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yanderedrabbles · 20 hours ago

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Private Military Contractor - Yandere Noncon

Yandere Male x Fem Reader Heavily inspired by this incredible fic.

He took you. Plucked you straight off the street on the way back from class. He must have known your routine down to a tee, because he did it all with a casual, brutal efficiency. Parking his rented van on the quietest road on your route, stacking a ladder and some paint cans outside so you'd think he was just a regular workman. The door open and waiting just for you, though you didn't know it yet.

You remember greeting him ‐ a quick good morning to be polite - without stopping or even really looking at him. You walked a little bit past the van without realising he was following you. Oblivious right up until the moment he grabbed you, one paw against your mouth to swallow your scream.

He was quick. So ruthlessly quick. Yanking you inside the van and closing the door before you even fully registered what was happening.

He wants you around for one thing and one thing only. He made that abundantly clear on the first day, when you were scarcely through the front door and he was already tearing off your skirt. He would have fucked you in the van the second he took you if he thought he could get away with it.

He isn't gentle. He bends you over the couch with your wrists held together in the small of your back. If you squirm too much, he twists your arm so hard you scream that he's going to break it.

He fucks you dry. Shoving himself inside of you despite how tight you are, how unready and unwilling. He groans at the first thrust, so obscenely satisfied. Like he's finally tasting a prize long differed.

He doesn't last long during the first round. Spilling himself into you after less than three minutes.

He's big - too fucking big. The cum that drips out of your cunt is tinged pink with blood. If he notices it, he doesn't care. He just stands there for a minute, stroking himself hard again and then it's time for round two. Your tears haven't even had time to dry.

He fucks like a soldier in a foreign war zone. Taking, claiming, stealing. It doesn't matter that you're not his to have; he has his guns and his training and to him that's all the reason he needs.

He fucks like he hasn't had a woman in years. With all the pent up energy of long, lonely nights spent in the ugliest parts of the world. He fucks you like a man who's finally gotten his hands on the fantasy he's nursed through all the worst moments of his life.

He fucks like he's terrified of losing you now that he finally, finally has you.

You can't stand after he's done with you. Your cunt burning so bad you think you're on fire from the inside out. He doesn't care that you hang limp from his grip. He just picks you up and tosses you over one broad shoulder and takes you to his bedroom.

You come out of your shock only when you feel the handcuffs closing around your wrist. He's literally chained you to his bed.

You start screaming again then. Frightened and begging and finally realising that this is really happening. It's not a bad dream or a story on the news, it's actually fucking happening to you.

He ignores you, pulling off his heavy combat boots and locking his pistol in the draw across the room. Maybe he's waiting for you to tire out, for your throat to start hurting and for you to quiet down. You don't.

He sighs like you're nothing more than an inconvenience and then slaps you so hard your ears ring and white dots spark across your vision.

His use of violence is so causal, so easy. It's shock that keeps you quiet more than the pain.

Before evening on the first day, he fucks you four more times. He doesn't listen when you beg him to be gentle, beg him to go slow. He ignores you when you plead with him to fuck your mouth instead, as much as he wants, just so long as he gives your pussy a break.

Men like him exist on the knife edge between life and death. Is it any surprise that it leaves its mark? That he wants to take whatever pleasure he can because god alone knows how much time he has left?

He doesn't kiss you until the very end, when he's deep between your thighs and you've dug your nails so deep into his back that you're going to leave scars. He kisses you when you're too hurt and sore and scared to turn away. He kisses you and it feels like he's finally staking his claim. Like part of him didn't believe you were real until he'd fucked you again and again and there was no one to stop him.

The next morning, he shoves a bitter tasting pill under your tongue and keeps his hand over your mouth until he's sure it's dissolved.

"No kids," he says simply and it makes you want to laugh at the absurdity of it.

Yeah, you agree silently, no fucking kids. Especially not if you're the father. Especially not in a world where men like you exist.

He has an appetite that's borderline impossible to satisfy. Once he starts kissing you, he doesn't stop. Teeth nipping at your lips until you give in and even then it's not enough. He wraps one massive hand around your throat and squeezes.

"Kiss me back," he breathes, his lips just an inch from yours.

You kiss him and he takes it like you're everything he's ever dreamed about, the prize he's somehow earned.

After that, he spends a lot more time exploring your body. It's like he needed to get some of that desperation out of his system before he could think straight.

He's less feverish when he touches you, but no less impatient. He pries your thighs apart with one brutal yank and drops his face to your pussy. You try and jerk away from him, try and close your legs despite the massive forearms keeping them spread. You don't want him there. It's too intimate, it's too vulnerable. Hasn't he taken enough?

He licks you like he has no shame. Not even a little shy about having his tongue deep in your cunt. He tries different tricks - slow and sensual, rough, tight little flicks. He doesn't seem to care how you respond to any of it. It's more so an experiment to see which way he enjoys eating you out.

You cum on his tongue, your eyes screwed shut in guilt. You hope he won't notice, hope he'll just get bored and leave you alone.

He growls in a pleased sort of way, looking up at you with his mouth and chin slick. Oh, he definitely noticed.

You can't meet his eyes after that.

He's not a doomsday prepper. Or at least not exactly. But everything he has is off the grid. A house with its own solar panels and borehole, no technology except for his old fashioned satellite phone.

He doesn't talk much. Not even when he's fucking you. You might get the occasional good girl or a snarl for you to take it, take it just like that.

But he doesn't talk. Doesn't comfort you, doesn't insult you, doesn't even explain himself. (Though you suppose the way he holds you at night - tight, like you're going to be ripped away from him if he doesn't sink his claws in - is explanation enough).

He has money. Blood money you suppose. He doesn't go to work or leave the house much but still manages to buy you all sorts of expensive things. Silk negligees, satin panties, scented candles that melt into body oil. You aren't sure why he bothers. He's usually too impatient to appreciate any of it - most of the panties end up a torn, wet mess by the time he's done with you.

You look through his closet one day. There's a box full of military patches - Blackwater, Raytheon, MPR, a dozen more you don't recognise. And you know for a fact they aren't just some stupid collectibles, aren't there just so he can play out some militaristic power fantasy. He really worked for these companies. The patches feel real - their quality designed for hard weather and harder work. You understand him a little better after seeing them.

You don't know him. Don't recognise him in the slightest. He's a stranger to you - to the point you don't even know his name. At first you assume he took you because you were the only one stupid enough to get caught. But a few days with him and you realise that's not true at all. He knows you.

He feeds you your favourite cereal every morning, even though you can tell by his frown that he doesn't approve of your dietary choices. He has a closet packed full of your clothes. You thought he somehow raided your house but it's all new. He went out and bought exact copies of all your regular outfits, down to the tiny Victoria's Secret thongs that you like.

How? How could he gather so much information about your life while you didn't even realise you were being watched?

He takes you down to his basement one day, when you've been particularly insistent about asking him who he is. There are rows and rows of guns. Semi and fully automatic rifles, sniper rifles, shotguns. Shit you aren't even sure is fully legal.

You aren't sure why he's showing you this. Is he trying to scare you? Is he trying to goad you into escaping just so he'll have an excuse to punish you?

You look into his eyes - monster, monster in the shape of a man - and finally realise what he's trying to say.

No one is coming to save you. No one even knows where you are. But if by some slim chance they try and take you away, they'd better hope to be fucking bulletproof.

You stop asking him about himself after that.

He decides he wants anal one day in the shower. He's pressed up against your back and running his cock up and down between your ass. The tip keeps getting caught on your puckered entrance and maybe that's what puts the idea into his head.

You're too slow to realise what he's planning and he has one thick hand gripping the back of your neck before you can even think of running.

It's slow, painful going. He wants to shove himself in like he always does but the nature of it stops him. The tip is the worst part. You bite your lip so hard you can taste blood, your hands and tits both pressed up against the glass.

He presses his lips against your temple, watching your face screw up as he gets deeper.

"It's okay to cry."

There's a sick pleasure to his voice. He flicks your clit and your entire body clenches around him. He hums at that, amused and pleased.

And the worst part? He somehow makes you come. When he's finally loosened you up enough to start thrusting, he hits something deep inside you. He notices it - he notices everything about you. He laughs a little and slips his fingers into your pussy. That's all it takes to send you crashing over the edge, your whole body pulsing and aching all at once.

"That's what I like about you," he snarks into your ear when he's done, "I can make you come no matter how much you don't want it."

He turns you around and looks down at you. The expression on his face makes you want to vomit. He looks at you with a kind of loving softness. A tenderness that ignores all the awful, awful things he's done to you.

If you didn't realise it already, you knew it for a fact right then and there.

He's never going to let you go.

He takes your chin between his fingers and pulls you onto your tip toes to kiss him.

"Why?" you ask for the millionth time since he took you. And for once, he answers.

"Because I could. Because I can."

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere scenarios #reader insert #x reader #yandere oc #yandere lemons #yandere oc x you #yandere noncon #yandere male

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sahonithereadwolf · 17 hours ago

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Being asked to empathizes and relate to others lived experiences and what they mean to other people a facet of the human condition. It's an ability assumed of non-white audiences constantly, no matter how alien the experience might be, and that's because that experience is seen as a default. This assumption of the default is part of why my experiences as a decidedly non-white person becomes inherently political just by existing.

Do I want that? Of course not. It's an exhausting way to live. But as long as people like this guy see the idea of experiences outside of his own as inherently forceful, aggressive, or impossible to see the humanity in, it will continue to be how I must live.

There is no version of representation subtle enough for a lot of folks. Expressing an experience is too forceful. Seeing someone is "out of place." Mentioning something in passing is "trying too hard." And a story focusing on a person of color is a terrifying piece of "propaganda."

This assumption of humanity is rarely if ever asked of the default. It's a cynicism you can see in marketing and criticism both. A native film will always be talked about as a native film first and rarely anything outside of that. No one expects you to see a native film if you're in the default, but god forbid your non-white friend never saw star wars.

The fact that people get scandalized at the inclusion of non-white folk, disabled folk, and queer folk in their stories should be looked at with the same sort of withering outdated pity as someone upset a married couple shares a bed in a movie. It's weird that they didn't.

Also, just as a final note: When you see someone use the term "DEI" in disparaging terms, you should replace it mentally with a slur they're too cowardly to face the consequences of saying. That's what they mean, even if they've twisted themselves in a knot to excuse that away.

I want to speak out against the whole push towards DEI. I feel that ever since you made the push to make identity the forefront of a character it has hurt the stories you tell. Captain Sisay's race was never the focus of her character and she was a complete badass! And I fear if you did it over again Gerrard would be trans, black and disabled just because. It also cheapens the stories of world devastation when characters worry more about their gender than Bolas destroying everything.

The reason I started this blog is so we can have frank conversations about things, so please let’s talk about this.

Imagine if every time you turned on the TV or watched a movie, no one looked like you. For some of us, that’s never happened. We see ourselves constantly, so it’s hard to truly understand what not seeing yourself represented in media is like.

I do have a personal window to this experience. While I am white and male, there’s an area where I am the minority - my religion. Jews are just under two and a half percent of the US population. I have had many experiences where I’ve been in situations where everything is geared towards a group I do not belong to, and zero consideration is given that not everyone at that event is part of the majority.

You just feel invisible and like an outsider. It’s not a great feeling. And I just experience it a tiny portion of time, only things that are geared specifically towards something religious. Most minorities have this feeling all the time, whenever they’re outside their personal community.

Now imagine, after years of not seeing yourself ever, you finally see someone that looks like you, but nothing about the character rings remotely true. They don’t sound like you, they don’t act like you, the facts about their day-to-day life are just wrong. It’s clear whoever wrote the character didn’t truly understand the lived experience of the character, so the character feels fake.

You bring up Sisay. Michael Ryan and I didn’t technically create Sisay (she played a small role in the Mirage story), but we did do a lot to flesh out her character as the creators of the Weatherlight Saga. We turned her from a minor character into a major one.

And while I’m proud, in general, of our work on the Weatherlight Saga, I don’t think we did justice to Sisay as a character. Neither Michael nor I have any knowledge of what it’s like to be a black woman. Nor did we ever talk to someone who did.

And if you’re someone like us that has no knowledge of that experience, you probably didn’t notice. But that doesn’t mean it’s a good thing.

Imagine if we made a movie about your life, and we just made everything up. We invented people you never knew, we gave you a job you never had, and we had you say things you’d never say. The movie might even be a good movie, but your response would be, but that’s not my life - that’s not me.

Now imagine we put the movie out, and people that never met you assumed that was what you were like. When people met you for the first time, they assumed things, because, you know, they’d seen the movie.

That’s what misrepresenting people does. It not only makes them feel not seen, it falsely represents them, spreading lies, often stereotypes, making people believe things about them that aren’t true.

Our move towards diversity is just us trying to better reflect the world and the people in it. We’re trying to do to everyone else what a certain portion of people get every day without ever having to think about it.

But why are we “making it the forefront of their character”? We’re not. We’re making it a part of their character. But in a world where you’re not used to ever seeing it, it feels louder than it is. Things that are a natural part of the world that you’re used to feel like the background of the story because you understand the context to it.

If a man kisses his wife before going off to a battle, that’s not a big deal. It’s just a thing a husband might do to his wife when he leaves. It’s not the forefront of his character. It’s just part of his life. But you’ve seen it hundreds of times, so it feels normal.

When someone does something that isn’t your lived experience it pulls focus. It seems like a big deal, but only because it’s new to you. It’s just as mundane a thing to that character as the man kissing his wife is to him.

Even the turn “pushing” implies that it’s unnaturally here, that we’re forcing something that naturally shouldn’t be. But why? That thing exists naturally in the real world, and it doesn’t make the real world any less. Maybe you’re less aware of it, but is making you aware of how others live their life “pushing” something on you?

How you live your life is represented constantly, everywhere. Why isn’t over-representing your experience at the expense of everyone else’s “pushing” it? Why is media only being the experience of those in power the “proper way”?

Having more depth and variety doesn’t lessen stories. It makes them deeper, more rich, more nuanced. In short, it makes them better stories. In my former life, I was a professional writer. I took a lot of writing classes. One of the truism of writing is “speaking truth leads to better stories”.

There’s another famous quote: “When you’re accustomed to privilege, equality feels like oppression.” You’re used to being over-represented, so being a little less over-represented feels like something has been taken from you. But really it hasn’t. Having a better sense of the rest of the world comes with a lot of benefits.

I’ll use food as an example. Let’s say all you were ever exposed to was the food of your heritage. Yeah, that food is really good, but sometimes isn’t it nice to eat foods of other nationalities? Isn’t your life better that you have a choice? Isn’t your exposure and access to the food of other nationalities a positive in your life?

Exposure to variety is a positive. It allows you to learn about things you didn’t know, experience things things you’ve never experienced, and get a better sense of understanding of your friends and neighbors.

Our actions are not to harm anyone, and if you think that’s what we’re doing, please take a minute to actually absorb what I’m saying. You’ve spent your whole life metaphorically eating one type of food, and we’re just trying to show you how much you’ve missed out on.

And while this might not impact you directly, we’re making a whole bunch of people felt seen. We’re bringing joy. Think of it this way. We make a lot of cards. Not every card is for you. But if it makes someone else happy, if they get to include it in a deck, and it makes Magic better for them, how is it harming you that we include it? You have so many cards that you can play.

To this poster or people that share their viewpoint, the narrative that a gain for someone else is an attack on you is just not true. As I just pointed out above, you play a game all about personal choice, about players getting to choose how they play and enjoy the game. Why should life be any different than Magic?

Thanks for reading.

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moonstruckme · 11 hours ago

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hi! i just read your drabble with remus fixing the readers attitude and i was wondering if you could do the same with sirius? i really loved your other one and seen you were trying to take requests for sirius.

i hope you have a wonderful day!!

Thanks for requesting, hope you have a lovely day as well <3

cw: d/s dynamics, reader has hair troubles and uses products + tries running fingers through it so it's long enough for that

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 991 words

Sirius can hear you fuming from outside the bathroom. Heavy breaths and drawers being shut too harshly and the occasional, frustrated grunt. If it wouldn’t be such a betrayal of you, he’d take a video so Remus can see what he’s like while he’s transforming during a full moon.

“What’s going on in there, gorgeous?” he asks from the bed.

Your reply is nearly a growl. “Nothing.”

“Mm. Yeah, sounds like nothing.” Sirius gets up, going to the bathroom and nudging the door open. He leans against the doorframe as you scowl at yourself in the mirror, wringing product into your hair like you half hope it just tears off. “What’s got you so wound up?”

“Nothing.”

He tuts. “Not any more convincing the second time. Try again.”

You’re pointedly not looking at him, but Sirius notices that your scowl intensifies. “My hair is being fucking unbearable.”

Sirius opens his mouth, but you cut him off.

“And I don’t want to hear that it always looks good, or that you think I look nice no matter what, or any of that bullshit, okay?”

“That’s unfortunate. I’m sorry, sweetness, but I’m not going to start lying to you. Your hair is perfect, and you do always look—”

Your eyes bore into your own reflection, sharp and wrathful. “Don’t.”

Sirius’ eyebrows lift. “I’m sorry, don’t? Don’t compliment my girlfriend, or don’t be honest?”

“Either. I know you’re full of shit, because it looks insane right now, but even if you have miraculously gone blind since this morning, Lily and Alice will be there, and they know what hair should look like when it’s not being so—so—”

“Alright.” Sirius is beginning to grow amused with you. You’re so ridiculous when you’re upset, brash and squinty-eyed and cute. “Save yourself the exertion of finishing that sentence gorgeous. Take a breath.”

“I don’t want to breathe!”

“And yet, we all have to anyway.”

“God, Sirius, fuck off!” You finally lock eyes with him in the mirror, positively fuming. “I knew you wouldn’t get it. I’m trying to look nice for your friends, and you’re making fun of me! If my hair would just—fucking—” You appear to give up on the product, your attention returning to your hair as you begin dragging your fingers through it mercilessly. “—do what I tell it to, maybe then I’d fucking breathe, but instead it’s basically unsalvageable, and—”

“Oi.” Sirius’ humor at the situation has vanished. By the time you think to look at him he has both your hands in his, restrained from doing further damage to yourself. “No. If you’re going to be like this about going to Frank and Alice’s, we won’t go. So is that it, or can you be good?”

Sirius uses the sharp tone he knows you’ll respond to, but really he isn’t angry. He only wants to give you pause. And oh, it’s so sweet to watch the brattiness leave your eyes. The terse pucker of your mouth softens to an almost imperceptible pout, your whole demeanor shifting in an instant.

He takes both your wrists in one hand. With the other, Sirius cups the side of your throat, fingers curled around your nape and thumb rubbing against your erratic pulse.

“I need an answer,” he says.

“Yes,” you say, and your voice is soft, like the sharp edge from a minute ago has been bitten off. “I can.”

“Good.” Sirius allows his tone to gentle some, though he keeps his firm grip on your wrists. “Then you have to relax, baby. Breathe.”

This time, you do as you’re told. It works as he knew it would, your shoulders drooping after the long exhale like the last of the fight has finally gone out of you.

“Thank you.” He touches his lips briefly to the center of your forehead, pretending not to notice how you sway towards him for more. “Now, do you still want to go to Frank and Alice’s tonight?”

You open your mouth, but this time it’s Sirius who stops you.

“Wait. Really think about it. Are you going to enjoy yourself, or are you going to spend the whole time feeling weird about your hair?”

You hesitate, rubbing your lips together. Sirius strokes his thumb down the line of your throat approvingly.

“I still think I want to go,” you say after a few moments.

“Okay.” Sirius nods. “Then you’re going to let me braid your hair for you. You’ll look just as lovely and perfect as you do now, but you won’t be able to mess with it any more. Does that sound alright to you?”

Your relief is palpable. You let out a breath, eyes growing suspiciously bright. “Yeah. That would be great, thank you.”

“Okay, come here.” Sirius releases your neck and wrists to wrap his arms around you. He presses his lips to your lovely, perfect hair while you curl your hands in his shirt as if to keep him from slipping away. Like Sirius would ever want to. “Shh. You’re fine, baby. Ease up.”

“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” you mumble against his front.

“Yeah, I’ll bet. You did it more than once, if I recall.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” He laughs a little, hugging you tighter. “It’s okay. You get a hair insanity pass, just this once. Let’s have a good night, okay?”

You let out another sigh. Sirius rubs your back reflexively. “Yes, please.”

“M’kay. Let’s go.” He starts ushering you towards the bed, grabbing a couple of hair ties on his way out of the bathroom. “We’re done with the mirror for today. And no yelling at me while I do your hair, got it?”

You try on a coy smile; it’s small, but Sirius respects the effort. “I could never yell at you.”

“Uh huh. I may forgive, but I don’t forget that easily, sweetness. Try it again and we’ll be staying home to deal with that attitude of yours.”

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solifloris · 3 days ago

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≡;-꒰ 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝒄𝒐𝒛𝒚

╰┈➤ ❝ caleb x afab!reader | VALENTINE'S EVENT !

tags : mostly fluff, slightlyyyyy suggestive at the start but nothing explicit, established relationship, use of pet names "baby" and "pipsqueak".

wc : 1.6k (oops)

an : DROPPING THIS BEFORE I GO TO BED :D requested by @starmocha !!!! this prompt had me squealing hehe 🥰🥰🥰

taglist : under the cut! (SIGN UP HERE)

ko-fi jar / commissions

It's 1AM, and you're hungry, so what better place to go than the convenience store down the block?

"I'm hungry."

The sheets rustled.

Caleb shifted onto his side to look at you, head resting in his palm, eyebrows raised. You could see the way his eyes raked over you appreciatively for a moment, almost as if seeing you in a new light again, almost as if he hadn't been all over you just a couple of minutes ago.

With his free hand, he reached out to tuck an awry strand of hair behind your ear. It was a soft gesture.

yet when he spoke, there was a laugh to his voice. "You're hungry?"

You whined. "Not that kind of hungry! Like, actually hungry! Come onnnnnn. Aren't you?"

"Baby, it's past midnight. Aren't you tired? You should be a good girl and get some rest—"

Despite the phrase deliberately used—you were sure—to bring butterflies to your stomach, you promptly gave him a playful shove. "Well, I'm not gonna be able to sleep if I'm hungry, anyway. So your attempts at persuading me are void!"

To make a point, you sat up and crosses your arms, looking at him expectantly.

An impasse, of sorts.

The two of you looked at each other, silent, a few seconds—

Caleb was the first to relent.

"Alright, alright, we'll get some food. There's that convenience store down the block, that enough?" He sat up along with you and slipped out of bed, trodding towards his closet to throw you one of his sweaters. "It'll be cold out, so wear that for a while. Just a lil somethin' to keep you warm."

You held it close to your chest—it smelled like him. And it was as if you weren't already in his t-shirt, anyway; as if he hadn't left enough of his own marks on you that night, but you were happy to have a little something on you that reminded you of him.

You hopped out of bed yourself and, to make a point, grabbed one of his caps to put on your head.

"Ready!"

And perhaps it was because it was late, and barely anyone would be outside anyway, but it seemed neither of you cared that you'd be leaving in your pajamas.

Caleb tugged at your hand, pulling you close.

"I hope you know that I love seein' you in my clothes," he chuckled. "Makes you look extra gorgeous."

And you could think to yourself that you were so used to his charm, maybe even desensitized… but he would always find ways to prove you wrong. An additional kiss to your forehead had you melting in an instant, and then he still had the audacity to send you a wink.

"Caleb!" you huffed as he pulled away and ushered you outside, the gleeful sound of his laughter never failing to astonish you.

Seriously, the audacity of this man!

And yet you couldn't quite complain, not with the way your heart filled with a complete and utter sense of fondness for him. It didn't matter the hour, didn't matter that the breeze of the dawn before you made you feel a little cold. He squeezed your hand and quietly put it into his pocket… and, really—with your hand in his and his presence beside you, it was all the warmth you could ever need.

As you walked to the convenience store, your free hand took a glance at the time on your phone.

"1:43AM," you mused, "on… February 14th. Huh, look at that! So our Valentine's date this year's to a convenience store?"

You felt him peek over your shoulder, and he let out a laugh. "Guess it is Valentine's, huh? Happy Valentine's Day, pipsqueak." He gave your hair a little ruffle, before the little jingle of your very destination had him tugging you through the doors.

As you expected: quite empty.

He nudged your arm. "I mean, I'm still takin' you out for a date later today," he shrugged, "but as an extra treat, then you've got free reign gettin' whatever you want. I'll pay."

Immediately your eyes brightened, a squeal falling from your lips enough to draw a quizzical stare from the cashier lady, and you squeezed his arm. "Really?!"

"Yeah, really!"

"Oh my god! You better not go back on that promise!"

"Be real. When have I ever, with you?"

You felt another surge of warmth rush through you, and you stood on your tiptoes to give him a quick peck on the lips. "God, I love you!"

And it wasn't really as if you didn't have a little bit of your own snack stash still left at home, but who were you to refuse a free gift?

There was a bounce to your step as you walked through the aisles, and you supposed that neither of you were acting as if it were practically two in the morning. The irony stood—despite everything else being quiet around you two, there was enough joy in the simplest things with him to get you all bouncy like this.

You turned to him with your arms full of little snacks, and laughed as you held one up for him. "Hey! Remember this one? The first time you brought this home, it was 'cause some girl from your class got you this." The memory made you laugh, and you turned the packet over in a moment of nostalgia. "I haven't had these in forever, for some reason, but they were really good. That girl had taste…"

A flick to your forehead.

"Hey!"

He snatched a couple of the packets you were carrying and put them into the basket he was holding, all while giving you a pointed look. "Doesn't matter who got them first," he scoffed, "'cause I brought them home for you."

A smile played on your lips.

"Well… she wasn't the first to give you stuff, nor was she the last."

"Aaand like I said, it doesn't matter."

This time, you grinned and tiptoed to return the forehead flick he'd given you just earlier. "Why're you so upset about it? Of course the golden boy would always get so much attention from all the girls—"

"Sooo I'd get all that attention from 'em, and then disregard their gifts just so you'd have somethin' to have fun with when we got home."

You paused, and he gave a playful roll of his eyes.

"I gotta hand it to ya, pipsqueak, sometimes you spend a lil too much time up there in the clouds."

"What!?"

He held up a box of cookies that you were familiar with.

"This one's been your favorite for as long as I can remember. Some girl gave one of these to me back in middle school… But I knew you'd love 'em. So I gave 'em to you."

Another box of snacks.

"You always say you don't like these, but I see you sneak them back to your room when no one's lookin'… Happened to get this as a gift, too, so I left them in your room when we got back."

And you watched, somewhat amazed, as he held up the very same packet you'd been examining earlier.

"And, sure, maybe you've never had this one before… But you were always a lil adventurous. It was strawberry. I remember, 'cause you like strawberries. So I thought you might've wanted to give this a try, too."

Your gaze followed his movements as he took the liberty to grab a couple more snacks from the shelves, and though he turned back to you with a smile, you found your mind still reeling from what he'd said.

It was always you. From the very start, he…

"I've always watched you," he said simply. Because he could read you like an open book, and some things just don't change. He shrugged, leaned down towards you to give the tip of your nose a little poke. "I saved those for you, 'cause I know you. And you think any of those girls ever mattered to me? Nah. It was always just about you. And you got to relish in all those little snacks, so, you know. Win-win situation if I get to make you happy."

For a moment you didn't speak, and you felt the blush slowly begin to creep up your cheeks.

You'd never realized it before; maybe never even bothered to check for yourself.

Sure, you maybe thought all of those were from him, and, sure, when you found out they weren't directly, you felt a little upset, but…

It was more than just material to poke fun at him for being popular.

Your eyes softened. "So… you were thinking about me."

"Pshh. I always think about you, baby. Not a moment goes by where I don't."

You watched him walk away with a wave of his hand, under the guise of 'checking out the drinks while you think of what else you wanted', and a flurry of butterflies stirred anew in your heart.

As you hurried to catch up with him and stood by him at the counter, he chuckled. "I always thought you'd find out then and there how much I liked you, you know."

"I guess you were being obvious about it, in a way…"

"Yeah, and you were too busy relishing in the free snacks."

"Hey!"

He laughed, grabbing the bag of your little snack haul, and smoothly looped your arms back together.

"Weeelll," he hummed, "now you get to say with certainty that all this here's from me. And I get to do this…"

The minute you stepped outside the convenience store, he leaned down to give you a soft kiss. And again, you'd think—there couldn't possibly be a cozier place to be than right here with him in this moment.

"…You don't need to use gifts from someone else to get me snacks anymore," you laughed a little.

"Mhm, I can get 'em for you myself. And seal it with a lil kiss."

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© solifloris. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

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madelynraemunson · 14 hours ago

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Valentine’s Day is coming up and I can’t help but wonder how ex!husband Eddie would handle it. Would he break my heart? Break my back? Please Maddy I NEED to know 🙏

a/n: HE’S BACKKKK i’m clutching my chest 🫶🏼 how about some wholesome heartbreak for valentine's day? i tried to incorporate aspects of the original ST universe into the universe that is ex-husband!eddie. i hope you sweethearts enjoy ♥️

“valentimes” day

ex-husband!eddie x ex-wife!reader

summary: you and eddie share a dance when your wedding song unexpectedly comes on the radio…just like old times :)

contains: fluff, mutual-pining, topic of divorce, co-parenting

“if you’re lost, you can look and you will find me — time after time.”

divider from: @strangergraphics

word count: 1.4k words

‘Valentimes’ Day.

It’s what Junior likes to call it. At first you tried to correct him, telling him to drop the M and replace with N, but you decided to partake in the innocence. After all, nothing lasts forever.

Like the muddy footprints on the light wooden floors.

"I'M RIGHT ON YOUR TAIL!" Junior roars, chasing after his siblings with candied pretzels in his mouth. "GET READY TO FEEEEEL... MYYYYY... WRAAAAATH!"

You know what does seem to last forever though? The sugar high your kids are getting from their Valentine's Day candies.

“Walk, kiddos,” you scorn. “If we’re gonna get ourselves dirty, please take it outside.”

You watch as your Mini-We's respectfully pile out the door, marching in a single-filed line in their crowns and capes their dad had made for them not too long ago. And as you continue to cook, a hearty stew for a heart-filled day, you hear a jangling of keys at your front door.

The only other person who has direct access to your house is Eddie; and assuming he's adhering to the family tradition, you expected no one else.

A familiar sing-song whistle sounds from the entryway as Eddie makes his grand entrance. You smile as your ex-husband comes into sight — hands full with presents you couldn't quite make out yet — ready to greet you how he usually does every Feb 14th for the past few years.

“Yo.”

“Hello, hello!” you chime. “Look who’s become a one-tripper.”

“I know, I’m gettin’ better and stronger by the day,” Eddie chuckles. He closes up the space, welcoming you in his bubble with a hug and offerings for the day. “Flowers... for you…"

You blush in flattery, welcoming the Thanks-For-Having-My-Kids floral arrangement into your arms.

"Aaand chocolate," Eddie adds. "obviously.”

“Ooh, nougat."

“Uh huh," he smirks, proudly. "Everyone loves a nougat moment. I also got these teddy bears with wicked Rock-N-Roll soundboxes for the kiddos. Left them on your couch though. It's a surprise."

Eddie's always been such a stellar dad. No matter the occasion, he always made sure the kids felt included, and always made sure you felt appreciated for all your efforts. He shows out every Valentine's Day, and Mother's Day too. Just because you two have separated doesn't mean your past has been erased. Eddie wants you to know that this commitment is for a lifetime, no matter what it may look like to others.

"Thank you."

You walk over to the island to set your gifts down, then gesture for your ex-hubby to sit so you two can engage in some small talk.

Also, 'cause you’re nosy.

“Any plans tonight?”

“Eh, it was just to drop these off,” Eddie shrugs. “Might go to the bar later with some old high school friends. Try to talk up some ladies...”

“Groovy,” you smirk, eyebrows dancing.

“What about you?” Eddie inquires.

“Mama’s having a night in,” you sigh, taking a bite of some nougat. “Gonna pour myself a glass of wine and read a spicy novel before bed.”

“Mm,” Eddie hums. He crosses his arms, leaning forward to meet your gaze. “The one about the long-haired-adonis-with-steel-pecs-and-a-popped-linen-collar who comes to save the day?”

You cock an eyebrow. “You snooping through my book pile, Fabio?”

“No, you’re just predictable,” he teases.

♡

Your kids remain occupied, playing "beach" in the sandlot, away from the intimacy of the two of you.

Junior is using his disposable camera to take pictures of birds. Beside him, Elijah is digging a hole of sorts, and your daughter Aubrey is off in the corner, making faint heart-shaped etchings in what's left of the sand.

She sighs in dismay.

“I like candy and balloons, but this holiday makes me sad,” Aubrey frowns. “I used to be happy when Mom and Dad were together.”

“But they weren’t happy,” Elijah points out. “Now they are. It’s better this way, Aubs.”

“I wish there was a middle for everyone, though,” Junior says. “Like a halfway-happy.”

♡

Back in the kitchen, you and Eddie continue to catch up. You talk about the kids and how school and clubs are going. Elijah has a crush on a girl in his PE group. Aubrey wants to do cheer. Junior wants to perform in the talent show, but he's having trouble rallying some friends.

And you... well, you were burning through your book piles and watching grandiose Hollywood dating shows, sometimes also dancing around the kitchen to whatever Grocery Store-esque song comes on the radio.

"Can't believe you still have this thing," Eddie tsks, taking the rusty vintage boombox in his hand.

"It still plays the good tunes though," you shrug. "Why would I retire it now?"

Eddie shrugs in agreement, putting the boombox back where he got it. The song currently playing soon fades into the background while the radio host's voice comes back into focus.

"Another great hit from KISS!" the host announces. "I hope everyone is having a beautiful V-Day so far. We're gonna slow it down for you, Hawkins! Here's some Cyndi Lauper for ya — this is Benny and you're listening to WSQK Radio."

A nostalgic tune fills the air, the melodic, dreamy atmosphere reminiscent of a much simpler time.

You and Eddie look at each other in shock, hold the gaze for a few seconds, and burst out laughing.

<< Lying in my bed, I hear the clock tick and think of you >>

"Of course," you shake your head.

"What are the odds?" Eddie blushes, lightly punching the island with his fist to ease the tension. "Our first dance song."

It was a beautiful ceremony, your wedding. Wayne had too much to drink and was waddling around giving everyone hugs. The "kids" you grew up watching took a dramatic plunge into Lover's Lake at the end of the night. And during the dance, it was if, only for a moment, you and Eddie were the only ones on the dance floor, redefining the fabric of time because while it felt like an eternity, it seemed to have passed by in a second.

<< Flashback, warm nights, almost left behind >>

Time is a thief. That was nearly a decade ago.

"C'mon," Eddie encourages, grabbing your hand.

You're instantly launched back to present day. "What?"

"We're doin' it."

"Doing what?"

"Dancing."

You allow Eddie to take the lead, just how he always does when you two would embark on adventures. He whisks you away from the island and towards the dinner table for enough space to move.

"Eddie..." you stumble into him, chuckling nervously. "Really?"

"I mean..." he says, his chocolate eyes a-gleam. "Why not? For old times sake. While the song is on... while the kids are busy..."

His hands seek your hips and find them immediately. Your breath hitches as you take in the glory of him, his timeless face, and the aroma of petroleum from his day job. He's still the same Eddie. His love is pure energy. Never destroyed, just simply transformed. And you can't wait to explore more of this new form of love.

"I'd love to."

You two begin to sway, the essence of your wedding night illuminating through the dimming kitchen. Eddie smiles into you, his forehead nestled against yours, a strand of his wavy hair tickling your eyelashes that sit prettily against your lids.

<< If you're lost you can look and you will find me Time after time >>

Before you know it, the late winter sunset melts into nightfall and your kids, with chattering teeth, begin to pile back inside.

"Brother! Help me with my shoes!" pleads Junior.

"Please," Elijah reinforces.

"Please."

Suddenly, Aubrey gasps.

"Look!" she whispers to her brothers, pointing with an excited finger. "Mom and Dad!"

<< If you fall, I will catch you, I'll be waiting Time after time >>

"So beautiful," Eddie murmurs into you as you two sway in each other's arms. "You always have been...so damn beautiful."

The warmth was like Christmas morning... a belated gift for the kids to watch two homes become one, for just a brief moment. You and Eddie are too busy wrapped up in one another to notice the biggest smiles on your children’s faces, hope flickering in their eyes as if their worlds were right-side up again.

“Halfway-happy,” Junior whispers breathlessly.

It was their (and your guys’ too, let’s be for real) happiest “Valentimes” Day in a while.

tag list 🏷️: @highinmiamiii @potatobeans99 @mediocredreams @joshlmbrt @eddiesxangel @enam3l @mmunson86 @davidblowies-blog @thatissonnina @oskea93 @aurora-austen @lesservillain @madeofmunson @bloodibambiidoll @eddiesghxst @munsonssweets @nailbatanddungeon @swiss-mrs @winchester-angel @belokhvostikova @curlyjoequinn @strangereads @marrowfrog00 @shadyunknowncreation @tuolcaniacoc @catherinnn @prestinalove @pleuviors @cinemabean @calumfmu @littlexdeaths @let-the-music-take-c0ntrol @meetmeatyourworst @b-irock @spencerssatchel @yes2476 @comeonatmebruh @bendoverncry @only4wakingup @wiltinglovers @sweetsweetjellybean @fromasgardandback @r4fe-cam3ron

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eldest-moonlit · 1 day ago

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I'm pretty sure I still don't know how to share my feelings, except in very specific situations with specific people. I am able to talk with my closest friends, with my therapist, but in other cases, even with my parents, I still don't know how to share my feelings. Twice last year I suffered massive emotional meltdowns that had me sobbing and in tears as I sat on the edge of my bed, my mom next to me as I vented and screamed. But I wasn't sure if she even understood, or I at least had doubts. Neurodivergent people feel emotions as well. We feel our emotions very intensely, or at least I do. So when I feel genuinely happy, I feel incredibly happy to the point where I feel like nothing can ruin my joy. But when I'm genuinely sad, my emotional meltdowns hit me like bricks. Those intense meltdowns are when I break down sobbing, am completely in tears, and sometimes have me screaming things I wanted to desperately say, but because I couldn't say them to my parents before, they just flood out of me during a period of intense emotion. Even when I don't have a meltdown though, genuine sadness hits me like a punch to the gut or a stab to the heart. But there's far too few people in this world outside of others on the spectrum who I've met who at least try to understand.

Even though I'm in therapy now, I still don't know how to not be a burden. I've lost track of the number of times I felt like I was not worth getting to know, not worth talking to, like my feelings and emotions don't matter...even with my three closest friends, I beg them, unspoken, but deep within my soul, to not give up on me. I've bought gifts for some of them, but I still feel scared that they might not like them. I can talk for hours with them about the things I love and am interested in, but I still worry that I might be talking too much to the point of annoyance when all I'm doing is sharing my interests and my knowledge on them. I still remain scared that I'm too vulnerable with them, that my hopes are raised but they might end up dashed in the end. And with me already having my survival in a neurotypical society getting significantly harder, I feel that even years of therapy might not help enough...

Stephanie Foo, What My Bones Know: A Memoir of Healing from Complex Trauma

#personal #thoughts #emotions #neurodivergence #neurodivergent people feel too #personal thoughts #feelings #personal post #myself #diary #journal

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rottenherbs · 2 days ago

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Frequent Flyer // G.W x healer! Reader

Request: Reader is a nurse at the Hogwarts infirmary and has a crush on George, after all he's always there after his Quidditch games needing to be tended too.

Word Count: 1.9k

Author's Note:!!! George approx. 7th year - 17-18 y/o. Reader is a learning healer, approx 18 years old // first year out of beauxbaton and interning at hogwarts.. hehe okay enjoy

[masterlist]

Much Love, Saige

——-

Your first job post grad was probably the best and worst decision you’ve ever made. It was hard being a new healer at Hogwarts, especially because of how close in age you were to the students who needed your help. The younger students had no trouble with you, often imagining you were much older than you were. But the older students didn’t trust your abilities and would frequently ask Madam Pomphrey to double check your elixirs before you could mend their wounds.

She tried to assure you that with time students would learn to trust your skill, but it was agitating and troublesome in how much you were undermined. Luckily during most of the warm months you tended to quidditch mishaps and concussions, while during the colder season it was simple fixes for colds and illness. The repetitive nature of the job soothed your worrisome mind.

Familiar faces made it easier to manage, though you worried immensely for how often they were in the infirmary. One redhead in particular made your days worthwhile, no matter how much pain he was in.

“I just got an owl that George Weasley took a bludger to the shoulder and fell off his broom. Could you make a bed for his arrival?” Madam Pomphrey asked, pulling your attention from the book in your hands.

You tend to spend your free time studying quidditch history. You had not known much about the sport before working at the school, but you quickly learned how dangerous the game had been and the injuries that come from it.

Your time at beauxbaton was often spent in the library, working towards your goal of helping others through potions and spell casting. Healing was your calling, but something about the exhilaration of broom flying interested you as of late -

The doors to the infirmary swung open, banging against the walls loudly. Startled, you turned to see Hagrid holding up George Weasley, a shy smile across his face.

”My apologies’ my apologies’’ Hagrid whispered, turning to see the cracked wall where the door had hit it, his shoulders seething slightly as he inspected the damage. “Aye’ promise I'll fix that. Should I put the boy over here?” He motioned towards a large arm chair just to his left. You shook your head holding your arms out to stop him, motioning over to an open cot at the end of the room. Hagrid nodded his head and followed you silently.

Just before you turned your back, your eyes met with George, a wicked smile plastered against his face as he stayed silent, enjoying the fact that he didn’t have to walk himself up the castle to see you.

George kept his lips sealed until Hagrid left, playing off his pain as he massaged his shoulder roughly, his quidditch uniform smearing the sheets with mud.

“I'll get you something to change out of.” You smiled, looking all over his face and exposed skin to determine how poorly injured he was.

“Awe, don't you like a man in uniform?” George wined, his eyes watching your every move. He couldn't help but admire the difference between you two. The sterile nature of your job, the ironed creases in your skirt and nursing cap, the soft feminine scent of your perfume. He sat in the bed lazily, his legs splayed. He looked at his body, suddenly noticing the dirt and grime that had stained the white sheets, sweat still reminiscent on his cheeks, and grass sticking off of his shoes.

”I like a man that's not soiled by the outside elements.” You chuffed, bending down and retrieving a cotton set of plain pajamas from under the bed, turning to roll a privacy curtain closer.

“I’ll have you know, I clean up quite nicely when I have to.” George smirked, tugging his shin guards off and setting them aside.

“That’ll be the day that pigs fly.” You responded, standing between the gap in the curtains, cocking your head to the side.

“You calling me a pig?” George gasped, his hand holding his chest dramatically. You laughed lightly, closing the curtain and distancing yourself from the boy.

Sometimes it felt insane that you cared for those your age, but it felt good to help nonetheless. You just couldn't help how you felt about them after they left…

After a moment, George cleared his throat loudly, waiting for you to return. You bit your cheek, attempting to clear your mind. It was clear from your first day, you had to be professional at the end of the day, no matter who you were healing.

Opening the curtains, you spotted a large growing bruise on his right shoulder, several cuts and scrapes following across his chest.

“This might be your worst visit yet.” You mumbled, squinting your eyes to get a better look. Your hands lightly touched his arm, his muscles tensing under your fingers. He winced quietly, sucking his teeth and facing the other way. You glanced at him as you pressed, trying to find where it hurt the most.

”I’m sorry, I just need to know if it's out of place.” You spoke, softly lifting and rotating his arm, feeling a slight pop as it moved. George kept his attention away from his injury, having a hard time with the pain. Setting his arm down, you pulled out your wand, his eyes opening wide.

”You’re not hitting me with an unforgivable just yet. I can't be that much of a lost cause.” He smiled, flicking his attention between your ward and your eyes. You rolled your eyes, lighting the tip of your wand silently.

“I just need to look at your pupils.” You cocked your head to the side, holding the wand steadily until he allowed you. George pursed his lips and squinted his eyes, turning his torso slightly to better face you.

”Like usual - Just look in between my eyes for me.” Leaning in, you held your wand close to his face, illuminating his brown iris, flickers of gold and amber as you dictated the light.

“I wouldn’t look anywhere else.” He whispered, your eyes catching his as you inspected his pupils. You felt your heart race, blinking rapidly as you tried to focus.

”You have beautiful eyes.” He whispered as you pulled away your wand, standing up to retrieve his intake sheet.

“And you say that every time.” You replied neutrally.

”It's not my fault they haven’t changed.” He shrugged, leaning back casually. You smiled to yourself, holding the clipboard tightly between your hands.

”We'll do simple healing on your cuts and scrapes, but we will have to put your shoulder back in its socket.”

“That sounds pretty rough, doc.”

”It’ll only be.. an uncomfortable experience.. but over quickly.” You tried to say reassuringly, but George could see right through your lies. It would hurt, that was undeniable.

“Could you hold my hand when you do it.” He asked, his lip pouting every so slightly.

“I can ask Madam Pomphrey to-“ You started, tapping your finger as you thought.

“No! Please.” He shouted, surprising you by his echoed response. You looked at him in imitated shock, mouth agape to his distaste of the idea. Goerge cleared his throat, aware of how loud he actually spoke. “I mean..” he whispered. “She’s a nice lady and all. Just got.. rough hands.” He smiled, his hands twitching slightly.

“You’re a strong boy. You’ll be okay.” You laughed, turning to the drawers that cascaded the walls next to the cot.

Small wooden placards labeled each organized bin for aches and pains, burns and scars, even sneezes and sniffles. Your hands grazed the wall, taking a moment to find the right tube of herbal ointment.

You turned back to face George. His cheeks were reddened lightly, almost visibly hot to the touch and his eyes were unable to meet yours. The energy between you two had changed dramatically in just a few seconds and you were unaware why.

Furrowing your brow, you sat in the chair next to the bed slipping on a pair of gloves. You both sat in silence for a second before you opened the tube and began applying the cream to his chest.

“What's wrong?” You asked softly, watching the ointment setting into the skin and lightening the scars. Goerge huffed, his mind wandering across the room, trying his best to calm his worried mind. How could he tell you he was genuinely scared

“I’ve just never….” He started, pursing his lips tightly. “I've never dislocated anything. Skele-gro is my bread and butter.” He laughed, a shuttered tone following each word. His breath hitched as you kneaded deeper into his skin. His skin prickled where your fingers grazed, the feeling of the ointment soothing along with the warmth of your body so close to his.

“I promise it’ll be okay.” You smiled, peeling your gloves off and tossing them in the bin. Goerge rolled his eyes, and smiled back at you.

“You have to say that to me. It’s your job.” He snorted, trying his best to cover his displeasure of your hands off of his chest. Not only did he miss your touch, but it meant it was time to fix his shoulder.

”My job is to help you.” You teased, standing up and leaving his side. George watched you walk over to Madam Pomphrey, speaking for a moment. He watched as you motioned over towards him, Madam Pomphrey nodding and replying in distinctly. His heart raced in fear, trying his best to distract himself, the inevitable happening anytime soon.

He thought of what you’d wear outside of your job, realizing he had never seen you outside of the hospital wing. What you ate for meals, if you liked the rain or the snow more. If you thought he was annoying or charming. If you liked Scotland more than France. If youd say yes to a date..

His day dreaming was interrupted by the sound of two pairs of shoes tapping against the stone floor. You walked in tandem with Madam Pomphrey towards Goerge, trying to calm your beating heart in the small amount of time it took to get to his bed. You both flanked the sides of the cot, Madam Pomphrey on the side of his injured shoulder and you on the other.

“I’m going to ask you to close your eyes.” She spoke, retrieving her wand from her apron. George shot a scared look at you, his face turning white in fear.

“It’s okay.” You nodded, holding out your hand towards him, inviting him to take it. His eyes softened as he looked down, hesitating before grabbing it tightly. His hand was surprisingly soft, you anticipating a rough calloused grip but enjoyed how warm and tender he held you.

“One.”

”Two.”

”Three!”

#harry potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter x reader #harry potter headcanon #harrypotter #harry potter fanfiction #hogwarts #george weasley x you #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x fem #george weasly x reader #george wealsey imagine #george weasley x reader #george weasley drabble #george weasley fic #george weasley headcanon #george weasley

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kunareads · 1 day ago

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get it over with

sukuna x reader

you break down, and he holds you together, no questions asked.

masterlist

wc: 1.6k

love letter to the emotionally stunted girlies <3

content: established relationship (sort of), hurt/comfort, nothing explicit, reader breaking down, he loves you so bad, soft sukuna

+++

i’m wondering why it keeps thundering

it’s late.

sukuna expects to find you in his bed, buried in his clothes, curled up like you always are. his apartment doesn’t feel right when you’re not here—when he doesn’t see the shape of you sprawled across his mattress, dreaming in the space that somehow became yours without either of you saying it out loud.

if you are awake, you’re waiting for him. lights dim, a movie playing, stretched out on the couch like you own the place. you always greet him the same way—some lazy remark about how long he took, how you almost fell asleep waiting, how he should be grateful you stayed.

(he never says it, but he is.)

but the apartment feels wrong tonight, like it’s holding its breath.

he almost trips over your bag, your shoes, abandoned in the entryway. the lights are off, the city casting long shadows through the windows.

he pauses in the doorway, gaze sweeping over the space, something tugging at his chest. at first, he doesn’t see you.

then he finds you. on the living room floor.

small, curled in on yourself, arms around your knees, head bowed low. your jacket is still on, halfway down your shoulders, like you meant to take it off but didn’t get that far.

he watches.

you’re never like this. you hold things together better than anyone he knows. you walk through hell without flinching, without showing anything but that sharp, steady ease you wear like armor. he’s seen you pissed, triumphant, reckless. he’s seen you exhausted, on the edge of something dangerous, close to breaking but never quite there.

but this is different.

he stands there, his arms loose at his sides, breath even. it’s not hesitation, just unfamiliar ground. he doesn’t know what to do with the way your shoulders shake, the way your whole body folds into itself like something’s crushing you from the inside.

(you look like you’re trying to erase yourself. he hates it.)

something heavy settles in his chest. it’s not pity. not discomfort. some other nameless thing.

without a word, he moves. he crosses the space, lowers himself to the ground beside you, and pulls you in. his arms slip around you, steady and certain, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

won’t you just rain, and get it over with?

you don’t move.

your weight against him is hesitant at first, like you’re not sure if this is allowed. like you’re deciding if you can take this from him. he notices it in the way you hover, how your body stays tense, how you brace for something that never comes.

(you’ve never really asked sukuna for anything that matters. would you, if you knew he’d give you whatever you wanted?)

his arms stay firm around you, one hand resting at the back of your head, the other wrapped around your waist. it’s not cautious, not careful, just solid. like this is normal, even though it’s never happened before.

you smell like yourself, but also like the cold. like wind on skin, like you’ve been outside too long and the night air is still clinging to you. he knows you do that sometimes—wear yourself out on purpose, walking for hours, chasing exhaustion, outrunning whatever’s clawing at you.

it didn’t work.

because now you’re shaking, breath coming too fast, whole body trembling against him.

he feels it hit all at once. the sharp, shaky inhale you take before your body caves inward, the sudden weight of you collapsing against his chest, the way your fingers twist into his shirt, searching, clinging. like you don’t even realize you’re doing it.

you’re sobbing. hard.

sukuna doesn’t know if you even realize it. he doesn’t know if you care. you never let yourself break like this, not in front of him, not in front of anyone.

he waits for it to pass. hoping it does.

when you exhale—shaky, uneven, tired—he presses you closer, fingers curling into the fabric of your jacket like you might slip through his grip if he doesn’t.

something in his chest loosens when you don’t pull away.

he exhales too, slow and steady, trying to regulate you, trying to get you to follow. breathe with me. he doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t have to. you always match each other this way.

you do now, too.

without thinking, he nudges his chin against your temple. a small touch. nothing, really.

but you feel it. he knows because you react—just barely, a fraction of a shift, but enough that he notices. enough that it does something to him.

he leans back against the couch, pulling you with him, guiding you down until your weight is fully against him, your head burrowed in his chest, his arms holding you steady, no space left between the two of you.

(anyone else seeing this would think they were hallucinating. you, breaking. sukuna, holding you together. sukuna doesn’t care.)

you need him. he knows, even if you never admit it.

i see you rolling it, let’s get it over with

your breathing slows first.

it’s not steady, not even—just less broken. the sharp, gasping sobs soften, unraveling into something quieter, tired, worn down by their own force. your tears still soak through his shirt, warm and damp, but they come slower now.

your body follows.

slowly, gradually, exhaustion dragging at your limbs, pulling you under like a tide. it’s like your bones have gone heavy, like you fought it as long as you could. you’re sinking further into him without even realizing it.

(you’ve been holding your breath for years. he remembers when you started. he should’ve seen this coming.)

sukuna stays still, patient in a way no one would expect from him. he doesn’t move, doesn’t risk disturbing the way you’ve practically melted into him. just lets you stay, lets you breathe. lets himself hold you like this.

the room is silent except for your breathing, the occasional hiccup from your chest.

your body loses its tension, but his mind won’t stop running. it won’t stop cataloging everything—how small you feel, how he should’ve known, how he should’ve done something before it got this bad.

this is the first time you’ve ever let him see you like this. the first time you’ve let anyone see you like this. he wonders if you’ve ever been like this at all.

eventually, you sag against him fully, exhausted, the last of your resistance slipping away.

sukuna exhales too, low and steady.

something about it feels like a truce.

he doesn’t let you go.

even though your sobs have quieted and your breathing has evened out, even though the room has settled into silence. he keeps his arms around you. not tight, not restraining. just there.

he’s not good at this kind of thing.

he doesn’t know what people are supposed to say in moments like this. doesn’t know how to string together the right words to make any of it better. doesn’t know what you need.

so he leans down, murmuring against your hair, lips brushing your temple.

“’m here.” it’s not meant to comfort you, not exactly. just to ground you. to remind you.

you shift slightly, your face still against his chest, your breath warm through the fabric of his shirt. when you finally move enough for him to see you, your face is flushed, eyes red and swollen, lips parted like you’re still catching your breath. his heart squeezes hard.

(he can see the wheels turning in your head. you’re already trying to stitch yourself back together. he wants to tell you not to bother.)

he doesn’t comment. doesn’t smirk, doesn’t mock. he just looks at you.

for once, he doesn’t have anything to say. for once, you don’t either.

it’s rare, this silence between you. he’s not sure if he likes it.

then, after a long moment, voice quiet—

”you done?”

a beat. room to say no.

it’s alright, we can roll in the clouds

you pull back first.

slowly, carefully, like you’re testing the movement. you sniff, avoiding his gaze, wiping your face with your sleeves.

sukuna lets you go, but not completely. his hands slide down your arms, slow and deliberate, settling at your wrists. his fingers don’t press, don’t hold. they just linger.

you clear your throat, shifting like you’re trying to find a normal that doesn’t exist here. “we can get up now.”

he doesn’t budge.

he just gives you this soft smile, looking way too comfortable, leaning back against the couch, watching you like he has all the time in the world.

“you first.”

silence.

neither of you move. you stare each other down for a moment.

you sigh, rolling your eyes, but you don’t pull away. instead, you settle back into him, easy, instinctive, like it’s nothing.

he feels it—the weight of you against him, the way your body relaxes back into place, the quiet trust in the way you let yourself stay.

it does something to him, the lack of hesitation.

you wouldn’t do this with anyone else. he knows that much.

(you let him hold you like this once. a lifetime ago. laughing against his throat, warm and careless and half-asleep, burrowing into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. he almost forgot what it felt like.)

he tilts his head down, presses a kiss to the top of yours and lingers there, breathing you in. he stays there longer than he means to. when he speaks, his voice is quiet, soft in a way he’d never admit.

“crybaby.”

“asshole.”

but you’re smiling now.

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lesmiix · 2 days ago

Note

hello :3 can you do headcanons of hyunju being protective over reader during the games?

Headcanon: How would Hyun-ju protect you in the games?

...

Summary: Hyun ju wants to protect you at all costs, even if that means to sacrifice her own well being

Warnings: None, just fluff, g/n reader, use of y/n

a/n: Thanks for the request!! I was really hoping someone would ask me something like this lmao

Sorry if there's any gramatical or orthography mistake, English's not my first language 😞🫶

Remember requests for Hyun-ju are open!

It doesn't matter if you met outside of games or in games, you would be her biggest concern, as you guys would get along really quickly when Geum-ja introduced you.

She would really protect you from anything, even the smallest thing.

If you can't sleep at night because you're nervous wondering what the next game is gonna be, she'd offer you to sleep with her.

"Come here, y/n" She said while tapping the bed beside her. You obeyed and you lay down next to her.

"Thanks" You muttered as you clung closer to her, your back pressed against her chest.

"Try to sleep beautiful, good night" She said with a soft voice, while she wrapped her arms around your waist and let a small kiss on the top of your head.

I really think that in the red light, green light game, she'd stand in front of you and she'd keep you really close to her at all times, telling you not to separate from her.

"Hey, y/n, get behind me and stay close to me" She whispered as she slowly pulled you towards her, holding your hand to make sure that no other player would push you and would also run holding your hand so that you wouldn't be left behind.

You definitely would be in her team in the six leg game, she wouldn't trust any other group that wanted you.

She'd make sure that no one put any pressure on you when you couldn't flip the daakji or any other game that you chose. If anyone said anything she'd cover their mouth so you could focus on your thing.

"Come on y/n, is not that fucking hard!" Player 044 yelled at you.

She kept shouting at you how useless you were and you kept getting more and more nervous.

Tears started to fall from your eyes. Suddenly, all the shouting stopped. You saw how Hyun-ju was covering 044's mouth, while giving her a death stare.

"It's y/n, you can do it"

Oh the mingle game...

She wouldn't take her eyes off you.

She definitely would hold your hand tight, she would be terrified of someone taking you with them, as it already happened with player 007

"She's overacting, I can take care of myself" You thought, while you let go her hand before the voice said a number.

"Five" The voice of the megaphone announced. Your little group started running from room to room, just to realize almost every one was occupied. You heard a "Over here!" Coming from Hyun ju, entering an empty room.

Everyone started to run towards her but suddenly you felt someone push you. You fell onto the ground. Before you could even react, you felt some strong arms grab you and almost threw you into the room.

"Don't even think about letting go of my hand again, do you hear me?" She said looking directly into your eyes while grabbing your shoulders.

In lights out she'd probably keep you by her side while you guys are hiding under a random bed, keeping you close to her body.

After what happened in Lights Out, she wouldn't let you go with her to go find the frontman

"Stay here with Geum-ja, it won't be long before I return" She said before letting a small kiss on your forehead.

If anyone said anything bad about you, she would stand between you and the person who's bothering you. Intimidating the person by her height and strong appearance.

"do you need something?" She said as she stepped forward, getting closer to the man in front of you. When he finally left, she looked at you.

"Are you okay?" She said softly while letting a soft caress on your cheek.

a/n: Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!! 🫶🫶🫶

Requests for Hyun-ju are always open!💗

#cho hyunju x reader #hyun ju x reader #player 120 x reader #cho hyun ju #player 120 #hyunju #squidgame x reader #hyun ju squid game #squid game

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creeksandsocks · 19 hours ago

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The door (drabble)

Eddie Munson x Reader, Established Relationship

Tags: Mature 18+, not proofread [550 words].

After the upside down… you and Eddie have to keep your bedroom door open if he'd like to stay in your room.

One month after the events of season 4, everyone's bustling around your house. It’s become the home base after everything. Once Eddie was stable enough to leave the hospital, you campaigned hard for him to sleep in your room. Wayne wasn’t against it, he trusted you two to be smart about his current condition and he knows his nephew, and knows you. You’re newly in love with kids with good heads on your shoulders, and didn't want to deprive his previously chronically single nephew of time with his new girl.

Hopper, your own father figure, however, was very against it. He didn’t even want to accept that you’re dating Eddie. While Hopper does have a soft spot for Eddie, he didn’t yet trust him enough to be your boyfriend. But, you argued that your bed would be big enough for both of you instead of having his recovery stunted by tossing and turning all night on your lumpy couch, and the trek up the stairs could be good for him, exercise to aid his recovery.

Through your unlamenting campaigning and eddies pain-killer-high mumbles he gave in. But, that wouldn't prevent him from enforcing a strict ‘the door stays 5 inches open at all times' policy, you two were too happy to argue.

You and Eddie have spent the past few days in bliss, a stark contrast from hell being released outside the halls of your bedroom. You giggle yourselves to sleep every night like your at a sleepover and wake up snuggled in eachothers arms and body heat. After his near death, Eddie has a hard time being calm without you in his eyeline, his instinctual urges to ensure your safety cause him to essentially wrap his entire body around yours as you sleep.

Sometimes, when everyone else in the house is asleep, and it's just you two awake in bed you sneak your bedroom door shut and make up (more make out) for all the lost time you two could have been kissing. He’s still weak, most of his abdominal wounds are still tightly bandaged so he’s can’t climb over you and cage your body in with his as he kisses you, depraved and spitty no matter how much hed like too. Though you've done it enough times that you can count it on one hand, you normally opt to hover over his body, or face each other on your sides, embracing each other and kissing like you’ll never get the chance to again. Things are staying pretty tame between you two no matter how much you'd like to grind your throbbing sexes until the pressure is relieved, he's more than happy to just kiss you, if all he could ever do was look at you he’d be happy.

One time, after you left each other spit covered and covered in hickeys you'd fallen asleep without reopening the door. As Wayne was the earliest riser out of everyone in the house, he was the first to know. Thankfully, he’s on your side so he gently knocks on the door just in case you two are currently up to… unsupervised activities… when he hears no response he gently pries the door open and sticks his head into your bedroom. He's met with a fathers pride when he finds you two wrapped in eachother's arms under the covers. He leaves the door open a crack before he heads downstairs.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson headcanons

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tricksh0t · 1 day ago

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★ need a ride?

☾ aemond targaryen x top m reader

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 2.04k

cw: very subby aemond, dom top m reader, riding, one spank, mean reader, begging, daddy kink, dacryphilia, sort of humping, the L word but you don't really mean it (love) though it's not implied enough, written with an age gap in mind

To have one of the princes of the Seven Kingdoms on your cock regularly was a privilege. What you've done with that is declare that you prefer him riding you over fucking him, just because of how pathetic it makes him. This time, you make him face away from you, tall, pale body tilted towards a mirror in front of your bed.

Aemond is more focused on the movement than the mirror, but if he looked, he'd find that your sight is more focused on what's in front of you, of course, his ass and the way it ripples every time he slams down hard.

It's rare, though. He's uncoordinated, a mess teetering on the edge of release, just waiting for your command. Seeing your cock disappear into his hole is pleasure enough, though.

"Please, daddy." Aemond sobs. Both eyes cry.

"Please what, sweet prince?" You tear your eyes away from his ass to watch him in the mirror, to watch how the tears stream down his cheeks and how his nose is wrinkled.

Aemond, usually fierce, usually aggressive, so ready to become a usurper, and he's crying on your cock.

"I–" Aemond shakes his head, hands gripping the sheets in front of him. He can't find the words, not between sobs and sharp inhales.

When your hand comes down upon his ass with a sharp slap, it shocks him out of his sobs. "Fuck!"

"Calm down, Prince Aemond." You call in a calm tone he'd find mocking if his mind were with him.

From a pit in your hand you do not often find in you, you grant him mercy, letting him take a break.

He moans when you grab his hips and make you take you whole, but leave him there. "What is it that makes you cry?"

Aemond moves to wipe his cheeks, but you catch the movement in the mirror and stop him; partly because you like the way he looks with his cheeks wet and, "Don't rub your cheeks raw, sweetheart. Just talk to me."

"'S good, daddy." Aemond says weakly. You're proud, at least, that he doesn't stutter.

"So why are you sorrowful?" Your hands rub circles into his hips, and that has them shuddering, rubbing your cock inside of him.

"I am not." He denies vehemently, shaking his head. His eyes finally meet yours through the mirror. "It's–they're happy tears. I think."

"Mm, that kind?" You hum.

Your low voice invokes a reaction in Aemond. He squirms a little on his knees. "Yes."

"Then what is it you plead for?" His mouth opens to speak, but you continue, "You have everything you could want. You have my cock, you have pleasure, you have Vhagar, you're a prince, you're wealthy."

"I–" So it wasn't just the crying that was stopping him from talking. He hiccups suddenly.

"You're embarrassed. Is that it, sweet prince?"

He nods his head just barely.

"Speak your mind." Your voice is commanding. His eyes shy away from yours. "We have known each other intimately, inside and out. You can barely stand being clothed around me. You bare yourself to me often. Surely that must merit a loose tongue."

"Please fuck me, daddy. I need that, I need it, please." He begs so sweetly.

When you give no response, he tries to turn around, but you swing him right back with hands on his shoulders. You click your tongue, and the combination of all that–your cock still in him, the disappointed sound, the manhandling–makes him flinch. "I did tell you that I wanted you to ride me, yes?"

Confusion spreads across Aemond's features along with some kind of hurt at not being able to see you outside of your reflection. "Yes?"

"Yes, who?" You ask roughly, slapping one of his dreadfully pale asscheek just to get a reaction.

"Yes, daddy!" Aemond practically wails.

"And you will do whatever your daddy wishes you to do, won't you?" You didn't even wait for him to reply, because it would matter little to you. "I told you what I wanted, and you didn't object. You do not get to change your mind now, boy."

"I–"

Your hand lays on his pale asscheek, and that reminds Aemond of, though he might not be able to see it, his other now red, stinging cheek. It shocks him into obedience. "Yes, daddy."

"There you are." You raise your hands up to hold his hips gently, a big contrast from how you handled him earlier. "Go on then, sweetheart."

Eyelids snap shut over violet and scarred blue eyes as Aemond gets back into a rhythm, or as best a rhythm as he can muster.

Riding you makes him feel like you're splitting him open, which he should like–love, even–but the movement makes his thighs burn and his knees ache.

He can't deny, though, that it feels fucking good. His gummy walls clench around your cock just to feel you more.

Aemond's bad at this, but he doesn't even realize it.

You do, plain as day. He's slow, never consistent, he finishes too quickly.

You do kind of like how sloppy he is, and how it takes him so long that your cock'll stretch him gaping. What he lacks in skill he makes up for in effort, and you know he'll always want to please daddy. Your praise misleads him.

You grasp his cheeks in both hands, making him gasp, and then you guide him. "Like that, sweetheart."

It's fruitless, as when you let go, he continues at his own pace. It's amusing, anyway, to see his face scrunch up with effort.

"Yeah," You coo, hands settling back onto his hips and rubbing, "you got it."

You can see sweat trails on his back.

Aemond's giving riding your cock his all. He's always particularly enjoyed being full, and he wants that now. You'd call it milking. Redness burns in his cheeks.

Nevermind what you'd call it, Aemond wants it. He doubles his efforts, wanting it before, or even while, he cums himself.

He clenches the sheets, knuckles ghostly white against his already pale skin.

He can feel it, coiling up in his stomach. It's like dragonfire, the way it spreads throughout his body and excites him.

Aemond rides you faster after that, chasing his release. He wants it. Wants it, wants it, wants it.

The dragonfire turns to ash as a real fire burns, making his limbs ache.

"I can't." Aemond breathes out, out of breath with a dry tongue. Exhaustion makes itself evident the same way as pleasure did, spreading from his core to his knees to his arms. When he speaks next, there's a sob, "Daddy, I can't."

"What do you mean you can't, sweetheart?" You ask, pressing a thumb against the base of his spine.

There's sweat there, a thick sheen. "I'm–"

"Exhausted?" You click your tongue, and the burning shame of disappointment accompanies Aemond's exhaustion. "You've barely been on my cock for an hour, sweet boy."

"Please." Aemond begs. He slides his body down, pressing his chest to the sheets and arching his back; still on your cock and still on his knees, but you can see how they're about to give.

He's presenting himself to you, showing you what you can have.

"You can do it, Aemond. You've done it a thousand times before."

Aemond shakes his head. He doesn't even care for the way it makes him rub his sweat and tears onto the mattress below him. "Not this time, daddy please."

"Get up."

"Daddy–"

"I said get up."

He obeys, upper half lifting off the bed in a struggle. His calf slides out from under his knee in an effort to stand, but you grasp it harshly.

"I said get up, not stand. Turn." You almost regard him like someone that needs taking care of. "Turn around now."

Aemond does so, gladly, happy to see your face even with the tears blurring his vision and even if he has to slip off your dick. You pull him further to straddle your hips.

"You," You begin, grabbing a handful of his hair to tuck his wet face into your neck. His chest presses against yours. "will keep going, and you will continue until I finish, you understand?"

"Y-Yes, daddy." His voice is shaky.

"Say it like you mean it. I've made this easier for you, I'm holding you up, you've got me to hold onto, and you'll be rubbing your cock right against me like a dog. So again, say it like you mean it, Aemond."

"Yes, daddy." Aemond says. You can hear it in his voice that he understands what you're giving him and that he's grateful. You're right, of course you're right. "Thank you, daddy."

He rolls his hips, a whole lot better than the bouncing he was attempting earlier, not for feeling but for how much work it takes.

Pressed so close against you, sweaty skin against sweaty skin, with each roll of his hips he's pressing his dick against you. It's not intentional, just a byproduct of the proximity, but before long it becomes intentional.

He humps you more than rolls his hips, losing his mind in the pleasure. That slick feeling of his pre and your sweat making it good and easier only reminds him of Sylvi.

That only makes him feel better, imagining it.

Aemond moans, but it turns into a gasp when your fingers thread through his hair, stuck together with sweat.

"What did I tell you?"

His mind is lost to him, so he answers literally, "That you–you've made it easier."

You chuckle, "Well, haven't I?"

"Yes." Aemond breathes out. He doesn't even need you to correct him or ask, "Yes it does, daddy. It's so good, daddy. Thank you, thank you."

When he rolls his hips, it's shallow, barely rising up, but it feels good anyway. It's more about being full, taking his daddy's cock like he's made for it.

He already knows he'll be sore in the morning, hole melded to the shape of your cock.

His thighs burn again, but this time he'll get over it. It feels too good to give up.

You cradle him like he's entirely yours, a warm, guiding hand on the small of his back and another on the back of his head, keeping him against you. It's almost like you care for him.

You can still see his back, through the mirror. He rolls his hips too softly for it to be a sight, but you can still see the effort he puts into it. Furthermore, you can watch your cock disappear in and out of him, watch the way it stretchesh him, how it almost looks like he's sucking you in. That is what turns you on.

"Keep it going, sweetheart." You whisper into his ear.

"Yes, daddy."

You place a tender kiss at the top of Aemond's head and he shudders.

He's darn beautiful, he is. Clean shaven, everywhere. No hair on his arms, his chest or his legs. You know that special little attention to the cleanliness of his shaved hole is for you, too.

Outside of dragons, death and politics, he is rather sweet, you suppose; and no one else knows.

His lips grow apart, looser the closer he gets to release.

It's hot against your neck, your sweat and the remains of his tears, his everconstant pants, the overabundance of his messy hair.

He can't keep still, neither his hips nor his head. Sometimes his teeth find your skin, sharp like a preadator's. He'd never bite down, anyhow. Doesn't have the mind to.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah?"

You'd been too caught up with thinking about how he was all yours, and with his cute little backside, that you didn't notice he was so close.

Aemond can barely moan a "cumming–!" before he's finishing all over your front. He slumps right over his own mess in exhaustion, breaths slowing as he relaxes. He think it's all over, blissed out as he is.

"There you go. Love you, yeah?" You murmur, pressing your nose to the top of his head.

Aemond hums deliriously, "Hm? Oh, love you too."

You flip the two of you over, ready to have your way, as Aemond had before. You hadn't finished yet, after all. He'd understand.

"Wait, daddy–"

#aemond targaryen x male reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x top m reader #x top male reader #aemond x reader #aemond x top male reader #aemond x male reader #hotd x reader #hotd x top male reader #hotd x male reader #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon x male reader #tricksh0t #backsh0t

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paxaz535 · 2 days ago

Text

**TW:** Drug use, alcohol consumption, profanity

pazzi x partygoer!reader

( no use of y/n, i’m lowkey getting sick of ts. )

You were an animal when it came to partying, and this one might’ve been the most insane one you’ve been to.

__________

‘Are you going to come?’

You looked down at your phone, the text interrupting your show playing on the television screen in the front room. You smiled, remembering that your friend Jackie had invited you to a party yesterday.

‘Yes.’

‘Alright. Get ready in 30 minutes.’

You just liked the message, turning off the TV and immediately heading into your room. You were a partygoer; everyone knew it. You never turned one down, and you were known to go pretty hard when it came to parties.

The theme was black and white, and you had the perfect outfit to wear. You can admit, you were promiscuous (only when necessary), but you just knew how to have fun, no matter the circumstances. It was around 8:43 when you finished getting ready, deciding to take a few shots and smoke a small joint before going. As you took one more hit, your phone buzzed again.

‘I’m going to be on my way.’

You just liked the message and decided to take a few pictures and post them on your story, letting people know that you would be outside and would be having fun.

———-

The girls were all getting ready in Azzi and Morgan’s dorm, it was chaotic to say the least. “Why didn’t yall just get ready and then come here?” Morgan asked as she finished up her light makeup. Ice, Kk and Aubrey were in her room, spreaded around.

“Good question, morg.” Kk spoke, fixing up her twist. Morgan put her brush down and looked over at the sophomore. “So answer it?” Kk sighed dramatically, “Because getting ready by ourselves is no fun. plus, I wanted us to all leave out together.” Morgan just chuckled and turned off her vanity, looking at her teammates.

“Well, you guys are ready, no?” They nodded and the 4 left Morgan’s bed room. “Azzi Fudd!” Kk yelled as she opened her door. Azzi, Paige, Jana, Sarah and Caroline were still touching themselves up. Paige was the only one who looked completely ready, she was just doing her hair.

“Hi, Kk.” Azzi spoke softly as she put on some lip gloss. Paige and Azzi were matching, both wearing their black husky jumpsuit and both had slick back buns. “When were we gonna get the matching memo?” Ice teased as she stood by the door. Paige chuckled as she finished her hair and looked over at the woman.

“you know what this means, ice.” Kk rolled her eyes, “yea.. it’s lowkey corny.” Azzi and Paige just laughed. The two had this thing they liked doing. If they went anywhere matching, it meant they planned on taking someone home with them.

Kk is right, in a way it is a bit corny but it never seems to stop a girl from coming home with them. They’ve done it since they agreed on having a 3rd party some years ago. It was never a problem to them, they found it very sexy if anything.

“Yea well, just make sure she’s not like the last one.” Caroline spoke as she grimaced at the thought. Everyone cringed, the memory coming back about the girl who Paige and Azzi brought back with them 2 years go. It wasn’t good. “Well, is everybody ready?” Kk asked as she looked around. Confirmations can be heard around the room as they all left out the door one by one.

——————-

‘ been on another level ‘

When you arrived, you could already tell this party was gonna be something different. instead of bright colored lights, the house actually felt black and white. when you stepped inside, balloons were everywhere. It was a long hallway, the ceiling light was slightly flickering. There was a set of stairs which led to darkness, it was honestly scary in a way. “Girl, where the fuck you got me partying at?”

Jackie just laughed, “this fits your vibe perfectly, don’t worry.” You just shook your head with a smirk, entering the main area. Again, balloons everywhere, some on the ceiling, some on furniture, it was an amazing theme and you loved every second of it. your first thought though was the drinks and drugs. you felt like getting crossfaded tonight. Jackie pulled you to the kitchen where, you guessed it, balloons were filled at. you weren’t complaining though.

‘ since you came , numb the pain ‘

You spotted lots of drinks, it made you giddy. you clapped your hands in joy, immediately grabbing a red solo cup from the stack. you grabbed the vodka first, pouring until your heart told you to stop. you chugged it down, your throat burning but you’re used to the feeling. you poured some more, this time mixing it with some tequila and sliver patron.

“Shit!” You exclaimed as you slammed the empty cup back on the counter. “Look what I got.” Jackie spoke as she pulled out a bag of weed and a mini bag of pills. you smirked at her, immediately grabbing the weed and taking out some rolling paper out of your jacket pocket. Jackie put the pills on the counter and immediately started smashing them, turning them into a powdery substance.

you guys ended up with 4 joints and decided to split it evenly. “Im gonna smoke one right now.” You told your friend as you reached for her lighter. She just nodded, putting her two up for later. She knew you two were gonna be there for a while anyways.

‘ you look into my eyes , you can’t recognize my face ‘

as you were in the kitchen with jackie, talking and jamming out, you noticed a group of young women walk towards the main area and formed their circle in a corner of the building. for some reason, you couldn’t pull your eyes away from two of them specifically. as of right now, you’re sure you were crossfaded but you didn’t care. you just couldn’t pull your eyes away from them. and jackie noticed that.

You continued to make out the two girls faces. One looked white, the other one mixed. you haven’t seen them before, and it was making you feel things. You hadn’t noticed you were staring until the mixed one looked over at you. the two of you stared at each other before she looked away and tapped the white one on her arm.

the two of them now looking at you, slightly smirking. you could barely make them out before turning your head towards your friend. She was already looking at you with a smirk. “who are they?” jackie eyes went wide. “you don’t know about the women’s basketball team? girl do you not go on social media?” jackie asked as she looked over at the team. you shook your head, you didn’t live under a rock but you just didn’t seem to care about basketball, men’s or women’s.

“the ones who you were checking out are Paige and Azzi. they’re together but they’re openly known for third partying.” She explained as you looked back over. the team now all had drinks, someone must’ve brought them one. “oh, that’s sexy.” The joint that you smoked was making you feel weird but in a good way. you decided to take one more shot before grabbing Jackie’s hand and dragging her to the main area.

‘ you’re in my world now , you can stay , you can stay ‘

the two of you started dancing, the drugs and alcohol in your system making you loose and careless. Jackie, at one point was grinding on you and you gladly let her. the two of you were having a blast and this was exactly how you wanted it to be. “They’re totally checking you out.” You looked back over to indeed see the matching women eyeing you down. it made you hot, more hot than you already were. it was a lot of bodies in the house.

‘ but you belong to me , you belong to me ‘

“Yo, kk. who is that?” Paige asked as she nudged the younger girl. Kk looked over to you and her eyes went wide. She told them your name, her voice filled with excitement. “She’s known for partying like crazy. I’m not surprised she’s here, actually.” Azzi and Paige looked at each other, a knowing look on their faces. “That girl is sexy as fuck.” Azzi spoke as the two looked back over at you. They caught you already looking at them, making them more confident in getting their hands on you.

‘ if it hurts to breathe , open a window ‘

your body was filled with ecstasy. at one point you started to feel overwhelmed. them pills must’ve made you feel different because suddenly the music got too loud and you felt like you were suffocating. “are you feeling okay?” Jackie noticed the look on your face. you nodded, “I’m gonna go get some air.” you quickly walked towards the nearest window which felt so far away. you stuck your head out, letting out a breath of relief. this haven’t happened before, you noted to ask Jackie about them pills. or it could’ve been the weed, who knows?

as you stuck your head back in, you turned around and leaned onto the wall. your vision was now filled to see the two women from earlier. they both looked at you with a faint smirk, making you forget why you even came over here in the first place. “Whats up.” you spoke softly, you three were far back into the house so the music was fainted.

“Hi, pretty girl.” The mixed girl spoke up first. “You’re Azzi and Paige, right?” The two girls looked at each other and looked back at you. “So you’ve heard of us?” Paige asked. You smirked, pulling out your last joint. you really didn’t give a fuck, but you were by a window so hopefully you didn’t get too hot. “I guess you can say that.”

‘ oh you’re mind wants to leave , but you can’t go ‘

Paige eyed the joint, “you wanna share?” you chuckled and shook your head. “you don’t wanna hit this,” you took a hit and blew it out. “i’m sure yall heard about me, yea?” Azzi gently grabbed it from your hands, and you let her. “yes, we have. and that’s exactly why we’re standing in front of you, gorgeous.” The two of you kept eye contact as she took a hit and passed it to paige.

you looked over at paige to see her doing the same thing, afterwards she handed the joint back to you. “that was hot.” you said as you took another hit with a smirk. The two chuckled, still eyeing you down. you finished the joint and threw the bud out the window, your full attention on the two. “you two seem like trouble makers.”

they looked at each other again, and back at you. “tell you what,” paige started as she took a step closer. you sat up more, getting slightly nervous under her blue icy stare. “let us take you home, and you’ll see how much trouble we can actually cause.” she rasped as she licked her lips, looking you up and down. you looked at them, your eyes shifting over to the girl not too far behind her. She raised her eye brows, that teasing smirk plastered on her face.

‘ this is a happy house , we’re happy here in a happy house ‘

“Okay.” you whispered as let paige grab your hand, Azzi right behind you two. the three of you walked towards the exit. on the way, you seen Jackie talking to some guy, you’d just text her when you got to where you were going. Azzi and Paige nodded towards her team, letting them know they were leaving. You were about to get laid by the most attractive girls you’ve seen tonight and you couldn’t be happier.

‘ this is fun , fun , fun , fun ‘

HI GUYSSS so im actually kind of proud of this !! (kinda) but I did this because this is one of my favorite songs from abel and i had to make something based off of it

the new chapter of brothers best friend should be out soon, i’ve lowkey been busy but since it’s the weekend (no pun intended) i decided to write this really quick

#Spotify #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #basketball #paige bueckers #uconn huskies #this is what makes us girls #azzi fudd #pazzi #pazzi x reader #the weeknd

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svetamillss · 3 days ago

Note

Hiii I'm really sorry.. I’ve never really requested much on tumblr,so I apologize if I’m doing anything wrong. I wanted to ask if is it possible to write some platonic headcanons for some characters like(Hyun-jo,Semi,no-eul,Saebyeok)with a younger sister reader?like how would they act if they had a younger sister?it doesn't matter if it's in the games or outside.(also if you can't do it its completely okay,and I'm sorry for my bad English<33)

Headcanons: you are their younger sister🤍

Featuring: Cho Hyun Ju x Reader(f), Se Mi x Reader(f), Gang No Eul x Reader(f), Kang Sae Byeok x Reader(f)

Warnings: agnst, there is no love line here, it's not pairings!

A/N: Your order is very wonderful, thank you!! I hope I met your expectations!

🤍🤍🤍

Cho Hyun Ju

You and the girl were very close. You were the only one from her entourage who supported her when she admitted that she wanted to become a girl. You both left the family and started living together.

Unfortunately, you have collected a lot of debts because of Ju's operations and you didn't have enough money to live on at all. That's why you decided to agree to the offer to play games.

But the girl didn't know you were here and when she saw it, she was very angry with you. After all, you could have been in trouble (she just took care of you).

When you told her that you came here for her, she was so ashamed that she even cried and asked for forgiveness for you having such a worthless sister, you immediately began to calm her down and kiss her face (it was your way to calm each other down).

In the first game, you held on to your sister's back, also holding hands with her (so she understood that you were next to her).

You both voted for the cross, but it didn't help, and you continued to play. Hyun Ju didn't let you go for a minute, you slept together, you even went to the toilet together. When the guys wanted to meet you, she immediately started a serious conversation with them, making it clear that she would not allow it.

You both prayed to get out of here together and live happily again.

- It's because of me you're here, I'm a bad older sister that the younger one has to pull me out of the bottom. - Ju said when she stroked your hair before going to bed.

- You are the best and most beloved sister, I love you very much and we will get out of here and go to live in Thailand.

Se Mi

You and your sister have always been together. Consider that she raised you. You are very close, so you decided to go to the games to win more money.

Even though you realized that games are for survival, you continued to play, because you two were scared outside, and games are a chance for a normal existence.

Se Mi always protected you, helped you pass the games, because she was more courageous and strong.

The girl didn't let Thanos and Nam Gyu approach you, who wanted to get to know you better, but your sister made it clear that she was ready to kill for your safety.

After all, after the third game, you wanted to get home, so you voted for the cross, thinking that it would all be over soon.

- Don't worry, honey, tomorrow there will be a second vote and we will return home together. And now you have to hide well under the bed so that they don't find you. - she said when she led you away from everyone, to a safe place.

- And you? I don't want to hide without you! Don't leave!

- There is a place for one person, I found another safe place and will go there, but I will be next to you. Time will fly by and I'll be back soon. And now lie down and don't get out of hiding. - Finally, Se Mi kissed you on the forehead and helped you get under the bed, after which she left.

You prayed all nighttime that your sister would be fine. But, unfortunately, your prayers were in vain. When you finally managed to get out of the hiding, you immediately ran to look for your sister, but instead of your sweet and cheeky Se Mi, you saw only a body lying between the beds. Your sister had a cut throat.

All you could do was close her eyes, your face was wet with tears. Se Mi saved you, but she couldn't.

Gang No Eul

You and your older sister were able to get out of Hell. From The DPRK. But, unfortunately, she lose her husband and daughter.

You spent a lot of effort and money to find a little girl, but it was all in vain. Everyone said she was dead.

But the two of you didn't want to believe it and continued to fight. That's why you wanted to join the games to raise more money for the search. No Eul you didn't say that you decided on such a thing, because you knew that she would be against it, since the girl was strict with you, but so she showed her love and care for you.

You were scared at the games, so after the first game, you clicked on the cross, hoping to return home to your beloved sister with at least a small amount. But you didn't succeed. There were more people who wanted to continue and you had to continue.

You've always thought about No Eul. You cried at night, because you missed her very much and wanted her to hug you. You were afraid that you would die and never return to her again, and she would not even know where you disappeared.

But you didn't even suspect that your sister was very close to you. But on the other side of the game. She was one of the guards who shot the losing players. And when she saw you at the first game, she wanted to drop everything out of horror and run out to you, shout, and then save you from this horror.

But she couldn't. She was powerless. Therefore, she only had to hope that you were fine and alive. And she had a fear of being the one who would have to shoot you for losing the game.

Kang Sae Byeok

You, your older sister and younger brother were able to get out of the DPRK, but, unfortunately, since your brother was a minor, he was taken to an orphanage.

So you and Sae Byeok had to survive and earn money to take the boy from there.

You had enemies, a lot of debts, so the two of you decided to join the games to earn enough money and finally live a real life and family.

There were a lot of victims, but you stayed together. Your sister took great care of you, because you were much weaker than her. She didn't allow anyone to approach you, you were safe with her.

You both thought you'd get out of here soon. Together. But this game was too terrible and easily played on human trust.

When you were told to divide into teams of two people, you united with your sister without hesitation, thinking that you would manage.

But you didn't know that you had to play against each other.

Sae Byeok sat slooped almost the whole game, she blamed herself for everything, and you were thinking at that time, what to do. And you made a decision. You will save Sae Byeok, because she deserves to live more than you.

You decided to make the Marbles game for yourself. You offered to play in the following way: whoever throws the stone further, he will win. The girl agreed and threw quite far. And you didn't even try.

How many screams were there from your sister, you rarely saw her crying, but you understood that she was about to lose a loved one.

When you explained why you did it, she burst into tears even harder, and you just smiled, hugging her for the last time, and then gently pushed her to leave and not see you dying.

- Thank you for played with me! - those were your last words for her. The next moment there was a shot, and then the sound of a body falling to the ground. But Sae Byeok didn't turn around, knowing that you wouldn't want it. She left the room in tears.

But who knew that your victim would be in vain. After all, your sister was killed before the very last round, not keeping her promise to get out of here alive.

🤍🤍🤍

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aventurineswife · 3 days ago

Note

I am…not doing so hot atm. 🙂‍↕️ Can I request a small short where Reader is going thru it and kinda just. Lying in bed. Buried themselves under the blankets bc they had a rough few weeks and that morning they just didn’t have it in themselves to crawl out of bed (totally missing breakfast and lunch…and maybe dinner 💀).

Uhhhhhhhhh not sure who to choose I’m thinking maybe Robin, Himeko, Jing Yuan or Welt? (Or anyone else from Star Rail.) Platonic or romantic it doesn’t matter.

No Rush, No Burden

Tags: Jing Yuan x Reader, Robin x Reader, Comfort, Emotional Support, Platonic Relationships, Gentle Care, Quiet Companionship, Soft Fluff, Slow burn, Tenderness, Quiet affection.

Warnings: Mentions of emotional exhaustion and fatigue, Non-graphic descriptions of being overwhelmed or burnout, Light angst (due to emotional struggles).

A/N: I'm so sorry to hear that! I hope you get well!! 🫂💖 Also just a quick reminder for others: Please don’t take this as an opportunity to exploit the idea or ask for something on the spot. My works are all scheduled and planned in advance, so I can’t keep rescheduling or accommodate last-minute requests. I appreciate your understanding and patience! Thank you!

The weight of exhaustion pressed down on you, heavy like the blankets wrapped around your body. You hadn't moved much today. Maybe since yesterday. You weren’t counting anymore.

The room was silent, save for the occasional rustle of fabric when you shifted. The outside world felt far away—too far to reach, and honestly, you weren’t sure you wanted to.

Then, there was a knock. Gentle, but firm.

You didn’t answer.

The door slid open anyway, the scent of fresh tea wafting in before the soft click of boots followed.

"Ah," a familiar voice hummed, light and thoughtful, like he had already expected this scene. "So this is where you've been hiding."

You barely peeked out from under the covers. Through the dim light, you caught a glimpse of golden eyes, sharp yet warm, watching you with quiet understanding. Jing Yuan, your ever-persistent guardian, didn’t seem surprised. If anything, he seemed… patient.

"I had a feeling," he murmured, setting something down with a faint clink. "You missed every meal today. Even the chefs started to worry."

You wanted to say something—maybe an apology, maybe an excuse—but the words wouldn’t come.

Jing Yuan merely sighed, but it wasn’t exasperated. It was the kind of sigh that carried familiarity, the kind given by someone who had seen this before.

Without asking, he settled himself at the edge of your bed, his armor creaking softly as he adjusted his position. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he leaned back against the headboard and crossed his arms.

"I'm not here to drag you out," he said casually, closing his eyes. "The world will still be there tomorrow. Right now, though…" His voice trailed off, thoughtful. "I thought I'd keep you company for a while."

For a man with a reputation for being lazy, he certainly had a way of making his presence feel grounding.

You shifted slightly under the covers. “…You don’t have to.”

"I know," he said, his tone carrying a quiet smile. "But I will."

There was no urgency in his presence, no expectation. Just warmth. The steady rise and fall of his breathing, the occasional sound of fabric shifting as he got comfortable. It was… nice. Safe.

After a while, you felt the weight in your chest ease, just a little. Maybe you weren’t ready to get up yet—but you weren’t alone. And somehow, that was enough.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep.

Or if you had even really been asleep at all.

The blankets were cocooned around you, your limbs heavy, your mind clouded by exhaustion. Time had slipped away, stretching into something intangible, and you had long stopped keeping track of meals or daylight.

But then, a soft melody began to weave through the silence.

It wasn’t intrusive. It didn’t demand anything from you. It was just… there. A gentle hum, carrying warmth and familiarity, wrapping around the room like a delicate embrace.

Robin.

Even before she spoke, you knew.

There was a faint rustling as she settled beside your bed, her presence quiet but unwavering. The melody lingered for a few more seconds before fading into the air.

"You don’t have to say anything," she said softly, as if sensing the struggle in your silence. "I just wanted to be here."

Something about her voice—smooth, melodic, laced with a tenderness she rarely showed in crowds—made your chest ache.

A pause. Then, a small chuckle.

"You know, I once did this for myself," Robin admitted, amusement laced with something more somber. "On nights when I felt too tired to face the world, I would sing. Not for anyone else, just… for me."

The air felt lighter somehow.

"You don’t have to do anything today," she continued. "Or tomorrow. Or even the day after, if you need the rest." A gentle touch against your shoulder, fleeting but reassuring. "But I’ll be here. If you ever want company."

Her fingers brushed against something on the nightstand. A plate, maybe? You caught the faintest scent of something warm—freshly baked bread, lightly sweet, something easy to eat even if you didn’t have the energy.

No pressure. No expectations.

Just care.

You swallowed thickly, your fingers twitching under the blankets. You weren’t ready to move yet.

But maybe, just maybe, you weren’t alone in this.

And that was enough.

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writereleaserepeat · 2 days ago

Text

Hear No Evil - Chapter 4

Masterlist

Previous (Chapter 3) // Next (Chapter 5) (tbd)

CW: bbu, bbu-typical institutional slavery, panic attacks, implied prior noncon, it/its pronouns used to dehumanize

Rowan was relieved to see that the boy was capable of cleaning himself up. The shower had only run for a matter of minutes, but as Rowan lingered outside the bathroom to eavesdrop – just in case he was needed - he heard the tell-tale clicks of the shampoo bottle opening and closing. Water splashed rhythmically against freshly cleaned tiles in a hum that was barely muffled by the door. Rowan waited a few painstaking minutes after the water had turned off, seizing the opportunity to practice his patience, before he knocked and reentered.

Although it was a deeply unsettling sight to see the young man kneeling naked in his bathroom, Rowan could already see that the boy’s skin was cleaner, and his wet curls still seemed lighter than when they had been coated with grease, sweat, and blood.

The shower also made clear that some of the yellow patches on the boy’s skin were not dirt, as Rowan had foolishly hoped, but near-healed bruises. Some wounds that had been scabbed over before the shower were open now, glistening red with nascent blood as the skin tried to stitch itself back together. Bright white scars danced with blue bruising, and a single drop of crimson trailed down from a recently reopened leg wound. It seemed that the boy had interpreted the instruction to clean himself up as an instruction to rub his scabs away, scrubbing at his skin until his injuries were raw.

Rowan made a note to himself to speak more clearly in the future. The next thing Rowan noticed was that the mirror was bone-dry, no signs of steam or beading water at the top of the glass. No hints of humidity hung in the air either. He felt his lip turn down in spite of himself.

“You can use hot water next time, yeah?” He offered as hopefully as he could, though his gaze was not returned. “Seriously, you can use the hot water, as hot as you can stand it. This place is great, because I only pay a flat fee for utilities. No extra charge for those long, hot showers. Feel free to sit in the hot water as long as you want. I mean, I certainly do. Anyway, you’re looking a bit cleaner now, so maybe you want to try on some of those clothes? You’ve got to be freezing after that shower. Come on, follow me back to your room.”

And the boy followed, damp hands and knees finding purchase on vinyl tiles, an unfamiliar rhythm across the condo’s floors. Rowan winced again, making sure to hide his disappointment by looking towards the ceiling. They’d have to do something about the crawling, get him back on his feet and walking with confidence. They’d also have to get him eating and drinking on his own, comfortable enough to take showers in hot water, wearing clothes by default, acting of his own will and guided by his own desires…

Rowan bit back a sigh. There was a lot to work on.

They made it back across the hall, and Rowan walked over to the file cabinet that was currently doubling as the boy’s dresser. He slid the bottom drawer open as the steady shuffle-crawl followed in behind him. Rowan’s fingers thumbed through the sweaters that he’d hastily folded just hours earlier, one after the other, a stack of cotton and polyester and sherpa promising warmth. There was a sweatshirt he remembered specifically from his clothing haul, something lined with fleece, certainly thick enough to restore a bit of warmth after a cold shower. Hands still digging through the drawer, Rowan defaulted to his rambling once again.

“I know I set out sweatpants and a sweatshirt earlier, but there might be a warmer sweater in here. I’m going to guess you’re cold, so let’s see if-“ and as Rowan turned to look back at his guest, just to see if he was listening, his heart dropped through his stomach.

There, on the bed, the young man was presenting himself with raised hips and a carefully arched back, eyes looking up through thick eyelashes to meet Rowan’s own-

“Fuck.” Rowan gasped, and he took a step back so fast that his shoulder slammed into the filing cabinet. His hand snapped up to shield his eyes while his voice bubbled up from his chest, words coming out as an inadvertent shout. “No! Jesus Christ, no! No. Stop doing- stop doing that. Fuck, get down from there, just get down. No, we’re not doing that. I’m not going to- we’re not- just- fuck-“

Before Rowan could speak another word, the young man bolted off the bed and down to the floor, throwing himself flat against the ground so hard that the nearby furniture trembled. The sound of his bony knees hitting the ground resounded like two gunshots. In the blink of an eye, Rowan’s outburst had caused the emaciated victim to expose his scar-riddled back to the sky.

It was clear that he was waiting for Rowan to rain blows down on his skin, whether with fists or with whips, another line written in the book of abuse written for all to see. He trembled, but he was silent, utterly silent. This was routine, a punishment he’d been subjected to before. It was something the boy expected, that he waited for, that was the natural consequence to someone raising their voice.

All because Rowan had been a bit uncomfortable, and all because he couldn’t keep that discomfort to himself. He’d been given a sliver of power, a shred of influence, and he’d already resorted to screaming.

Guilt washed over Rowan just as coldly as shock had moments earlier. The sight of the boy offering himself up for punishment, moments after he’d offered himself up for use, jolted Rowan’s consciousness back into his body. He’d yelled, one of the very few thingshe wasn’t supposed to do, and had undoubtedly terrified his guest in the process. The boy’s hands were trembling where they rested, palms up, in front of him. Short gasps came from his mouth, just soft enough that they weren’t quite whimpers, but Rowan could hear the tears he was swallowing back nonetheless.

Rowan pulled in a deep breath, surprised to find that his own eyes were stinging with emotion and moisture. This was all too much. He knew what the victims endured in their abuse, he knew that he had brought a Romantic into his home, he knew all of this from when he signed the papers and looked through the PLF rehabilitation materials. But it was one thing to read the words on a page, and it was another thing to have a battered young man on his bed offering himself up for abuse.

It was the closest Rowan had come, now by himself and in his very own home, to seeing just what he’d been fighting to have dismantled all these years. It was the closest he’d been to direct complicity, to participating in the cruelty of man. It was the closest he’d been to hell on earth.

I can fix this, Rowan thought to himself, forcing another deep breath into his lungs. I have to fix this. I can smooth this over, make it better. This is what I signed up for, this is what I’m here to fix, this is what I have to deal with. I fucked up, so I have to fix it.

What better way to start than with an apology?

“I’m sorry,” Rowan hissed through his teeth as he fought to control his volume. He wasn’t going to yell again, no matter how hot the adrenaline felt in his veins. “I shouldn’t have yelled, and you’re not in trouble. You’re not in trouble, I promise, it’s all okay. You’re okay. You’re alright. Everything’s alright.” Rowan’s heart was pounding so heavily in his chest that it was hard to swallow his volume back. His head felt heavy and his hands tingled with the panic seizing his nervous system.

Yet Rowan knew that he was not the most terrified person in the room. No matter how scared he was at the seemingly impossible challenges ahead, and no matter how worried he was that he’d already ruined everything, the boy was infinitely more afraid. If his first instinct after a shower was to offer his body up for sexual abuse, and if his first instinct after a shout was to offer that body for physical abuse, there was little question as to what horrors he’d endured before this point. He hadn’t even been in Rowan’s home for more than an hour, and he had resigned himself to the service of a stranger who owned his body, who held a title to his very life. There was no sign of the defiance, or disobedience, or even displeasure. It was fluid, seamless, undeniable recognition of ownership.

The boy hadn’t moved despite Rowan’s attempted placations. A perfect pet, entirely obedient, unmoved by gentleness. This was everything WRU wanted in its output, in its products. Simultaneously, it was everything that made Rowan sick to his stomach.

After a painstaking deep breath, Rowan grabbed the clothes he wanted from the file cabinet, and took a step towards the body trembling on the floor. He kept his steps slow, movements as glacial as he could muster, hoping that the boy wouldn’t expect a blow.

“Hey, I’m coming over now, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not even going to touch you. Just-“

The boy flinched nonetheless as Rowan lowered the clothes to the floor beside his outstretched palms.

“Here,” Rowan offered, voice as soft and level as he could manage, “these are for you. To get dressed. Please, get dressed. I’m going to leave you alone now, okay? Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be back later to check in. I think we both need… a minute, yeah? A minute to take a breather. Both of us. You’re not in trouble. Just, get dressed please.”

Rowan left as quickly as he could manage, shutting the door with a soft click behind him.

---

The pet could hardly choke back its tears. What had it done wrong? Had it erred by not offering to please Master first, settled square on its knees, eyes pointed upwards and an eager, open mouth? Had it not cleaned itself well enough, hair still damp from the shower, some wounds still raw and dripping blood? Had it not seen something obvious in this room that it should have found for Master’s use instead?

But the punishment it expected for its insolence and incorrect assumptions never came. Even though it had exposed its hands and its back, opening its skin for lashes or stomping boots, no such corrections came. It hadn’t been able to make out the precise words that Master had shouted, his precise displeasure lost to the ringing in the pet’s ears, but it knew anger from the tone alone. It always knew when its master was angry.

Anger, yet no correction. Shouting, but no punishment. Nothing but a bundle of clothes dropped on the ground beside it, a clear indication that it was supposed to get dressed.

And with that, Master left, closing the door behind him. The pet was left alone to cover its shameful body and await its uncertain future.

---

Rowan wasted no time in grabbing the now-wrinkled PLF Rehabilitation Manual from where he’d placed it on top of the fridge. He knew that if he didn’t separate it from the rest of the paperwork strewn across the kitchen counters, he’d certainly lose it amidst the chaos. On top of the fridge, placed alongside the boxes of now-stale cereal, was as safe a place as any.

He leaned the small of his back against the countertop and busied himself with thumbing through the pages. His eyes flicked quickly over the table of contents, then through the section headers in the body of the document. When he read the manual earlier, he swore he’d seen a few pages dedicated to fixing a fuck-up. That’s what this was, wasn’t it? It was a fuck up of fantastic proportions. Rowan hadn’t even made it two hours before he’d yelled at the abuse victim in his second bedroom, all but screamed at him, just for doing what he’d been so thoroughly trained to do.

He was the picture of a perfect pet, and Rowan had managed to get mad at that. In the boy’s mind, he’d done exactly as he was trained, and it still hadn’t been enough for Rowan. That was going to forever be his first impression of Rowan.

Some people are just more suited for fieldwork, the voice of his past mentor echoed in his ears. Rehabilitation and recovery isn’t for everyone. Just like Greyson has found his stride working on the administrative side of the PLF, you’re doing your best work out in the field. Rehabilitation is an entirely different skillset, a skillset that some people don’t excel in, and that’s fine. Everyone’s job is important here. Your job is important even if you don’t work directly with the victims, I promise.

And yet, despite years of being aware that he was most certainly not suited for rehabilitation work, he’d taken up this cross on little more than impulse. The only one who would pay for Rowan’s ignorance and impatience was the very person who needed him the most.

For the second time since he’d purchased the boy he felt his eyes sting. The weight of this new responsibility weighed on his shoulders now more than ever. There was so much that could go wrong, so much pain and misery he could unknowingly inflict. This time it was his own uncontrollable shock, something he should have been able to swallow back. What would it be next time? His impatience? His ignorance?

Rowan swallowed back the lump in his throat as he finally found the dog-eared page he’d been looking for. He’d dog-eared it, of course, because he’d been afraid he’d have to use it.

You Lost Your Temper – Now What?

In a perfect world, we’d never lose our temper when assisting the wards in our care. Much like we might lose our temper with friends, family, or colleagues, we might likewise lose our temper with our wards.

These moments, while less than ideal, present a learning opportunity for all parties involved. For you, the guardian, it is an opportunity to model sincere apologies and create a safe space for your ward to talk about how they feel. For your ward, it is an opportunity to learn that they deserve politeness and equal treatment from others. For both guardian and ward, it is the chance to discuss communication, expectations, and mutual respect.

Should you lose your temper with a ward in your care, take the time to collect yourself and your emotions. You might be feeling upset, disappointed, or even angry with yourself. You might even be upset with your ward for the actions that triggered the incident, even if you know those actions aren’t their fault. You might be upset with a ward who tested your boundaries, or exercised their freedom and autonomy, in a way that you aren’t comfortable with. These are normal and expected feelings. While it is healthy to process these emotions and acknowledge their impact on you, it is best to do them away from your ward early in the relationship, and in front of your ward later in the relationship. Both are opportunities to model behavioral processing in a healthy and focused way.

Once you have gathered yourself and recognized your own emotions, take some time to think about what caused that first negative feeling. Recognize the moment you lost your temper, recognize what triggered that initial negative emotion, and consider creating a plan to prevent a similar reaction in the future. Take as much time as needed for this process, and ideally, try to give your ward an adequate amount of time to process the event as well.

Finally, talk to your ward directly. Make an appropriate apology for your reaction. For example, if you yelled, apologize for raising your voice. Take the opportunity to remind your ward that they should be treated with kindness and respect at all times, and acknowledge that you did not fulfill that basic expectation. You do not need to share the reason for your reaction – in fact, doing so can cause unnecessary fear and guilt in your ward, particularly early in the recovery process, and even more so if the triggering behavior was due to their trauma or conditioning. Instead, offer them comfort and an opportunity to discuss how the event made them feel.

The rest of the page was filled with sample conversations, language for new rehabilitators to use in such situations. Rowan studied them carefully, feeling himself grow calmer as he did so. He wasn’t the first rehabilitator to fuck up, and from the looks of the manual, he certainly wouldn’t be the last. While this did little to alleviate the guilt, it allowed for a small sliver of relief. There wasn’t anything uniquely wrong with him. Instead, his response was one rooted in human emotion, another byproduct of the system and its cruelty. His disgust was with systemic oppression, not with the boy himself.

I have to do better, Rowan reminded himself, and he took yet another deep breath. His hands were still shaking from the adrenaline that had dumped into his system.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine how the boy was affected if he himself was feeling the effects of his own temper so severely.

That was the next thought in his mind. He couldn’t simply refer to his guest as the boy forever. Part of developing autonomy, including the autonomy necessary to process scenarios such as the one that Rowan had just created, came from a sense of independent identity. Right now, the boy was just that: the boy in Rowan’s spare room, an object, a legal possession. To recover, he would have to become so much more than that. The manual had said as much: giving the ward a name as soon as possible was critical to developing a relationship of equals.

That would all have to come later, and it would hopefully come from the help of a rehabilitator that Rowan prayed was on the way his condo. Hope was doing a lot of heavy lifting as Rowan sat and stewed at his kitchen counter. He took a moment to check his phone, then he checked a second time to confirm there were no new messages, before placing it back on the granite.

His heart was still racing, so he looked back to the manual with a glance, then over to the closed door of the den, then back to the manual. If either of them were going to make it out of this intact, the least Rowan could do was take the manual’s word as gospel.

What emotion am I feeling? It burned hot, Rowan knew that much, and it had spurred him to yell when he rarely ever did so. Is it anger?

But instead of a tightness in his throat and a burning in his head that he would expect from anger, Rowan felt a tingling in his fingertips, a tugging in his chest, a queasiness in his stomach. It was like he was in grade school all over again, waiting for a teacher to pass out a test he hasn’t studied for. It was that heavy, burdensome dread that clung to him every time he walked onto the liquidation event sales floor.

Rowan knew he could name the feelings as soon as he took note of their home in his body. It was one that he was loathe to admit, even as old as he was, because of the stigma of weakness that clung to those words. No matter how many times he had conquered these feelings in the past, he struggled to confront them now.

But he had to. He had to, for the sake of the person in his care, the very soul that was counting on him to move past the discomfort. Rowan would have to now, and he would have to again, for the both of them.

What am I feeling? He asked himself again, biting down on his lip in spite of himself. Coppery blood washed over his tongue from the open wound. What am I really feeling?

Anxiety. Fear, dread, distress.

Those feelings were so much more than mere anger, and they were budding like a nascent ulcer in his stomach. Those were the feelings that had governed his actions since he’d signed the contract just over 24 hours prior. Adrenaline had made him run like prey, a panicked creature hunted by an unseen predator. Rowan was a gazelle on an endless savannah, running for his life, uncaring of his destination so long as it put distance between himself and the lion on his tail.

In Rowan’s case, the lion was the system itself, the weight of an industry that would crush him if it knew what he was doing. It was ruthless, it was nefarious, and it would readily kill him if it knew of his efforts to liberate people from its clutches. If so, he wouldn’t be the first liberationist to go missing under similar circumstances.

Of course Rowan was frightened, and of course he had every reason to be. There was legislation, there was law, there was unspeakable amounts of money and power that he was up against. The PLF had always been at a systemic disadvantage in this fight, as had all of its victims, all of its wards. They were fighting on the side of the underdogs, and they would be underdogs until a significant change in the public consciousness occurred.

I’m smarter than a gazelle, Rowan thought to himself, fist tight in his lap. And the lion’s only teeth are rich politicians with a vested interest in oppression. I’m not their fuckinggazelle. I’m braver, I’m smarter, and I’m stronger. I have to be. I refuse to be their prey.

A few more moments of steady breathing were necessary for Rowan to compose himself. And just as the manual had mandated, he’d named his emotions, processed them, and acknowledged their trigger: a victim, a ward who could not consent, offering their body for sexual and physical abuse.

Another minute passed, and much to Rowan’s pleasant surprise, his breathing had levelled. The buzzing in his extremities had relaxed, and his heart no longer felt like it was being squeezed in an unforgiving fist.

The next step was to confront his ward, the boy still waiting and terrified in the spare bedroom.

“I can do this,” Rowan muttered under his breath, the soft escape of his internal dialogue. “I can apologize, I can name my feelings, and I can offer reassurance.”

He paused and searched his thoughts for something to bridge the gap. What had the boy responded to the best in these last few hours?

After a moment of mulling, Rowan realized that it had been the water. The boy had grasped the glass as if it offered his only salvation. He’d swallowed it in the blink of an eye, disappearing before Rowan could have even come up with the words to stop him.

Of course, as Rowan knew from more than a decade of field work, the victims that were prepared for transit were both starved and dehydrated to reduce any potential resistance during transit or during their first few hours with their purchasers.

Such practices resulted in a non-zero number of transit deaths each year, some of which Rowan had documented firsthand.

Rowan went over to the pantry and took out another glass, paced over to the fridge, and poured another glass of cool water from the filter. He filled it just below the brim, tall enough that the boy would be able to drink his fill, but not so full that shaking hands would be unable to raise it to equally unsteady lips.

Glass in hand, Rowan walked back over to the second bedroom’s door.

He paused. A moment, a deep breath, a hand raised towards the faux-wood painted in landlord-eggshell. And he knocked, once, twice, knuckles on the paint making a hollow thunk with each hit.

No response was expected. None came. After another two long seconds, Rowan grasped the doorknob and pushed into the room.

---

The pet had gotten dressed. It had dressed itself in the clothes that Master had tossed beside it after he had yelled, the command obvious enough even without it understanding the precise language.

It knew it had messed up. It knew that something it had done – perhaps it was the position? Perhaps it was the assumption that it would be taken on the bed? – had made its master furious. It had made its master so furious that he had thrown clothes at it, commanded it to cover itself, and left it alone.

So the pet had obeyed as best as it could. It clothed itself in the linens – softer than it had ever been granted with its old master, and so much warmer too – and resumed its position kneeling in the center of the room. Master had placed it here for a reason, certainly, alone with nothing but its thoughts and the ringing in its ears.

Fully clad, from its ankles to its wrist, in pillow-like clothing, the pet felt the pull of sleep. Even the fear from its Master yelling was not enough to overcome the exhaustion of its travels and of its last moments with its handlers. It was so tired that it was nodding off where it knelt, knowing full well that such an action would earn it a lashing like no other.

But its body would only be pushed so far before it broke.

Adrenaline returned when the walls and floor trembled with slight vibrations. Ever since the ringing in its ears had begun in earnest, the pet had learned to pay attention to the way the surfaces around it sang. Now, the floorboards rumbled with the sound of its Master approaching. Light steps – none so heavy as its old master – but an insistent knocking that carried through the wood and laminate.

The pet wished it could shrink in on itself, become smaller, offer an adequate with just its body. But it was already as small as it could make itself, swallowed by the billowing fabric of the sweatshirt, sleeves coming down past its wrists and covering its bony knuckles.

There was almost a certain chance that it would be asked to remove the sweatshirt in short order, anyway.

As it expected, Master’s feet appeared before it moments later. It took deep breaths, listening to the steady hum of Master’s voice. He wasn’t shouting, not this time, back to that level-set rhythm that the pet already found so soothing. If there was supposed to be anger or frustration, the pet couldn’t hear it.

That wasn’t saying much, given that it couldn’t hear much at all.

Much to the pet’s surprise, Master leaned down and placed another glass in front of it. This glass was crystal-clear, filled nearly to the brim with water, its surface rippling from the movement. Although it had happily drank the earlier glass of water at its Master’s command, the pet was still parched. And although its stomach was still in knots from how Master had yelled at it, how it had been waiting for a punishment yet to come, the thirst once again prevailed.

It knew better than to grab the glass with its greedy hands. Waiting, patience, showed the very skills that it had been trained time and again to embody. So it waited, waited, until Master’s voice raised with a sharp uptick in volume.

Drink.

The pet did so without hesitation. It reached forward and it drank eagerly, trying to still the trembling of its hands as it did so. Although it had to raise its head to drink, it made sure to keep its eyes pointed downwards in as much respect and deference as it could display.

The water disappeared in a matter of moments, the pet ensuring that it showed its gratitude for the generosity by finishing it with haste. Carefully as it could manage it placed the glass back on the floor where Master had set it.

Its stomach was still tight with worry, filled with the sandwich and the first glass of water, but it was confident that it would keep the meal down. It had to – if it got sick now, there was no telling when it would get food again. This nutrition was more valuable than anything else at the moment, it was the only way it could hope to have the strength to carry on.

---

“That’s great,” Rowan praised, trying to keep his voice steady as he had been. It had already been stressful enough to raise it to give the command to drink, but the boy seemed unfazed. In fact, he finished the full glass in a matter of seconds, drinking eagerly and without hesitation.

Figuring out how to get the boy to drink on his own would be a challenge for another day. For now, even if Rowan had to command as much, drinking something was better than not at all.

Now, for the reason he’d come back into the room in the first place, when all he wanted to do was leave the boy alone long enough to decompress.

“Hey, uhm, I’m sorry for yelling,” Rowan said. The apology came easily and naturally enough, so he pushed on. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you. That was wrong of me, and you didn’t deserve it. You did nothing wrong. Really, you did nothing wrong. The fact that I yelled was my fault. I’m not angry at you. I’m not mad, and I’m not going to hurt you. Everything is okay.”

The boy didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t acknowledge a word beyond the command to drink. Just as all the other times Rowan had spoken, he seemed attentive, but didn’t react.

“I mean it,” Rowan pushed on. “I’m sorry. Everything is alright. You’re okay. You’re safe here, with me. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to ask you to do those things you had to do before. It caught me off guard, and my reaction was wrong. I shouldn’t have raised my voice”

Nothing. At this rate, it would be impossible to have the back-and-forth dialogue that the manual had encouraged, but Rowan knew that it was possibly asking too much for a first day, even a first week, or a first month. His one-sided apology was a start, at least.

“If you want to tell me how you feel, you can,” Rowan offered the floor up. “It’s okay. You can say how you feel – actually, you can talk, if you’d like, about anything. I haven’t heard you say anything yet, but you’re allowed. You’re allowed to talk as much as you want here. And- and you can get your own water, and your own food- ah. I’m getting ahead of myself, I think. The point I’m trying to make is that it’s okay, and you can talk to me. If I scared you, or upset you, you can tell me that. And if you tell me what’s wrong, I’ll do my best to make it better.”

As Rowan rambled on, self-conscious of the words spilling out of his mouth, he forced himself to look down at the boy kneeling before him. This was no way to talk to a victim like this, was it? Rowan was still towering above him, voice booming downwards, the power imbalance as visual as it was ingrained in the boy’s blood.

So, after another moment, Rowan sat.

He lowered himself to the floor in front of the boy and sat down, crossing his legs like he was a child again. A laugh almost escaped his mouth as he realized how much flexibility he’d lost, knees straining and thighs tugging, as he finally got his ankles close to one another.

The boy perked up immediately, looking through his hanging curls in Rowan’s direction with those bright doe-eyes that Rowan had only seen a glimpse of once so far. Rowan smiled in spite of himself.

“Hey, is this better for you? I think it’s better, at least for right now, if you don’t want to stand up yet. This will let us talk to each other like equals, yeah? We are, you know. Even if you don’t believe it yet. So, I’ll say it again, and maybe you can think about it some more. I’m sorry for yelling at you, and yelling was wrong of me. I never should have raised my voice. I wasn’t mad at you, I was just surprised, because I don’t want to do those sorts of things to you. I’m here to help you, not hurt you, especially not like that. I promise that you’re safe, and no harm is going to come to you here.”

It wasn’t much, but it was something. As Rowan spoke the boy’s weight shifted slightly forward, so slight that Rowan almost missed it entirely, and his eyes flitted from his knees towards Rowan’s face. He never quite made eye contact, still hidden behind the curtain of hair, but it was closer than Rowan had been able to achieve from a standing position.

This was what had stood out to Rowan on the sales floor of the liquidation event. The boy seemed distant, but he was far from catatonic like some of the victims that were more difficult to rescue. There was a spark, an attentiveness, a willingness to listen and to obey. It was a flame that yearned for the chance to survive.

Rowan just had to figure out how to nurture that flame and reach through the glass between himself and the boy. They would have to break that barrier down if they were going to move towards healing.

“Yeah, we’re just having a conversation right now, that’s all.” He wasn’t sure how effective his soothing would be so soon after his yelling, but Rowan knew he had to try. “If you want to talk about how you’re feeling, you can do that, talk to me all you want. You can also just tell me to leave if you’d rather be alone right now.”

Nothing, still nothing.

“Can you nod for me if you want to be alone?” He asked, hoping to see some movement. Nothing. “Can you shake your head if you want me to stay?” Nothing again.

A thought struck Rowan as he saw the boy’s eyes peek up again, still hunting, almost fixated on his lips. He tried again once he saw the boy look upwards.

“Can you nod your head for me?”

And just like that, the boy’s head moved slightly, once up, once down. It was short, but unmistakably the very nod that Rowan’s question had evoked. And once the nod had finished, the boy looked back down at the floor.

“Can you nod again?” He asked once more as soon as he was certain the boy was no longer looking.

No movement.

“Oh my god,” Rowan whispered out loud as realization flashed through him, and he clambered to his feet. He nearly tripped over himself as he did so, staggering to a standing position and darting behind the boy, back over to the far corner of the room, directly behind his ward. The boy was still kneeling, unmoving, his eyes were still pointed towards the door. Importantly, he was unable to see Rowan’s face even if he raised his eyes.

Rowan snapped his fingers, a few times on his right, a few times on his left. No reaction. Then, after a pause to suppress the oncoming wave of guilt, he clapped his hands together with considerable force. The sound was sharp enough to echo throughout the small room.

This evoked a reaction. It was subtle, but he saw the boy’s shoulders twitch in some sort of anticipation. A fear response, automatic, but a response nonetheless.

“Holy shit,” Rowan muttered to himself, a hand running through his hair almost of its own accord. His epiphany was looking more and more like a plausible possibility.

“Hey, turn around,” he instructed. He made sure not to raise his voice, keeping it as neutral as possible, but still issuing the command with certainty. Again, no movement. He tried again, same tone, conversational volume. “Turn around, right now. Turn around and look at me.”

Nothing.

After a deep breath, and a final reminder that he was doing this for the boy’s own good, Rowan shouted.

“Turn around!”

And just like that the boy moved, turning on his knees in a swift, fluid motion. A blink later and he was kneeling in that same position, but this time pointed towards where Rowan stood at the back of the room.

A nervous chuckle slipped out before Rowan could swallow it. All of that pain, all of that suffering, the threat of death on the sales floor, it had all been under the guise of disobedience. Rowan was now certain it was anything but.

“Jesus Christ, kid, you’re not disobedient. You just can’t fucking hear me.”

There was a euphoria he couldn’t describe blossoming in his chest. This rescue wasn’t a hopeless mistake that he had made, this victim wasn’t beyond recovery or redemption. He simply couldn’t hear the very words that Rowan was speaking to him, commands or otherwise.

It was Rowan’s turn to drop to his knees, aging bones hitting the wood as he fell a mere foot from where the boy had stationed himself.

“It’s okay!” Rowan all but shouted, the boy’s flinch lost to the excitement. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s all okay.” His voice was as loud as he could make it without screaming.

“You’re safe. You’re safe now. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re home, you’re safe. It’s all going to be okay.”

A/N: Cheers to the rewrite for a chance to make it clear that Rowan's not an idiot, he's just out of his depth. That was one of the driving factors for the rewrite, actually. Sorry for those that hoped there'd be a few more chapters of misunderstanding and obliviousness from our well-meaning caretaker - it's important to me that Rowan is capable and aware of himself in this story, particularly given his role in other liberation efforts. But there will absolutely be other barriers to communication and understanding between the two, I can promise that much!

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