfrecklesandhoneyjisung · 2 days ago

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The Grand Counselor (SKZ OT8 x reader)

You are the Grand Counselor to the Emperor, and when His Imperial Majesty sends you to The Levanter -- the most famous pleasure house in the Empire -- you are not prepared for what awaits you with the eight beautiful men you meet...

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Soooooo this was meant to be my 1k event and I'm not quite there yet, but I wanted to post a little preview to gauge interest in the idea.

I haven't included my taglist because this is a bit different to my usual content and I wasn't sure if people would like it, but if there's enough interest and I go ahead with the idea I'll start a separate taglist for this fic.

WARNINGS: This preview does not contain sexual content but the series itself will be explicitly NSFW. I will list individual warnings/kinks in each chapter.

Will be written as fem!reader but no physical traits will be specified e.g eye colour, hair colour etc.

On a final note, if this fic is not for you that's absolutely fine but I will not be engaging with any hate comments. This is literally a reader insert kpop fic lol I'm not interested in historical accuracy and this fic is not set in the real world or meant to represent any real places or periods. This is also not a real representation of SKZ. Nothing to see here but some good old delulu fun.

There were eight doors in front of you, and behind each was one of the Empire's finest courtesans.

"It is an honour to welcome you to The Levanter, Your Excellency," the Madam of the pleasure house had greeted when you first arrived, stepping through the elaborate entrance bracketed by jade pillars.

The Levanter was one of the most exclusive establishments in the district, if not the entire Empire. Even the richest nobles choked at the price of a night here, and as such the clientele was predominantly restricted to the inner circle of the Imperial Palace, such as yourself.

"His Imperial Majesty sends his regards," you replied politely.

The Madam dropped into a respectful bow then opened her arm towards a hallway on the right. "Please, come with me."

You followed her into a small room where a table had been prepared with sweet-smelling tea. Nodding to your two bodyguards to wait outside, you took a seat on the plush carpet opposite the Madam while she set about pouring you a cup from the steaming teapot.

Years of practice had taught you how to maintain composure in uncomfortable situations, but those situations tended to be heated negotiations with war councils and neighbouring monarchs -- not pleasantries with brothel owners -- and you were out of your depth.

You were the Emperor's Grand Counselor, second only to His Imperial Majesty in terms of power and influence. Strictly speaking that should have meant you could have anything you wanted, but in reality it meant you had the world's most demanding job. A job which left little room for anything else.

You had laughed when His Imperial Majesty suggested sending you to The Levanter because you had been "working too hard lately" (you were probably the only person who could laugh in the Emperor's face and not be marched to the guillotine). It was only when he made it clear that it was not a suggestion and all the arrangements had already been made that your smile quickly disappeared.

The Madam pushed a cup of hot tea towards you. "Now, as I'm sure you're aware, Your Excellency," she began. "The Levanter is somewhat different to other establishments."

That's putting it mildly you thought.

"While it is common for pleasure houses to have dozens of courtesans, we have only eight. I guarantee you will not find their match for talent or beauty anywhere in the Empire."

"I have no doubt," you answered, taking a sip from your cup.

"His Imperial Majesty has generously paid for you to spend a night with each of them."

You spat out your tea.

The corner of the Madam's lips twitched, suppressing a grin. "You may be interested to know that no-one has ever had the opportunity to do so before."

Of course they fucking haven't. The cost of one night at The Levanter was more than most people's income for an entire year -- paying it eight times was unheard of.

"His Majesty is certainly... generous," you said carefully. "But I assure you one night will be quite satisfactory."

"Nonsense, Your Excellency!" the Madam exclaimed. "It's all arranged, and the courtesans are keen to meet you."

It was rare for the Grand Counselor to be left speechless, but you found yourself grappling for excuses and coming up with nothing. You knew it was pointless. No-one refused the Emperor. If you tried he would only send you back here again.

The Madam slid open a drawer and withdrew a carved mahogany box, placing it on the table. She lifted the lid and one by one extracted eight bronze keys with different coloured ribbons tied to them. The keys were laid out in front of you and your heart began to pick up speed.

"Before we go any further, Your Excellency, you should know..." The Madam's face remained polite, but there was a hard edge to her voice now. "We do not tolerate abuse of any kind here. The safety of our courtesans is paramount, and they reserve the right to refuse to spend a night with a client. No matter who they are."

You were taken aback by the statement. One of the main reasons you had never visited a pleasure house before now was the notoriously poor treatment of courtesans. You had certainly never heard of a courtesan being able to refuse a paying client, but suddenly your opinion of The Levanter improved drastically.

"Of course," you said. "I must say I'm impressed at the principles you operate with."

"The Madam smiled.

"Now then, it is time to choose your partner for this evening."

All the moisture in your throat evaporated and you felt like you were sucking air through a straw. You were no virgin, but this was different. You were accustomed to always being in control, and now you had veered sharply into unknown territory.

"I can summon them and introduce them in person so that you may see which of them captures your interest the most. Or if you prefer to tell me a little about your preferences I would be happy to suggest--"

"Ah! That won't be necessary!"

The thought of explaining your sexual preferences to a total stranger (where your bodyguards could definitely overhear on the other side of the door) was more than you could handle. Besides, you had a tendency to overthink. It was a crucial element of your job -- the fate of the Empire depended on your good judgement -- but the whole point of being here was that you needed to stop thinking so much.

"If I'm to spend a night with each of them surely it doesn't matter who I meet first," you reasoned.

You glanced down at the selection of keys, glinting under the flickering lanterns. Daring you to choose.

They were identical apart from the ribbons: green, blue, yellow, purple, red, pink, orange, and black. Your hand hovered above them for a moment before impulsively picking up the red key.

"A fine choice," the Madam nodded approvingly. "He is one of our most sought-after courtesans. Several clients who spent a single night with him declared their undying love and begged him to run away with them." She chuckled to herself. "As of yet, no-one has succeeded in winning his heart."

This didn't surprise you. Allegedly the clients of The Levanter were known as Stays because once they visited they never wanted to leave.

You followed the Madam back to the main foyer, clutching the red key in your hand. You were still a little uneasy, though less so than when you first arrived, but you had to admit your nerves were now tempered with excitement. You were intrigued to meet the man who had left so many broken hearts in his wake, and curious to discover what talents had ignited such intense passion in his former clients...

"You will find him on the top floor," the Madam directed, indicating the sweeping staircase before you.

Your bodyguards made to follow you upstairs, but you instructed them to stay put. The last thing you wanted was an audience.

You bowed to the Madam. "Thank you for your assistance."

"My pleasure, Your Excellency."

You turned to begin climbing the stairs, but you could hear the wry smile in the old woman's voice when she spoke again.

"I hope your evening is most satisfactory."

And now here you were, on the top floor of The Levanter, with one key in your hand and eight doors in front of you.

The doors were also identical, but there were matching ribbons tied to each handle. The red door was at the far end of the long corridor and you were overly aware of the sound of your footsteps as you walked towards it.

Could he hear you approach? Was he also nervous, or excited? Fuck. It had been so long since you'd been with anyone, you were probably rusty. What if you bored him? What if he didn't like you and it was all horrendously awkward and this entire thing was a mistake and would the guillotine really be so bad--

Stop you scolded yourself. Don't think for once. Just let go.

Forcing a deep breath into your lungs, you fitted the key into the lock, turned it with a soft click, and pushed the door open...

Please like/comment/reblog if you enjoyed this or would be interested in a full series! Thank you 💜

Dividers by @cafekitsune

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l0v3-qu4rtz · 2 days ago

Text

Foxy

Pairing: Girlf!Reader x Spencer Reid

Summary: Early planning leads to a very fun surprise.

Disclaimer: sexy animal costume alert !! SMUT 18+ MDNI RAUNCHY Oral sex (M and F receiving), face fucking, Spit play (because duh), groping, light spanking, hair pulling, unprotected piv, Spencer is horny and rough, creampie, (not proofread) let me know if i missed anything :b

A/N: "Stephanie ? What is this ?? It's not Halloween ? It's still summer !!" Yea ik but my mind is in Halloween so it basically is. I based this on the fact that I'm already planning my costume and yes i did insert a description of a costume I found and yes this is the most random fic ever lmao.

Spencer was an absolute horndog when it came to your costumes for halloween. And that was no different this year.. well maybe slightly. Maybe it was a little too early to be planning for Halloween, but you knew you would be busy around the time and wanted to be safe rather than sorry. Spending most free time off work scouring through all sorts of categories; angel, police woman, princesses, all the usual ones that came out around this time. None were catching your eyes til you stumbled into probably the most basic category for Halloween costumes: Animals.

Maybe it's boring and basic to be some sort of animal but the costumes were cuter than most tight, basic print ones you were finding. They were fuzzy and played with silhouettes, more decorative and that's exactly what you were looking for. There were the usual suspects in this category that have been played to death; cat, dog, bunny, fox, wolf- wait fox ? You stopped scrolling as soon as your eyes landed on it.

Big fuzzy orange and white fur, tight in all the right places, played with the silhouette in the form of big leg warmers and gloves that could be used as rugs for a mansion. It was perfect, you didn't know exactly what you were looking for but now you were sure this is the one. Scrambling for your card, you immediately put the order in then you realized, "Fuck, it's like months before Halloween.. maybe i should wait a little more.. whatever" you shrug "I'll just put it in my closet til it's time" and with that thought you clicked the big bright blue "buy now".

Spencer is exhausted after this recent case, all those long nights in the police prescient with coffee from beans that were at least a year expired really did a number on him this time. He felt like every single weight in the weight was on his shoulder and filled his satchel. He knew you were more likely in his apartment because that's what you liked doing, being in his spaces when he was away to feel closer to him but right now he needed to feel closer to you. Barely any texts over this past week, that's how laser focused he was on the case and how he regretted it. He missed you so much and wanted nothing more than to sleep for days with you right next to him.

Conveniently, the costume arrived a day before Spencer was supposed to get back (key words: supposed to). You got it delivered to his apartment since you spend more time there than your own apartment. You enjoy his book infested space more sometimes. Currently, you were trying on the costume and finicking with the straps on the back of the costume. You already had most of it on but the straps decided to be a big pain in the ass all of the sudden. You breathed a sigh of relief as you finally got it on, your arms feeling sore from reaching behind you for what felt like an hour.

You only glance at yourself in the mirror before you hear something land on the bed. You turn around to see Spencer, awestruck by you. If he wasn't alert before entering his apartment, he sure as hell is now. He's breathless and can feel his pants getting tighter, the soft big fur mixed with your soft skin is enough to put him in a coma. "I got my costume a little early.." you explain shyly but before you could say more, Spencer's already hot on his heels towards you.

Pushing you back and placing his hands immediately on your hips, he slams his lips against you. You're caught off guard but reciprocate immediately, wrapping your arms around his neck. He's pushing against you hard and walks you back towards a wall. Before you can even blink, you're on your knees with Spencer's cock deep down your throat. His hand is in your hair, guiding your head back and forth on his length. Your hands on his thighs and you feel drool already dripping down on your chin.

You're moaning around his length, sending vibrations through his cock and making his head lean back in pleasure. He grips the back of your hair and pushes your head down until your nose is touching the base before he lets go for you to breathe. He tilts your head up to get a good look at you; your hair messy, face flushed and saliva all over your lips and chin. "You're so good baby, so good for me. So pretty.." he says while he admires you. You grab his length and begin stroking before placing your mouth back on it.

He moves any hair out of your face as you begin sucking him again, faster this time. He groans as he feels himself close to cumming, placing a hand against the wall as he grabs the back of your head and begins thrusting. Hes desperate to finish, cursing and thrusting faster than you were sucking. You gag around him and tears prickle in your eyes, you claw at his thighs as he fucking your throat. He finally cums and pushes you head down, filling your throat with his cum.

You pull away, swallowing most of it but coughing while gasping for air. You look up at him, sitting up on your knees. "Are you okay ?" He asks softly, smoothing out the back of your hair that's very tangled at this point. You nod, biting your lip. He grabs your chin with his fingers, tilting your face upwards to him. Parting your lips and sticking your tongue out, Spencer immediately understands your request, gathering saliva in his mouth and spitting it in your mouth. Most of it lands in your mouth with only some of it landing on your lips and cheek.

He helps you stand up and pushes you softly against the wall. You place your hands flat against the wall as he pulls up your fluffy skirt, groping your ass and pressing against you. He buries his face in your neck, kissing and biting. His hands run back up your sides and pull your lower half against his, making you grind on him. You lay the side of your face against the wall and feel him slide your panties down your legs.

You mewl as you feel his lips up your legs, kissing up your thighs and his hands back on your ass. He buries his face between your thighs and begins to lick. He tries to retain some self control but he can't help it when you smell and taste like heaven. His hands grip on the front of your thighs and pull you back as he begins eating like he's starving. His face is shoved into you and you are gasping, already feeling close as he sucks on your clit.

You close your eyes, moaning out his name and pushing back on to him. You arch your back as you get closer and closer to cumming, humping back into him. You twist your body back to look at him and thread your fingers in his hair. His blunt nails sink into the skin of your thighs. You push and buck your hips, feeling the knot in your stomach untie. You moan out, long drawn and sinful. Your legs lock up and shake, your nails dragging along the wall.

He moans, the vibrations causing you to shake from overstimulation. He drinks you up and stands up, dragging his hands up to your ass. He squeezes then slaps, making you yelp and moan. His other hand slides up your back, threading his fingers into the back of your hair from the nape of your neck before pulling. You gasp at the feeling. "Do you like that, baby ?" He asks softly, the tone a stark contrast to what he's doing to your body.

He lines himself up, both of you practically dripping and before you can answer his question, he slams into you. Using the mixture of cum and saliva dripping down your legs as a lube to slide so easily into you. The stretch makes your back arch and you moan loudly. It sucks for Spencer to live in an apartment because he's going to deal with a lot of noise complaints after this but he does not care right now.

He begins fast and he does not show mercy. Each thrust slamming into your ass. Your eyes roll back and you bite your lip to stifle any moans but your silence is meant with a hard tug on your hair. The pain makes your mouth fall open and a wave of curses, moans, whimpers spills out your lips. "Please, baby, oh my god.. I'm so close" you beg and claw at the wall as you feel another climax fast approaching.

Upon hearing your pleas, he takes his hand out of your hair and places them on the sides of your hips. His pace becomes faster, if that's even possible. His moans sync with yours, both of you growing louder as it gets more rough. He grips your hips so hard, you can already feel the bruises form. You throw your head back as you cum loudly, you feel high like you just took a hit of the best drug to exist. Spencer follows suit, slamming into you a few more times before he finishes inside you. Leaning forward against you as his hips shutter and he rides out his high slowly before stopping.

He's pressed against your back, his hands on your stomach before he wraps his arms around you. He pulls out and you both just stand there for a moment. You lean your head back against his shoulder as you straighten your back against him. "Are you okay ?" He asks softly, leaving soft kisses on your neck and cheek. Giggling at the ticklish feeling, you reassure him you're fine and you both head to the bathroom to get cleaned. Well he leads you, your legs feel like jelly in the best way possible. You're now 100% you found the right costume, you can only imagine how intense he's gonna react when he sees you fully ready for some late night action.

Masterlist

#spencer reid #criminal minds #i love spencer reid #mgg #dr spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #dr reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencerreid #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction

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belowablue · 2 days ago

Text

Heartbreaker - James Potter x Reader

Angst warning! This idea came to me out of the blue yesterday, enjoy <3. 3.1k

TW choking- consensual

MDNI

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

Out of all the boys in his year Sirius Black had probably shagged the most girls. James Potter was a close second to that title.

The pair would go around admiring each girl and what she had to offer. Of course, to be admired by either of them was a huge morale boost in itself and that girl quickly became the envy of those around her. Then, they would make a list of who they would most like to shag based on these qualities. Simple stuff really.

That list was legendary. No one ever saw it except for those two, and Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew of course. But the speculation surrounding it was gossip enough. Who was at the top? God, most girls would tear their hair out to know. Was it Lacey from Hufflepuff, who claimed to have the biggest rack in the whole school? Or Rachel, the Ravenclaw said to give the best head by all the boys she slept with. Whispers swirled and rumours ran rampant over who claimed the title of ‘hottest girl in school’.

But, a juicer topic of conversation still was, who was at the bottom?

One afternoon James and Sirius were mucking about in the dorm, ostensibly tidying but actually making careful additions and subtractions to their precious list.

“Is she still at the bottom?” Asked Sirius, glancing at the name crammed onto the end of the parchment.

James nodded absentmindedly, trying to decide whose hair he liked better out of two girls he slept with last week.

Sirius hummed, the cogs in his head turning. When was the last time they’d done something really fun? A slow, devious grin spread across his face.

“Say James,” He said casually, stretching out beside the boy, “I’ll give you twenty five galleons to fuck her.”

James head shot up, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Who, her?” He questioned, looking at the writing. “Nah mate.”

Sirius’ face fell. He was just about to complain about how boring James was when,-

“I’d need at least fifty or it’s not worth it. If I’m going to stoop that low I need adequate compensation.”

Sirius smiled widely, reaching up to shake James’ hand.

“You’re on.”

And the game was afoot.

James knew he couldn’t just approach you straight up and suggest a quick broom cupboard romp, you’d never say yes. It was one of the reasons you were down there in the first place, you were so boring. Or at least, that’s what they thought of you.

James didn’t know much about you either, which didn’t help. Still, he was almost sure he’d conquered harder battles. Almost.

He started easily, finding you concealed between bookshelves in the library. Curled up on a window seat, book in hand, a steaming cup of tea within arms reach, you were the picture of safety. Domestic bliss. It was up to him to break that.

But he could’t be obvious. There was a good chance you’d guess what his intentions were anyway, his reputation preceded him, but maybe he could at least convince you he was doing it because he actually liked you.

So, he strolled confusedly along the little alley, staring at the books, pretending not to have noticed you. He tried to act like he didn’t know which book to pick and then you’d help him out and boom! Conversation started. Except he was wondering for quite a long time, because you didn’t look up. Either you were too shy, too engrossed in your book or maybe you actually hadn’t noticed him. Whatever the reason, his plan didn’t work. Now he had to think on his feet.

Stumbling down, he accidentally-on-purpose knocked over your tea, soaking the cushions around you.

“Oh!” There it was.

James started apologising profusely, whipping out his handkerchief to try and mop up some of the hot liquid. You’d jumped up to avoid getting any on your clothes, and in doing so, ended up rather close to him. Perfect

James spun you around by your shoulders so you were face to face, mere inches away from each other. Staring into your eyes, he started apologising again.

“I’m so sorry darling. Please, I just wasn’t watching where I was going and I didn’t notice your tea there, please, please, I’m so sorry I’ll-“

You cut him off gently.

“It’s okay,” You smiled weakly up at him, “No harm done.”

James only redoubled his efforts.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, a burn is nothing to downplay, let me take you to Madam Pomfrey, or at least get you another cup hmm?”

You shook your head, denying him both things.

“I’m alright James, really. Though Madam Pince might not be once she sees the state of her cushions.”

With a flourish, James produced his want from his robes.

“Never fear,” He said and bent down, siphoning the tea stain off the cushions with the tip of his wand.

You were mildly impressed. That wasn’t just run-of-the-mill magic.

When James turned around, you were smiling at him. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d done to garner that reaction, but he’d certainly use it to his advantage.

“Let me get you a replacement yeah?” He suggested, “Hogsmeade this weekend?”

You blushed, clutching your book to your chest and turned away. James instantly knew he’d done too much too soon. Shit.

He leapt forward, still trying to talk his way out of this into you, “Or not! That’s fine! How about we just go to the kitchens now?”

But you were already walking away, your peace disturbed.

“No thank you Potter.”

You left, leaving him slightly disheveled and his mind racing.

He tried again a few days later. You were on your way back to your common room when he caught up with you in the corridor.

“Hey you,” He called.

You turned, confused. Why was he talking to you again?

“Err, hey,” You said, turning away and continuing to walk.

He jogged up to you, grinning all the while like you’d made the sun rise this morning. Annoying, boyishly handsome.

“Where you off to?”

You answered shortly, politely, but you didn’t invite any further conversation. You tried to walk faster, but he only matched your pace.

“Oh cool,” He commented, “Any further plans tonight?”

The way he said ‘tonight’ put you on your guard, this was James Potter after all.

“No,” You said cautiously. You still weren’t looking at him.

“Great! I mean, not great, I mean, oh you know what I mean,” He said lightly, laughing off his blunder. You weren’t laughing. “You couldn’t be tempted to take a walk with me around the grounds this evening, could you? I think the moon’s meant to be very pretty this evening.”

You sighed irritably. “No thank you, Potter, when I want to go on a date with you I’ll ask you myself.”

That stumped James so much he came to an abrupt halt. You took the opportunity and sped off, once again, leaving James on his own. He was thinking hard.

‘You’d ask him yourself?’ Really? He thought you would never be brave enough to do something like that. You were so quiet and withdrawn, he wouldn’t ever peg you down as someone who’d make the first move. But then it dawned on him slowly, that there was probably a lot of stuff he didn’t know about you

But he’d love to find out.

The third time, the time you said yes, was a chance meeting on the Astronomy Tower one evening. All the previous encounters between you two had been scientifically engineered by James with the help of the Marauders Map, but tonight, it was all chance.

James thanked his lucky stars when he arrived at the top of the tower and saw you sat there, staring at the moon. He knew you came up here sometimes and this wasn’t his first visit up here in hopes of bumping into you.

Quietly, he snuck around until he was stood next to you, before perching on the empty stone on your right side. You didn’t turn to look at him.

“Hello Potter.”

He sat up a little straighter.

“What’re you doing up here?”

James had decided earlier, after the failed attempts, that honesty was the best policy when it came to you. So it was time to test it out.

“I was looking for you.” He said softly.

Now it was your turn to sit up straighter. You were sure he was able to hear your heartbeat.

“What did you want me for?” You asked slowly.

James was looking at you. You could feel his eyes on the side of your face. Slowly, tentatively, you turned to look at him too.

His eyes were bright, sparkling in the moonlight, framed by his glasses. His hair fell perfectly over his forehead and his lips… His lips looked like they were waiting for you.

You sucked in a quick breath as James moved impossibly closer, your noses almost touching. You were still waiting for a reply, even though you didn’t need one. You knew.

James knew you knew.

So it was you who leant forward and closed the gap between you two, unable to bear the suspense any longer. You felt James’ lips part in surprise before he was kissing you back, one hand coming up to cup your jaw, the other curling round to rest on your back.

You kissed him gently at first. You settled a hand on his knee and one at the nape of his neck before you deepened it. Tongues meeting, you moaned quietly into his mouth, unexpectedly enjoying this. At first, you thought if you finally kissed him he would leave you alone. But now James had you, he didn’t want to let you go.

Your moan must’ve triggered something in him, because he left your mouth to kiss along your jaw and down to your neck, sucking gently. You sighed, running your fingers through his hair, holding him there. Your hand crept up his leg and as you got closer and closer, he sucked harder and harder, until you would have a brilliant purple mark tomorrow.

Reaching the apex of his thighs, you dared to brush over the bulge in his jeans. You may as well have set off an explosive. James leapt up and in one swift movement stripped off his jumper and his top. He bent down, putting them behind you before covering your body with his, pressing you down to lie on your back.

You were encased. All your senses just screamed James Potter and you were more than happy about it. Reaching up, you pulled him down to meet your lips again in a bruising kiss, need building in both of you. The hand that was not holding himself up travelled down until he was cupping your breast. Squeezing and groping you over your clothes, you quickly grew frustrated, needing more skin-on-skin contact.

You put a hand on his chest to push him back so you could sit up and pull off your own clothes. Once you had emerged, leaving yourself in your bra, you saw that James’ face had lit up like a Christmas tree. You had to refrain from giggling. You unhooked your bra and took that off too. James groaned comically before he charged forward again, burying his face in your chest. This time you did giggle, caressing his head as he licked and mouthed your tits, leaving a trail of shiny spit behind.

“James.” You moaned breathily. He only grunted back, preoccupied.

He was straddling you as his hands moved down to work you out of your trousers and underwear. You were naked on the cold stone, lying half-heartedly on James’ jumper.

James sat up to admire the mess he’d made of you. Under the moonlight you glowed: hair messy, face flushed, hickey blooming on your neck, tits covered in his spit. He grinned proudly.

“James.” You breathed again, begging now.

He fumbled with his own belt, stripping himself of the last remaining barrier. You were eager to see what James Potter was packing after his reputation, but the feeling of fingers sliding over your core was distracting.

You jumped as he rubbed experimental circles on your clit, grinning at you all the while.

“You’re so wet for me.” He said it like it was a badge of honour. “Ready for me hm?” He asked, moving his hand down to ease two fingers into you.

“Oh yes,” He groaned, “Fuck, you were probably born ready.”

You didn’t answer him, instead wriggling your hips enticingly. James laughed, getting the message.

Your impatience turned into a whimper as you felt the head of his cock pressing into you, lubricating himself with you before he positioned himself at your entrance. He sank in slowly, watching you take him reverently. The stretch of his cock was deliciously filling and you moaned as he bottomed out.

“Fuck,” He cursed, tossing his head. “You feel like heaven.”

You didn’t stop to think about how many other girls he’d said that too, letting the praise wash over you. You moaned as he began to move, his thrusts deep and steady.

Much to the other’s delight, you were both vocal, moaning loudly and sighing as James sped up. The despicable sound of your wetness being sloshed around by his cock was probably echoing over the grounds along with your moans, but neither of you cared.

You sighed, this was nice and all, but you’d need more if you were going to cum.

“Choke me.” You gasped out at him, propping yourself up on your elbows.

James swore he hand’t heard you correctly and stared up, confused. You rolled your eyes. Instead of repeating yourself you simply grabbed his arm, pulling his hand up to place it around your throat.

Oh. Oh.

James grip flexed as he grasped your neck firmly, before he began to squeeze. He cut off the circulation gently, letting your head fill with a delicious buzzing. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, this what you’d been missing.

James on his part, had underestimated you once again. He’d never in a million years thought you’d be into that kinky stuff. In fact, he could count on one hand the amount of partners he’d had who wanted to be choked. This was a shame really, because James Potter must’ve taken a masterclass in breath play.

He knew just how much to restrict you, how long for and when to let you gasp for breath before repeating the process all over again. All the while his thrusts never slowed, and you could feel the pleasure building in you, brick by brick.

You were muttering curses under your breath now, bringing a hand down to rub at your clit, orgasm building. James understood, and his thrusts became harder, faster, just as the hand around your throat became infinitely tighter.

You were done for, moaning out loudly as your orgasm crashed heavily over you. Toes curling, head thrown back, gasping for air as James released his hold on your neck, letting air fill your lungs. Your own orgasm triggered his own and he swore loudly as he came in your cunt, filling you up.

For a short while, the two of you simply panted staring at each other, each thinking their own thoughts. You were mentally ticking off which rumours were true and which weren’t about James’ sex life, enjoying the left over buzz, whilst he was realising he has seriously underestimated you. He suddenly saw you in a new light, one that was much more flattering and was determined to discover more.

Eventually, you disentangled yourself from him and pulled your panties back on, catching the flow of cum dribbling from your pussy.

“Oi,” James said tiredly, “I wanted those.”

You giggled, tired too, “Too slow Potter.”

He was just about to state his case as to why you should give him your used panties when a noise started up from just behind him.

You both froze, listening to the sound get closer and closer. You weren’t sure what it was, or who else would be wondering the Astronomy Tower at night, but you weren’t going to stick around to find out. James had just pulled on his boxers and you’d managed to cover your tits with your top when a figure appeared form around the corner, and you realised what the sound was.

Clapping. A slow, purposeful clap, coming from one boy who was emerging from the dark, stepping into the moonlight.

Your heart stuttered and went still as Sirius Black walked towards the both of you. Under one arm he had a piece of parchment that meant nothing to you, and in the other, a large sack. You were momentarily terrified of what he would do with it, but he simply chucked it at James’ feet. It clinked loudly.

“There you go,” He said cheekily, “Your winnings.”

“I- what?” You asked, looking up at James questioningly still clutching the jumper to protect your modesty. He was staring at the floor, past his ‘winnings’ past his feet, and looking, if you didn’t know any better, ashamed. But why, why would he unless…

Your eyes smarted before filling with tears. You weren’t stupid. You could recognise a bet when you saw one.

‘And I was part of it.’ You let the realisation was over you, feeling worse and worse by the millisecond. How long had Sirius stood there, listening to you? Your breathing became quick and shallow as your eyes flickered between James, still staring at the floor, and Sirius, who was grinning widely, saying “I really didn’t think you had it in you Prongs, I thought you’d never stoop that low.”

The words swam in your ears like the tears in your eyes before they fell. You waited desperately for one of them to say this had all been some big understanding, but it never came. You’d never felt more belittled or embarrassed or pathetic in your life. You wanted to sink though the floor and disappear, or better still, flee school all together before all of Hogwarts got to hear about this. Sniffing, you scrabbled to actually pull a top on, not bothering with your trousers, before you got shakily up and made your way towards the staircase.

Behind you, you could hear Sirius laughing and congratulating James on his success. James was silent. He was watching you go, willing you to turn back. You didn’t. You were too busy wiping tears off your face, trying not to hyperventilate or dissolve into a panic attack.

At least you knew who was at the bottom of the list now.

#james potter #hurtnocomfort #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter smut #marauders #james potter is a douche #no happy ending

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squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame · 1 day ago

Note

Hii!

Could you please write about what Hyunju and the female reader's life would have been like after the games?

(I absolutely refuse to believe that she's dead.)

of course! <3

A day in the life

Character: Cho Hyun-Ju X fem!reader

Summary: Above in he request🌺🩷

Warnings: None

Sunlight broke through the blinds like a nosy neighbor — a hot, blinding streak right across your face.

"Goddamn it," you groaned, rolling onto your stomach.

"Mmm." Hyunju was awake. You heard her yawn, voice still husky. "Blinds again?"

"Yup. Still broken. Still attacking me."

A pause. Then her laugh — soft, warm, stupidly contagious. “I told you to close them before you got in bed last night.”

"I was tired...can't help it’" You mumble

"Then don't complain pretty girl."

You peeled one eye open and looked at her. She was on her side, propped up on one elbow, hair an adorable disaster of bangs and sleep. Her T-shirt was one of yours — loose at the collar, sleeves rolled. You wondered, briefly, if she had ever looked this good when you first met her in those awful green tracksuits.

"You're staring," she teased.

"You're pretty. Shut up."

Her cheeks pinked. “Okay, fair.”

The kitchen smelled like burnt toast and bananas. Hyunju had flour on her cheek. And you were pretty sure she just dropped an eggshell into the pancake batter.

"You know, pancakes are not supposed to have eggshels, love"

"Yesyes," she said slowly, very concentratedon picking the shells out with her slender fingers. "M'fixing it..."

"Okay baby, i trust you."

"Okay, all out!" she chipped softly, tossing the shells into the trashcan.

Then she started cooking them.

"That was a 7/10 landing," you said, sipping your coffee, watching her flip the pancakes in the pan.

"7?! That was at least an 8.2."

She looked over her shoulder and winked. “Besides, you said you like my disasters."

"I said I like you despite your disasters."

"And that’s love, baby."

Then it was time for laundry.

She hated folding fitted sheets.

"No, seriously, it’s a scam," she grumbled, holding the elastic blob up like it had personally wronged her. “No one knows how to do this. Not even the people who made theese.”

“Okay, but how did you survive the Games,” you said, snatching it from her arms, “and yet a bed sheet is your mortal enemy?”

“I was trained to disarm bombs and scale walls,” she said matter-of-factly. “Not do origami with bed linen.”

You snorted, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. “Good thing I love you for your biceps and not your folding skills.”

Her smile dropped slightly — just for a second. You knew that look. That flicker of disbelief, like she still couldn’t believe she had this now. A home. A normal errand. Someone to kiss her in public.

She looked at you and said, quietly, “I love you too.”

Later, You two were assembling a bookshelf from a suspiciously affordable furniture site.

Hyunju held up two pieces and said, “A goes into B, right?”

“That’s what the instructions say.”

“But what if B’s upside down?”

“Then you probably built a bookshelf for hell.”

She dropped both pieces dramatically. “We should’ve just bought a pre-built one. With all the money we—”

You shook your head gently, touching her knee. “No. I like this. Screwing up furniture together. It's fun, gets my anger out too” You giggle, Hyunju looked at you. The pieces in her hands, the cluttered floor, your earnest face. She set them down carefully.“I like it too.”

At night, She fell asleep first. She always did.

But tonight, she held you tighter than usual — arms wrapped around your waist like you might disappear if she didn’t.

You listened to her breathe. Watched the shadows on the ceiling. Wondered how something so normal could feel this sacred.

She stirred once and mumbled, barely audible, “Are we… okay?”

You kissed her forehead. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

Her arms tightened, and she fell back into sleep.

And you thought:

Maybe this is what winning actually looks like.

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orlaunderrated · 1 day ago

Text

The Edges of Us: Chapter 23

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Will Lenney x fem reader; George Clarke x fem reader

Summary: Y/N has always been close to George—but everything changes when she catches feelings for his sharp-tongued, infuriatingly charming friend, Will. Torn between loyalty and desire, Y/N finds herself caught in a messy tangle of friendship, secrets, and unexpected love.

Word Count: 5.2k+

Note: HELLO!!! this took me a million hours to write, literally dont know why.

the next chapter (24) is 8k words long??? so i might make it a 2 parter / cull it the fuck down?? anyway lmk if my chapters are getting too long!!! would love the feedback.

xxx

George and I are playing house.

My flat smells faintly of bergamot and laundry, the nice kind, the grown-up kind. He’s flopped across my bed like it’s his. Like I’m his.

I’m at my desk, catching up on a work backlog I’ve been avoiding for two days. Code stares back at me, logic threaded in fragile loops, but all I can hear is George breathing behind me, scrolling with occasional annoyed thumbs.

Then, he stands. Pads across the room. I feel him before I hear him.

He slides my headphones off without a word, careful fingers brushing my cheek. I blink at the sudden quiet.

He sits at the edge of my bed, leaving two feet between us like we’re flatmates again, and not the blurred line of whatever-the-hell-we-are.

“Hey,” he says, voice casual. “Can I run something by you?”

I swivel in my chair, tugging my hoodie down over my bare legs. “Sure.”

He taps his phone against his palm. “So, I’ve got this red carpet thing on Thursday. And I get a plus one.”

I blink. “Okay.”

He doesn’t even look up. “And I was thinking — who do you reckon I should bring? Like, out of the lads? Chris, Arthur, maybe Will?”

My mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again.

“Sorry—what?” I ask, slowly.

George finally looks at me. “I mean, Chris has the jawline, but he’s also the one who’ll trash-talk you just for fun. Arthur’s good with people — easy to chat with, always knows what to say. And Will’s—well, he’s Will. A bit unpredictable, but he gets on with most people, and he’s tall, but if you'd rather I didn't—”

“George.”

He stops.

I stare at him, something cold blooming in my chest. “You’re asking me who you should take to a red carpet. As your plus one.”

He squints. “Yeah?”

“Instead of me?”

He straightens slightly. “Well… you don’t usually come to these things.”

My laugh is sharp. “They’re always at 2pm on a weekday, George. I have a job. Like, a real one. Not being paid to talk about my favourite snacks on Instagram.”

His mouth opens, possibly in protest, but I barrel on.

“Why would you not even consider taking your girlfriend?”

He pauses. Blinks.

“Girlfriend?”

The word is out there now, heavy and loud and echoing.

My heart goes tight in my chest.

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing away. “I'm not trying to be a dick. I just thought... I don’t know. It’s only been twelve days.”

I blink. “Okay, so we’ve known each other for what, eight years? Is that the part that counts?”

He shifts, opening his mouth, then closing it again.

“I mean,” I go on, “you’ve basically lived here for the last week and a half. You know how I like my tea. I know how you get all quiet in the mornings when your brain hasn’t switched on yet."

He raises an eyebrow. “you didn’t even like the tea I made you this morning.”

“Don’t deflect,” I snap. “Why is the idea of me going with you so absurd?”

“It’s not absurd,” he says quickly. “It’s just... complicated.”

I stare. What on God's green earth could be complicated about it?

He fidgets. “If you come, I have to post about it, like, contractually. Tag you. You’ll be in press photos. People will ask. People will know. You’ll get ten, fifteen thousand followers overnight. Probably more.”

“And?”

“And... that��s a lot. For someone who doesn’t want that life.”

I stare. Not because I don’t understand—because I do, painfully well. But because the words hang between us, thick and heavy, filling the quiet room with a tension I can’t shake. My mind races, trying to untangle what he means. Complicated. Contractually obligated. The spotlight that follows him like a shadow. And suddenly, me, by association.

I blink, trying to steady the swirl of disappointment and disbelief. How does something that should feel simple, being with someone, turn into a business deal? A performance? A public spectacle?

His fingers twitch nervously, breaking the silence, but I’m still caught in that moment. Waiting for the part where he says, But I want you there.

“Don’t pretend you’re doing this for me,” I say, voice quieter now, sharper. “You just don’t want people to know.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Neither is asking me to stay behind while you parade one of your mates around instead.”

George sighs, running both hands through his hair. “I didn’t think it would matter this much.”

“Well, it does.”

Silence folds in around us, tighter than before. The kind that leaves no room to pretend this isn’t a mess.

After a long pause, he says, “Alright. If you want to come, come. But I need to warn you—it’s not going to be cute. People will speculate. They’ll assume. You’ll be ‘George Clarkey’s girlfriend’ before we even get back to the car.”

I swallow, the lump thick in my throat. It’s not just the words — it’s the weight behind them, the unspoken lines they draw between us.

“And what would you say I am?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper, suddenly too aware of the space between us. The way he’s still sitting two feet away, like that distance somehow means everything and nothing all at once.

He doesn’t look at me right away. Instead, his eyes drop, tracing some invisible pattern on the carpet.

“I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “I don’t want to worry about that just yet.”

The honesty stings. Sharp and real, like a blade I didn’t expect.

For a moment, the room feels too big, too cold. And I’m left holding onto the silence between us, trying to find a place where I belong in his world, whatever that might be.

That hurts more than I care to admit.

Even to myself.

Like I’m just some girl who makes him dinner and sucks his dick when he wants it.

There when it's convenient. Invisible when it’s not.

We stare at each other, and I can feel the edges of something sharp pressing into the middle of the room between us.

Pride? Hurt?

I can’t tell anymore. I just know it’s cutting.

He exhales, a little softer this time. “Look, I want you there, I really do. But I need to be honest with you. It’s going to be insane. You’ll get tagged everywhere, people will be watching, and it’ll feel like you’re suddenly in the spotlight too.”

He takes a shaky breath, the kind that sounds like it’s holding back more than just nerves. His eyes dart away, avoiding mine like he’s searching for a way to say the things he can’t quite find the words for. For a beat, the room feels heavier, charged with everything unsaid hanging between us.

“But if you’re up for it, if you want to come, then come. I’ll tell them you’re my plus one.”

“Great,” I say flatly. “Sounds like a blast.”

He watches me for a second. Something unreadable flickers across his face — a thought he’s too scared or too selfish to say out loud.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll let them know.”

And then he leaves.

Just stands up and walks out of the room like we’ve scheduled a dentist appointment.

Not torn open the unspoken, bleeding middle of whatever the hell this is.

xxx

Later, after the quiet has settled and the flat has forgotten we ever raised our voices, he slips into bed beside me without a word.

It’s dark. The kind of darkness that makes everything feel softer, blurrier, easier to pretend in. I hear the mattress sigh beneath his weight, the faint rustle of cotton as he finds his place beside me — not touching, not yet, but close enough that I feel the warmth of him bleeding through the sheets.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just lies there, breathing, like he’s waiting for the silence to forgive him.

Then, slowly, he reaches for me. One hand, then another, careful like I might flinch. I don’t. I melt. Embarrassingly, willingly, into the place where his body meets mine.

And that’s when he starts.

He apologises in shaky breaths against my skin, like he’s scared I’ll disappear before he gets it all out. The words tumble from him — “I’m sorry,” “I didn’t mean to,” “I’ll be better,” — soft and unsteady, like a prayer, like if he says it enough, it’ll become real.

Each one lands warm against the hollow of my collarbone. Reverent. Rehearsed. But tender.

His hands roam like he’s trying to memorise me. Fingertips ghosting along my waist, my ribs, the small of my back. Like I might vanish if he lets go. There’s something desperate in the way he touches me tonight, like he’s trying to stitch something back together with just skin and closeness and mouth.

And I let him.

God, I let him.

Because I want to believe this is what it looks like when someone chooses you. I want to believe that apologies can be silent, that redemption can come in the shape of a warm palm and a familiar weight in my bed. That love doesn’t always need a label if it feels like this, brreathless and golden and almost holy.

We don’t talk about the thing that cracked us open earlier.

The what are we?

The where is this going?

The why did you hesitate?

All of that is left untouched, suspended somewhere above us like fog that hasn’t settled yet. Like a song paused mid-note.

But under the covers, tangled in limbs and half-whispered nothings, it doesn’t feel like it matters.

Not right now.

Right now, he’s here. With me. Wrapped around me like gravity. Saying my name in that hushed, guilty way — like I’m something precious he didn’t mean to drop. Like he’s sorry for the bruise, but not the holding.

And I believe him.

Even though I shouldn’t.

Even though there’s a small, quiet part of me that knows this isn't a fix, just a soft pause between the cracks.

Even though we still haven't named what this is.

But we breathe in tandem, and for a moment, the world feels still. The lights from outside cast long lines across the ceiling, and his thumb is tracing circles at my hip, and I think — maybe this is enough.

Maybe this is the answer.

Maybe love doesn’t arrive in declarations. Maybe it looks like this:

Muffled apologies in the dark.

A hand slipping under fabric.

A kiss that lingers longer than it needs to.

Maybe love is just choosing to stay.

And he’s still here.

So I do what I’ve always done with George. I close my eyes, and I let myself believe in the best version of him. The one I’ve known since Exeter. The one who knows how I take my tea and what song calms me down and how to hold me like the world isn’t ending outside this room.

I let him kiss the silence into something softer.

And I decide, foolishly and hopefully, that this means something.

Even if he won’t say the words.

Even if I’m the only one brave enough to believe in them.

xxx

The night before the event, Ruth and I are spread out on the floor of my bedroom, surrounded by a jumble of clothes that looks like a small tornado swept through. Plates from dinner sit forgotten on the bedside table, half-eaten and cooling.

Ruth holds up a dress against her body and then tosses it aside. “Too much. Too much sparkle.”

I laugh, pulling a midnight-blue dress with subtle sequins from the pile. “How about this one? Classic, disco-ball vibes.”

She shakes her head, raising an eyebrow. “I feel like it’s a bit much for this event, your invite says casually chic, whatever the fuck that means".

I roll my eyes but smile. “ I just don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard, fuck it I'm going to wear my work clothes and make a statement.”

Ruth crosses her arms, leaning back on her hands. “That’s mental. You’re already here, YN. Nobody’s expecting you to walk on water. Just be you.”

I bite my lip, eyes drifting to the rows of dresses hanging in my wardrobe — none of them feeling quite right. “It’s just… this whole thing feels bigger than me, you know? Like I’m stepping into someone else’s world.”

She nods, understanding. “Yeah, I get that. But maybe this is your world now, too. And you get to decide what that looks like.”

We both grin, and Ruth digs through the pile before pulling out a sleek black satin dress. It’s the one I’ve worn more times than I can count. It's effortless, with that perfect edge of casual chic that somehow always makes me feel like myself, even when I’m not sure who that is anymore.

She holds it up, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You know this one’s your secret weapon. But hey, maybe it’s secretly hideous and we’ve been fooling ourselves all along.”

I laugh, feeling a flutter of nerves and excitement swirl together. Taking the dress from her hands, I wonder can something so familiar suddenly feel new?

I slip into the bathroom and change into the dress. Standing in front of the mirror, I study myself — the smooth, sleek fabric falling effortlessly around me, the way it catches the light just enough to feel special without shouting. For a moment, I just silently love it.

Then, heart a little lighter, I step back out and find Ruth waiting, eyes curious.

I do a little twirl.

Her face lights up the moment I step out. “That’s the one. No contest.” She grins, then leans back on the floor, mock-relieved. “Secretly not hideous after all!”

We both burst out laughing, the sound filling the room and making my cheeks burn with warmth. I’m already thinking of what I should choose for my earrings, I'm thinking silver. Simple, and just enough to catch the light without stealing the show.

I join her on the floor, lying flat on our backs, still in the dress. The ceiling above feels impossibly vast and quiet compared to the whirlwind of my thoughts.

“I should probably change before I spill something on it,” I mutter, half-laughing, but secretly hoping the night holds on just a little longer like this.

Ruth hums softly beside me. Then she nudges me playfully. “So... does this mean you and George are, like, serious? Like, really serious? Because, wow—that’s… fast.”

I shrug, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Honestly, I don’t know. We haven’t really talked about what this is yet.”

Ruth’s eyes narrow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “But he’s taking you to a red carpet event?”

I grin sheepishly. “Yeah, but… I kinda forced him to invite me.”

Ruth raises an eyebrow, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips. “Wait, what do you mean, forced? You strong-armed him into it?”

I flop back on the floor, the satin of the dress folding around me. “He asked who he should take — out of the lads. Like, casually ran through Chris, Arthur, and even Will. And I just… sat there like an idiot until I basically had to say, Why not me?”

Her face twists. “Oof.”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “And then we had this weird half-fight where I said, like, shouldn’t it be obvious? And he said it was complicated, and I don’t know, eventually he said I could come. He's just trying to protect me from the internet and his audience, But it didn’t feel like… I don’t know. Like he really wants me there.”

Ruth sits up and looks at me properly. “Okay, first of all: you look incredible. This dress deserves a red carpet. You deserve a red carpet. But babe…” She pauses, thoughtful. “Just because he’s your best friend doesn’t mean he gets a free pass. Not on stuff that hurts.”

I nod, throat tight.

“I know you love him,” Ruth says softly, her voice edged with that best-friend clarity that sees straight through me. “But love doesn’t mean you have to twist yourself up to fit into his world.”

I smile, crooked and small. “I’m just trying to be part of it.”

“I know,” she says, squeezing my hand. “But make sure he’s trying to be part of yours, too. It has to go both ways.”

I stare at the ceiling for a beat. “He’s made it clear since that he’s really excited for me to go.” My voice tilts hopeful, almost convincing.

Ruth hums. “Well… that’s nice.”

The way she says it — light, careful, deliberately neutral — says everything else.

I glance over at her. “What?”

She shrugs, not looking at me. “Just. There’s excited, and then there’s making-you-feel-like-the-first-person-he-thought-of. That’s all.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, silent.

After a pause, she nudges me with her foot. “But that’s not important!. You’re going. You’re gonna look fit. And you’re gonna own that carpet like it owes you rent.

I laugh, just enough to shake the ache loose in my chest. “God, I love you.”

“I know,” she says. “That’s why I’m allowed to be annoying and right.”

xxx

It’s a movie I have no interest in — some big-budget, explosions-and-emotions thing with a starlet I’ve seen in three perfume ads and a meme. George tries to explain the plot in the Uber, some vague synopsis about space trauma and a rogue AI, but I’m not really listening.

I’m too busy smoothing down my dress with sweaty palms, checking the gloss on my lips for the fifth time in the reflection of his phone screen.

Still, something about it makes me laugh — quietly, to myself.

I glance over at him. “Why are you even invited to movie premieres?”

He snorts. “Dunno. My manager thinks I’m charming.”

I raise an eyebrow.

He shrugs, eyes still on the road ahead. “Sometimes I do those junket interviews. You know, the ones with the sofa and the awkward chairs and you’ve got six minutes to make someone with three Oscars talk about cereal.”

“You’ve never posted one.”

“Yeah. ‘Cause they’re never good enough to make the cut.” He rolls his eyes. “The production companies usually film them, but they only post the clips that are, like, quote-worthy. Or viral enough. Most of mine don’t get past the group chat.”

“But you still go.”

“Free food. Free stuff. And my manager books them. He's the one who actually RSVPs and organises the brand stuff. Half the time I don’t even know I’m on the list until she sends me the address.”

I blink at him. “So what — he just... does everything?”

“Basically.” He leans his head against the window. “He's got my Instagram login. He’ll probably post the carpet photos before we’re even out of the theatre.”

“That’s terrifying.”

He grins. “It’s efficient.”

I watch him for a second. The way his fingers tap absently against his knee. The fit — sharp, effortlessly chic— fits him too well for someone who swears he’s winging it. Everything about him tonight is a little too polished, a little too nonchalant, like he’s mastered the art of looking like he doesn’t care — when of course, he does.

I shake my head. “You live in a completely different universe.”

He just smirks, like he knows it.

He looks good — irritatingly so. Jaw set, hair falling just right, smelling like that expensive cologne he only uses when the cameras are guaranteed. And for a second, I feel like I’ve stepped sideways into someone else’s life. One with velvet ropes and tailored suits and a boy who’s halfway famous and somehow mine.

My heart swells with it. Stupidly, helplessly full.

Like I’ve won something.

Like I’m finally his.

“Hey, did you make your Instagram public? And take your job out of your bio?”

I nod slowly. “Yeah… figured I should, right?”

He snorts. “Apparently. My manager just texted to check. She's got a post drafted already.”

I blink. “Already? We haven’t even taken the photos yet.”

“Yeah, I know.” He shakes his head, half-laughing. “It’s mad. He’s got it scheduled and everything — caption, tags, time slot. I have no idea how this is a real job"

I snort. “it isn't.”

He gives me a look. “har har.”

Then, more gently, “You might wanna turn your notifications off, by the way.”

But the car slows, and the flashbulbs begin before we’ve even opened the door.

It’s surreal. The world explodes into light and noise, but not quite the roar I expected. A handful of camera shutters pop here and there, flashes firing mostly at other faces, not George’s. A few voices call his name — Clarkey! George! Over here, mate! — but it’s quieter than I imagined, like he’s a small fish in a bigger pond.

Then someone leans in and asks, “Who’s this?” I blink, dazed and giddy, clutching the little purse I borrowed from Ruth’s friend because it looked expensive enough to pass.

George slips his hand into mine like a reflex. Like habit.

We step out together.

And just for a moment, I forget everything.

Because the red carpet is real. It’s red. Actually red. The lights are brighter than I imagined. And someone (maybe one of the PR people) calls out to me, telling me to turn slightly for the photos and I laugh. I actually laugh. Because this? This is ridiculous and glittering and unreal and kind of amazing.

George stands beside me for the photos. His arm rests loosely around my waist, his face curling into that practiced smile he saves for cameras — not quite warm, not quite present. Just the bare minimum required.

But I don’t care. I smile so hard my cheeks ache. I feel radiant.

Like I’ve stepped into a version of myself that finally gets to belong.

People ask who I am. Not rudely, but curiously, and George mumbles my name, says, “She’s with me.” And for a second, I swear my heart sings.

With me.

We’re ushered off the carpet, herded through a maze of press and PR staff like cows made of glitter and half-spoken promises. Eventually, we reach some strange waiting area — tall bar towers crowd the space, bathed in wild, shifting overhead lights.

Someone hands George a cocktail in a flimsy plastic flute. Another person presses a branded tote into my hands, which I’ll pretend to like. White arrows glow softly on signs, guiding us forward, but the air feels heavy with too much perfume and a buzz that’s quieter than I expected.

Still, I hold on to the moment, the light, the absurd magic of it all.

Because maybe this is enough.

Maybe this is enough for now.

George is quiet.

I decide to not notice it right away, because I’m too busy being dazzled. But as we’re led into the foyer, past velvet ropes and gleaming marble, I catch the edge of his jaw — tight. His eyes flicking over the crowd, over the cameras, not landing on me once.

He hasn’t said a full sentence since the car.

But maybe he’s just overwhelmed. Maybe he’s thinking about the photos. Or his next video. Or whatever influencers think about when they’re not busy being photographed.

So I keep smiling. Keep laughing softly at things he doesn’t say. Keep pretending I’m not just a plus one — that I’m something more than borrowed glitter.

And when he finally glances down at me — camera lights catching in the edge of his lashes — I beam at him.

Because I’m happy.

I’m so happy.

And I decide, right then, not to let anything ruin this. Not even the way his fingers have stopped curling around mine.

George’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and before I can blink, he’s already excusing himself with a quick, “Got to do this one,” nodding toward a cluster of cameras and microphones just beyond the velvet rope.

I watch him walk away, smooth and practiced, slipping into interview mode like it’s second nature. His movements are fluid, confident—the kind of effortless that makes it look like he’s done this a hundred times before, even if he probably hasn’t.

The chatter around me blurs into white noise. I can only just catch snippets of his voice, faint and distant, like he’s speaking underwater. The bright Channel 4.0 logo flashes on a nearby screen, casting a cool glow over his face.

His lips move steadily, words coming easy, but my ears struggle to keep up. Still, I don’t need to hear him clearly to know he’s in control — calm, witty, sliding through the questions with the practiced grace of someone who’s learned how to own a room without breaking a sweat.

My eyes stay fixed on him, drinking in the way his jaw sets, the slight crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he smiles. Effortless. Always effortless.

“So, George! Big night, huh? What’s it like walking the red carpet?”

George shrugs, his face a picture of ease, like he's been asked this a hundred times before.

“Honestly? It’s a bit surreal. I’m not used to all this yet. The spotlight’s a little... unfamiliar. But yeah, I’ll take it.”

The interviewer laughs, leaning in with curiosity. “Fair enough. So, did you bring anyone special with you tonight?”

I freeze. My heart stutters in my chest, the question suddenly too sharp, too personal. It’s been coming, I knew it, but it still lands like a punch in the gut.

George, ever the charmer, flashes a grin, his tone light, his words calculated but harmless. “Yeah, my best mate. She’s over there somewhere.”

Best mate.

Not girlfriend. Not even a hint of anything more.

Best. Fucking. Mate.

And the ache I’ve been pretending doesn’t exist hits me like a wave.

I should have known. We had that fight just last night. We talked about it, didn’t we? George had been hesitant, so hesitant, to even bring me tonight. Like some part of him was unsure—afraid that it would complicate things. “We don’t need to label this, YN,” he’d said, eyes avoiding mine. “Let’s just keep it simple, yeah? No expectations.”

And yet, here I am, on a red carpet, his “best mate,” while everyone else in the room seems to be locked into their neat little labels of "partners" and "couples."

The interviewer doesn’t seem to notice the shift, rambling on about movie premieres and upcoming projects, but all I hear is the distant buzz of the crowd, the flashes of cameras that feel like they’re blinding me. The world shrinks around me, and I’m left standing in the centre of it, small, insignificant.

Best mate.

I knew it was coming, didn’t I?

But they’re not wrong, are they? We agreed—no labels, no pressure, no expectations. That’s what George wanted, right? He made it clear. He didn’t want to call this something that wasn’t ready to be named.

But here’s the thing—I feel it. I feel what we are, even if it’s not spoken. We’re something.

We’re two people who’ve spent years in each other’s orbit. Who’ve shared countless hours laughing, arguing, existing side by side. We’re two people who’ve kissed, who’ve held each other through bad days, who’ve trusted each other with things we’ve never told anyone else. We’re not nothing. Not by a long shot.

I try to force my face into something resembling composure, but my smile feels like it’s made of glass. It cracks before it even has time to settle, and I turn away, hoping George won’t notice the way my heart is sinking with every step.

The interviewer moves on to some fluff about the movie premiere, and I can’t hear a word. I’m stuck on the way George said “best mate”—so casual, so comfortable. Like that’s all I’ll ever be.

I sit there, watching him dazzle the crowd, his smile bright, effortless, like he was born for this. He laughs at some joke the interviewer cracks, the sound smooth and easy, his charm radiating outward. I watch as the cameras flash, the way the world seems to revolve around him in these moments.

I know this is for the best.

We’re new, right? Fresh in whatever this is. He has his fangirls, the ones who see him as the perfect George, the one in front of the camera. He’s their dream, their crush. I get it.

My brain knows. This is just part of the deal. This is what comes with being around someone like him. That’s why it’s so stupid how upset I am.

But my heart? My heart doesn’t care about logic. It just beats faster every time I see him, every time he smiles like that, every time the world falls silent and he’s in the centre of it all.

My heart wants him to tell the world.

To claim me. To stop calling me "best mate" and let everyone else see what we are, what we’ve been for years.

But he won’t. He won’t, because it’s easier this way. It’s safer for him. For us. It’s less complicated.

And I’m sitting here, an idiot, pretending I don’t care, when all I want is for him to turn around and pull me close and say, “You’re more than just my best mate. You’re mine.”

God, I’m a fucking idiot.

He steps away from the interviewer, his voice lowering as he approaches me. "You good?" There’s an edge of concern in his tone, but I can hear the hesitation there, too, like he’s unsure if he should even ask.

I give him a tight-lipped smile, one that doesn't reach my eyes. “Yeah. Just... a lot, you know?”

George gives me a sympathetic nod, but it feels like he’s saying it for both our sakes. There’s an unspoken distance between us now, a gap that wasn’t there before the argument. Before I told him, half out of frustration and half out of hurt, that I didn’t know how to keep playing this game anymore. That I wasn’t sure how much longer I could be just his best mate.

He hadn’t wanted to hear that. He’d pulled away, and we’d ended up here.

He doesn’t push. He never pushes when it comes to this. Instead, he laughs awkwardly, clapping me on the back like we’re still the easy going friends we used to be. But I feel the tension, the heavy silence in the spaces between us, the way the air feels just a little too thick.

“C’mon, we should get going,” he says, voice lighter now, almost too light.

I nod, and we start walking together toward the movie theatre. I hear the cameras flash, someone important has clearly just show up, but all I can hear is the echo of George’s words from last night, the genuine confusion in his voice when he said girlfriend?

We agreed it would be simpler this way. Better. But I can’t shake the feeling that we’re both drowning in the space that ‘simple’ created.

I force my smile, pushing the sharp ache deep down, even as my chest tightens. This is what we decided, right? No labels just yet. Just... this.

But standing there, next to him, hearing the weight of those two words—“best mate”—I’m not so sure anymore.

It hurts in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

And suddenly, this glittering, unreal night feels a little more like a dream I’m still not quite awake from.

xxx

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