#so I wonder what people would want to try out most

[finelinefae]

bambi [ceo!h x shy!reader]

synopsis: y/n tries a dating app and meets the CEO of Pleasing

word count: 8.6k

contains: ceo!harry x assitant!y/n, deer!reader vibes, dating app, online dating, deer!reader, first date, first kiss, fluff, age gap (9 years)

a/n: this is the first part of a new series. as usual the first part is a lil slow to set things up but I'm excited for what's to come of this one. there's going to be a lot of cuteness and all the things i love writing about in this one so i can't wait to share more !

. . .

Most of the time Y/N didn’t want to be in control of things. 

From a young age, she had to be in charge of everything. She had three younger brothers and was born to a single mother who worked hard to keep everything afloat in their tiny, townhouse. So inevitably she became an adult before she could even buy a lottery ticket. 

Her life wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t easy. With the constant nagging from her much younger siblings and the dampened sleeve of her t-shirt—evidence of the hours she spent comforting her mother through tears—Y/N had just had enough.

Her life had become an abundance of things she was struggling to keep up with. She had no reprieve throughout her daily life, no way of stopping or just letting go. 

She worked six-hour shifts at the supermarket, studied marketing at university, did the school run in the mornings, and often in the evenings too, if her mother was too tired to get off the couch. She tutored her youngest brother, who was falling behind in math, and kept the house in order while all three of them stayed glued to the television.

Even worse, her social life was practically nonexistent.. She was twenty-one and spent her Friday nights making dino nuggets and catching up on an incessant amount of laundry from the past week. 

Y/N wasn’t sure where her life was heading. The loneliness and stress was so overwhelming she could barely breathe. 

One night, the weight of it all brought her to tears as she thought about her future after graduation. Most of the girls she knew were planning gap years, travelling to places like Brazil or Italy. She tried to picture herself boarding a plane, but the only thing she could imagine was her mother calling mid-flight, asking her to pick up one of the boys from school.

She pulled open her phone eyes blotchy and nose stuffy from crying. Her loneliness was hitting her hard and she was desperate to feel some kind of connection, even if it was five minutes of conversation. So, she opened the only dating app she had on her phone, one that she’d installed many moons ago when she wanted to open herself up to meeting new people. 

She barely used it after realising she wasn’t the best at small talk and whenever a guy would ask for a date, her introverted self would refuse to step foot out of the house. But on occasion she’d find herself wondering, searching for someone to take her mind off of everything. 

Y/N swiped past copious images of men, seemingly unphased by all of them. She swiped through so many, that they almost began to look the same - 5’9, tanned, shirtless or lifting weights trying to show some kind of strength that proved to women they were most definitely ‘manly’. 

When she started to believe all hope was lost, she paused when her eyes settled on a man who didn’t look much like the others. He was tall, with brunette curls and green eyes that crinkled when he smiled. He wore rings on his hands in every single picture and in one of them he wore a shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal a sleeve of tattoos. In most of his pictures he wore comfy sweaters and knitted cardigans with grey or black trousers. In one of them he wore a pair of blue jeans and had a small, battered copy of The Catcher in the Rye in his back pocket. 

She read his bio beneath. 

‘Harry, 30

Likes: scrabble, food, cats, books, cardigans

Dislikes: loud chewing, music played too low, emails, wearing sunglasses indoors at dinner is absolutely criminal’

She clicked the heart on his profile, eyes widening when the words ‘MATCH’ appeared on the screen in big bubble writing. He hadn’t sent her a message but clearly he had liked her own profile which was surprising considering she had barely anything on it. 

As she was mulling over what to say to start the conversation, three bubbles quickly appeared then disappeared, replaced by a message. She held her breath, reading the words. 

Harry: Hey, pretty dress

She frowned, wondering what he meant by that but then remembered she had a picture of her on her profile, showcasing one of her favourite dresses. It was a baby pink slip dress she had made out of silk fabric. 

Y/N: Thank you, I made it! :) 

Harry: You did? Wow! Looks better than most of the ones I’ve seen in my own store.

Y/N: Do you own a clothing store?

Harry: Something along those lines

Harry: Although they don’t sell pretty dresses like yours 

Y/N: They’re probably a lot better, I use cheap materials 

She cringed at her message, hoping she didn’t sound broke or not put together by saying she used something cheap.

Harry: I’m even more impressed

She smiled, watching him type a new message. 

Harry: What brings you here?

She tried to sum up how she was feeling without making herself seem like a weirdo. She didn’t want to sound like a recluse looking for human interaction no matter how much she felt like it. 

Y/N: I’m tired of everything, just want someone to keep me company 

Harry: I get that. Should I be worried? Are you okay? 

Her heart warmed, she couldn’t remember the last time someone asked her if she was okay. 

Y/N: I’m okay now, thank you for asking !! it’s just everyday life stuff.

Harry: Of course. Just let me know if there’s anything you want to talk about. I’m right here to listen… or read 

Y/N: thank you, that truly means a lot!! xx

Harry: No problem, love x

Y/N’s heart flickered at the name he had placed on the end. 

They texted for hours, well into the middle of the night. Y/N was giddy, rolling around on her bed, smiling so hard her cheeks ached. They had so much in common—both preferred quiet nights in, were family-oriented, loved literature and art and even fashion. He was funny and sweet, always checking in to make sure she was comfortable and that he wasn’t overstepping with his questions. Despite how much they had in common, they had a lot of differences too.

Y/N: Is it raining where you are? Xx

Harry: Hm, just checked outside and I think the clouds are coming over. I don’t mind though autumn happens to be my favourite season.

Y/N: omg really? 

Harry: What? You don’t agree?

Y/N: No omg are you kidding? I’m much more into spring. I like that it’s sunny with a slight breeze so it’s warm but not too warm so you can still wear a sweater

Harry: Ahhh I see, you do give spring I must say

Y/N: You think so?

Harry: Even from looking at your pictures, you look like a tulip or something. 

Harry: Or the little deer from that movie

Harry: What was it?

Harry: Bambi!

Harry: Maybe that should be your name - Bambi 

Y/N: That’s one of my favourite movies !! 

Y/N: I happened to think Bambi is a very pretty name 

Harry: Then I’ll call you Bambi 

Y/N: Well what should I call you?

Harry: Anything you like, Bambi 

. . . 

Y/N was working her shift at the supermarket. She was already entering her final hour, her stomach rumbling as she packed frozen pizzas onto the shelves. Although she had been working hard to get things done so she could go home on time, her mind was constantly wandering. 

It had been a full week of talking to Harry. They had converted to messaging on WhatsApp after exchanging numbers and every day Y/N would wake up to a morning text message from him telling her to have a good day and that he would be right there in her pocket if she ever needed anything. In the evenings, he would make sure she wasn’t going to sleep with anything heavy on her mind. He’d ask her questions about what she ate and if she had any time to herself in the day. For the first time in a long time, Y/N felt a little less lonely. She went about her day with a little pep in her step feeling the excitement of texting the man she had only just met. She didn’t know what it was about him but a part of her felt safe with him. Maybe it was the fact he was nine years older than her and knew what it was like to be under stress with so many things but he understood her in a way no one else did. 

And Bambi.

Every day, it was Bambi this and Bambi that, and every time, she’d swoon or smile at the nickname he had given her. It was silly, maybe even a little ridiculous, how much it affected her. But she couldn’t help it—every time he said it, a bubble of excitement grew inside her. She liked someone for the first time in a long time, and it brought something new, something light, into her overwhelming life.

After days of just simply texting, Y/N had asked him if he wanted to video call tonight. It would be her first time hearing what he sounded like and part of her was nervous. What if he came across differently from how he was over text? What if he didn’t look the way he did in the numerous pictures he had sent her? What if after calling tonight, he didn’t like her anymore?

Hours later, Y/N was tucked up in bed readying herself to call him. She had showered and blow-dried her hair, wearing her comfiest pink pyjamas with her body wrapped up in her duvet. Her thumb hovered over the call button, gnawing on her bottom lip as thoughts raced through her mind.

She gasped when Harry’s face appeared on her screen just seconds after she pressed call. It was their first time ever talking like this, and her heart raced as she took in the sight of him. He was sitting in a desk chair, a large framed artwork hanging on the wall behind him. His shirt was slightly rumpled, his tie loosened around the collar, and his curls fell lazily across his forehead. He looked so effortlessly handsome, it almost didn’t seem real.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice breaking the stillness of her bedroom. It carried a warmth, soft and steady, like the glow of a campfire, and she felt herself melt under its gentle heat.

“H-Hi,” she squeaked, her cheeks immediately flushing with warmth. Her nerves bubbled up as she realized she was staring at him, trying to comprehend that this was actually happening. Surely she was dreaming, she pinched herself to make sure. 

Harry’s eyes softened when he heard her shaky greeting. “You alright?” he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small, amused smile. His tone was gentle, almost teasing, but there was something deeper there—like he was studying her reaction and enjoying every second of it.

She nodded quickly, fumbling with the hem of her pyjama shirt. “I’m good! Just… surprised you answered so fast.” She giggled nervously, her voice high-pitched and sweet, like she couldn’t quite believe this was happening. “I thought it’d take a few rings at least.” Her blush deepened as she tucked her knees up to her chest.

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm, making her heart flutter. “I was waiting for you to call,” he admitted, a soft smirk tugging at his lips. 

Her heart skipped a beat, and she shyly glanced up at him through her lashes. “Really?” she asked, her voice soft and a little disbelieving. 

He smiled, a slow, adoring smile that made her stomach flip. “Yeah, really. I’ve been thinking about it all day.” His voice had that low, confident tone, but his gaze was gentle, like he wanted to make sure she knew he meant it. “The only thing getting me through work.”

“You’re still at work? It’s nine-thirty!” she exclaimed, glancing at the clock in disbelief.

Harry’s lips curled into a playful smirk. “Is it past your bedtime, Bambi?” he teased, leaning back in his chair as he glanced at her through the screen.

Her heart stuttered hearing that nickname come from his own mouth. She felt like if the camera wasn’t on, she’d be floating around her room like a bright pink orb of light, “N-No,” she stammered, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. “But shouldn’t you be going home by now? You’ve been working all day.”

He let out a small chuckle, shrugging as he glanced down at the papers scattered across his desk. “Got a lot to catch up on. Too many late nights spent talking to you.” His voice was warm, laced with affection despite his teasing.

Her heart sank for a moment, guilt creeping in. They’d been texting non-stop for weeks, and she hadn’t once thought about how it might be affecting his workload. He’d told her before that he worked for a clothing company, and it suddenly hit her how busy he must be.

Noticing the shift in her expression, Harry’s voice softened. “Y’thinking too much in that little head of yours?” he asked, cutting through her thoughts.

“Maybe a little,” she admitted quietly, biting her lip.

He shook his head, eyes never leaving hers. “You know I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, right? I love talking to you, Y/N. I think... I might even be a little obsessed with you,” he confessed, his smirk turning into a softer smile.

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a second, all she could do was stare at him, her heart thudding in her chest. “I-I think I’m obsessed with you too,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. 

“Yeah?” His voice was full of warmth, a hint of disbelief in it, like he hadn’t expected her to say it back. She nodded shyly, clutching her pillow tighter against her chest, her heart racing.

Harry huffed out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face to hide the wide grin that had taken over. “God, you’re even cuter than I imagined,” he murmured, his words full of adoration.

They talked for hours, diving into everything and anything that crossed their minds. It was the longest conversation they’d had since they started talking, and Y/N found herself more captivated by Harry than she thought was possible. The way he laughed, the way he listened—it all just pulled her in deeper.

In the middle of her sentence, she noticed Harry looking at her with an unusually soft expression, his eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite place. He suddenly spoke, cutting her off mid-thought. “Can I take you on a date?” His voice was gentle but firm, catching her completely off guard.

“O-Oh,” she stammered, blinking in surprise. She hadn’t expected him to want to meet her so soon, but her heart leapt at the thought. “I’d like that,” she replied, a soft smile spreading across her face. “Very much.”

His own smile widened, a mix of relief and excitement in his eyes. “How about Saturday evening? I could pick you up.”

“But wouldn’t that be too long of a drive?” she asked, biting her lip. She knew he lived in the city, about forty minutes away without traffic, and she didn’t want to inconvenience him.

Harry’s expression didn’t falter. “It’s not too far at all. Trust me, I don’t mind,” he said confidently. “I’ll pick you up at 8, sound good?”

Y/N’s heart fluttered, the idea of seeing him in person making her pulse race. She nodded shyly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Mhm, that sounds perfect.”

Harry’s grin grew, his eyes twinkling, “Can you wear the pretty dress you made?”

Y/N blushed, “You don’t want me to wear something a little more sophisticated?” 

“Y’ can wear whatever makes you comfortable, I don’t mind but I think I’d like to see that little dress y’ made.” 

She nodded, stifling a yawn as it slipped out. It was getting late, and Harry was still at his office, working. “Y’tired, lovie?” His voice softened.

“A little,” she lied, knowing full well she was more than exhausted. But the thought of ending the call made her chest tighten—she wanted to keep him on the line, even just for a few more minutes.

Harry chuckled softly as if he could see right through her. “Why don’t you rest those pretty eyes for me, yeah?” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, the gentle authority in his words making her entire body relax. She practically melted at the sound, her heart skipping a beat.

“M’kay,” she whispered, her eyelids already heavy as she let herself sink deeper into the comfort of his voice.

“I’ll be right here, alright?” he reassured her, his tone gentle and full of warmth.

She managed a soft smile, her words barely audible as her exhaustion overtook her. “Promise?”

“Promise Bambi,” he whispered, his voice the last thing she heard before sleep pulled her under.

. . .

“Mr. Styles?”

Harry looked up from his computer, peering over the rims of his glasses. His receptionist, Lindsey, stood in the doorway. “The samples for the newest collection have arrived. Would you like me to bring them in?” she asked, her voice polite but efficient, as always.

“Yes, please, Lindsey,” he replied with a sigh, signing off another email before hitting send. The endless stream of tasks had him feeling drained.

Though Harry wasn’t usually the type to show much warmth towards his employees, Lindsey was different. She’d been with him for years—long enough to earn not just his respect, but his trust. She was one of the very few people he relied on within his company. 

Harry was the CEO of Pleasing, a major fashion company he had built from the ground up. His first line had been designed in a small studio, crafted with his own hands and the help of a few close friends who still worked by his side. Now, it was a global brand. He was on Forbes 30 under 30 and had features in magazines like GQ. He was even in Time magazine for most influential people. 

Despite all the success, his day-to-day life had become an endless loop of emails, business meetings, and deadlines. Time for anything outside of work was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Lately, though, something, or rather someone, had started to make him reconsider how he spent his time.

He checked his phone once more having only picked it up a minute ago for the same reason. He hoped to see a message from Y/N, in fact he was eager to. Ever since he had messaged her on the only dating app he used, he hadn’t thought of anyone else but her. 

It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, one born out of the loneliness that weighed heavier than ever that night. Harry sat in his dimly lit office, the silence around him almost suffocating. He hadn’t dated in over a year, not since his last relationship, which had ended on a bitter note. That girl had taken advantage of him, using his desire of the relationship he wanted to manipulate him. She had drained his bank accounts, maxed out his credit cards on shopping sprees and lavish holidays with her friends, leaving him both financially and emotionally exhausted. After that, he’d grown wary of trusting anyone.

When he joined the website, he wasn’t exactly hopeful. The chance of finding someone who truly understood his career and mirrored his desires in a relationship seemed slim.

But then he met his Bambi. 

He hadn’t been searching for anything specific that day, just scrolling aimlessly, but something about Y/N’s profile made him pause. There was a warmth to her, a genuine spark that went beyond her pictures. She didn’t seem to realise just how captivating she was, and that drew him in even more. It wasn’t just her beauty—though she was stunning—it was the way she spoke about the things she loved. Her messages were full of passion, filled with rambles about her favourite books, little moments in her day, or random thoughts that popped into her head. 

Y/N had ignited something within him. He was excited for this newfound thing they had going on, a spark he hadn’t felt in years. Every message from her left him smiling at his phone, wondering what she’d say next. It was the kind of excitement that made the day feel a little brighter, knowing she was just a text away. He found himself looking forward to the simplest things—her daily updates, the way she’d ramble about something she’d seen or read, and even the photo updates she’d send him of things she was doing.

For the first time in a long time, he found himself imagining what it would be like to share his life with someone, instead of the quiet solitude he’d grown so used to. He couldn’t shake the thought of Y/N being that person—the one to bring warmth into the corners of his once-lonely home. He pictured what it would be like to have someone in his space, their presence adding a new kind of lightness. Someone to be there in the small, everyday moments and to keep him company after a long day at the office. 

He couldn’t wait to meet her in real life, hold her in his hands and kiss the lips he spent nights dreaming about. 

Harry snapped out of his daze when Lindsey opened the door and the manufacturers entered the room behind her, holding the fabric samples in their hands. They greeted him timidly, laying the samples on the table by the large floor-to-ceiling windows. 

He walked over, black polished shoes clicking against the mahogany wood floor. He sighed when he took in the samples, he didn’t need to feel them to know they weren’t good enough. Uncapping the red pen, he drew a cross beside each sample, the men behind him releasing a shaky breath. 

“Come back when you have what I want,” He murmured, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. 

He checked the time on his watch and cursed. Today was his niece’s birthday and he promised his sister he’d visit in time for her birthday party this afternoon. “Lindsey,” He called, hearing her shoes against the floor before she opened the door to his office. 

He pulled on his blazer, “I’ve got to leave, did you wrap that gift I gave you the other day?” 

Lindsey frowned, “It’s under my desk but what about your meetings this afternoon?” 

“Cancel them.” He shrugged.

His Porsche was parked out front by the time he stepped out of the building. He put the gift into the passenger seat and made a mental note to stop somewhere to buy a birthday card. 

He glanced at his phone when a text came through.

Bambi: Half way through my shift. It’s been pretty rough, sorry for the late reply xx

His heart leapt when Y/N’s name appeared. He took his phone when he reached a red light and typed in a reply.

Harry: it’s okay lovie, call me when you finish yeah? x

He was desperate to speak to her even if it were just for a mere few seconds. 

Making a left turn, he pulled into the parking lot of a small supermarket on the highway. It looked run down and old but there wasn’t anywhere else he could go to before he reached his sister's house.

People sat outside, smoking cigarettes and drinking out of beer cans. He ignored the glances they made towards him and his car. 

He stepped inside and walked along the aisles, pausing when he noticed someone stacking things onto a shelf. His heart skipped a beat when he saw her. She was wearing blue jeans and a fuzzy white sweater, her hair was braided and fastened with pink, silk bows. She wore wired earbuds, her pink ballerina flats tapping against the laminate flooring. 

She must have felt his gaze because her head lifted, eyes widening as they met his. Her soft, pink lips parted slightly, and in that instant, it was as if the world shifted—everything falling perfectly into place between them, as though they were always meant to find each other naturally. 

Harry hadn’t noticed the sugar spilling from the bag she was holding until the store manager stormed over. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The sharp tone made Y/N jump, her body snapping upright as she stood frozen in front of her manager, fear flashing across her face.

“I-I’m s-sorry, I—” Y/N stammered, her voice trembling.

“How many times do I have to hear the same excuse from you?” her manager snapped. “Stupid, useless girl, costing me the whole damn shop.”

Y/N’s bottom lip quivered, her eyes welling up with unshed tears. “I-I know... I promised it wouldn’t happen again. It was an accident, really,” she whispered, her voice barely holding steady.

Harry’s frown deepened. Again? This had happened before?

From the way Y/N stood there, trying so hard not to cry, it was painfully clear—this wasn’t the first time her boss had spoken to her like this.

Harry’s jaw tightened as he watched the exchange, a surge of protectiveness rising in him. He had only known Y/N recently, but seeing her like this—small, vulnerable, and clearly hurt—stirred something deep within him. He couldn’t just stand there and let it happen.

“Excuse me,” Harry spoke up, his voice calm but firm, stepping closer. The store manager turned to him, annoyance flashing across his face.

“This doesn’t concern you,” the manager spat, his glare shifting to Harry.

“Actually, I think it does,” Harry replied, his eyes steady on the man. “You don’t need to speak to her like that.”

The manager scoffed. “And who the hell are you?”

Harry didn’t blink, his voice lowering. “Someone who knows when respect is lacking.”

Y/N looked up at Harry, wide-eyed, as if she couldn’t believe he was stepping in. Her heart raced, a mix of relief and anxiety bubbling inside her. She wasn’t used to anyone standing up for her like this.

“Y/N, why don’t you take a minute?” Harry said softly, glancing over at her, his voice now gentle and reassuring. The tears in her eyes made his chest physically hurt. He’d be quick with this useless piece of shit so he could give her all his attention.

She hesitated but then nodded, her gaze flicking between Harry and her boss. She quickly turned, slipping away from the confrontation, her hands shaking as she tried to compose herself.

Harry turned back to the manager, his calm exterior masking the frustration brewing underneath. “Speak to her like that again, and I won’t hesitate to have this place torn down, brick by brick, and replaced with a building I own. Then you’ll know firsthand what it’s like to deal with a real fucking manager.” 

With that, he turned on his heel, already making a mental note to have his team look into this place. It was clearly lacking in more ways than one—enough to warrant being shut down for good he hoped. 

Y/N stood behind the building, her back to him, shoulders trembling as she cried into her sleeve. Harry’s heart clenched at the sight. “Hey, hey, hey,” he murmured softly, stepping forward and gently pulling her into his chest. “Tha’s enough now, Bambi. Don’t waste your tears on him,” he whispered, his large hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. Holding her close felt unexpectedly right, as if this was exactly where she belonged, even if the circumstances weren’t ideal.

“I’m so embarrassed,” she sniffled, her voice small. “This isn’t how I wanted you to see me for the first time.”

His eyes softened with affection as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. Carefully, he wiped her tear-stained, blotchy cheeks, his touch tender. “You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about, sweetheart,” he whispered, “S’alright now, y’ don’t have to go back in there.” He cupped the back of her head, feeling how soft and silky her hair was. He couldn’t seem to fathom that he was actually holding her after days of imagining what she would feel like.

She pulled away and for the first time Harry could get a proper look at her. He didn’t think it possible for her to be even more beautiful than the pictures he had of her on her phone but she was. Her features were soft, cheeks permanently pink like the colour of tulips on a spring day, her lips were the perfect shape, so delicate like two petals pressed together. She was a walking angel. 

“Hey stranger,” He grinned, those perfect cheeks turning pink. If Harry had one goal in his life it was to make her all flustery and blushy. 

“Hi,” She peeped, hands fiddling in front of her.

Her eyes widened when she saw the tear stains on his shirt, the damp spots revealing the tiniest hint of the tattoos on his torso. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your shirt,” She cringed.

“Hey no need to apologise, ‘s not even ruined and I’d rather you were okay than some easily replaceable shirt.” He assured her. “Are y’ sure you’re okay? Don’t need to go in there and beat him up or anything,”

She smiled at that and the sight made his heart sing, “No it’s okay. I-I’m okay, thank you for looking out for me. I don’t normally have people doing that very often.”

He frowned. He didn’t like how often she spoke about how little help she got from other people. If anything, it made him want to take care of her even more than he already did. 

“I should probably head back in. I still have three more hours of my shift,” she huffed, clearly reluctant. It was the last thing she wanted to do.

Harry’s expression softened, but his tone remained firm. “You don’t have to,” he said, his gaze holding hers, protective and unwavering.

Y/N frowned, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “But I need the job, Harry,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “I can’t just leave.”

His jaw tightened at her words. He hated seeing her stuck in a place that didn’t value her, where she wasn’t respected. “I know you need the job,” he replied, gentler now, trying to ease her worry. “But no job is worth being treated like that. Not by him.”

She bit her lip, glancing back at the store, anxiety clearly weighing on her. “What am I supposed to do, then? I can’t afford to lose it.”

Harry stepped closer, his hand finding its way to her cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear. “You’re not going to lose anything,” he said softly. “Let me take care of it. Of you.”

Y/N blinked up at him, her heart pounding. “Take care of me?”

“Come work with me,” He offered. 

There weren’t many positions available at Pleasing, but Harry didn’t care. He’d make something work—anything to keep her from going back into that place and dealing with the jerk inside.

“In the city? I... I can’t do that, Harry. I still have school, and my brothers...”

“You can work around it,” he said quickly, eager to find a solution. “I’ll pay for your gas to and from the city, or I’ll have someone drive you. Hell, I’ll drive you myself if it makes you feel better. Whatever you need. Just don’t stay here.”

He sighed softly, taking her small hand in his larger one, her warmth a comfort even as doubt flickered between them. “Just... think about it, yeah?” His thumb traced gentle circles on the back of her hand, trying to ease the tension.

Y/N hesitated but nodded slowly. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur.

A grin spread across Harry’s face, his relief palpable. “Thank you Bambi.” He swore he saw her pupils carve into love hearts at his words. 

. . . 

Y/N hadn’t returned to her job at the store just as she promised Harry. It wasn’t only because Harry was insistent she didn’t go back but her manager had been pretty verbally abusive for quite some time now and she thought better than to go back and work for someone who was just plain mean. 

A few days had passed and Saturday rolled around quickly. Y/N was giddy with excitement, preparing everything in time for Harry to pick her up to take her on their very first date this evening. She had arranged a babysitter to look after her brothers since her mother wouldn’t be home until late. It wasn’t often they splurged cash on hiring a babysitter but Y/N wasn’t going to rearrange her date with Harry for anything.

She’d made a list of everything she needed to do: wash and blow dry her hair, shave every inch of her body, and paint her nails with the glazed pink polish she’d ordered online. Her hair was in curlers as she carefully laid out her outfit for the evening—a pink satin slip dress she’d made herself, paired with white kitten heels that matched perfectly. With the season shifting into autumn, she added a thin white cardigan to keep her warm in case the night turned chilly on the way home.

She wanted to look perfect. Especially after the fiasco the other day when he had rescued her from her mean manager. 

Everything seemed to move in slow motion the moment she laid eyes on the man from her phone. He was even more perfect than she had imagined—taller too. It still hadn’t sunk in that she was about to go on a date with this man—the one who wore a black suit to work and had saved her from cruel, terrifying managers.

And the way he spoke to her afterwards, comforting her with his big, heavy hands around her. She wanted him to pick her up and take her wherever he went. 

Y/N sighed blissfully in front of her vanity. As Y/N finished her makeup, her phone buzzed with a message from Harry. 

Harry: Just outside x

She peeked through the window, catching sight of him standing by a sleek black car, leaning casually against the door. He looked breathtaking in a fitted black suit, hands in his pockets as he scanned the street. Her nerves fluttered, a mixture of excitement and anticipation bubbling up. She took a deep breath, smoothed down her dress, and grabbed her cardigan before heading out the door. 

The moment she stepped outside, Harry’s gaze snapped to her, dark and intense. He straightened up, eyes travelling over her form, taking in every detail of her appearance. The way he looked at her sent a shiver down her spine.

“Y’ look stunning, Bambi,” he murmured, his deep voice sending shivers down her spine. He took a step closer, his large hand cupping her cheek, thumb grazing her soft skin. “All this f’ me?”

Y/N blushed, biting her bottom lip nervously. “I-I wore the dress you wanted,” she mumbled shyly, looking up at him through her lashes, “Do you like it?” 

“‘S perfect,” He murmured lowly. 

“Ready to go, sweetheart?” He opened the car door for her, watching as she slid into the passenger seat, her delicate form contrasting with the dark interior of his Porshe. Harry’s eyes lingered on her legs for a moment before he shut the door and walked around to his side.

Once inside, he reached over, resting his hand on her thigh, the warmth of his touch comforting her immediately. “You nervous?” he asked, glancing at her with a small smile, though the look in his eyes held a trace of dominance.

“A little,” Y/N admitted, her voice soft and shy.

Harry gave her thigh a gentle squeeze. “Y’ don’t have to be nervous around me, love, promise ‘m not scary. Least of all t’ you.” 

Y/N smiled, loving how he made it clear she was different, that he treated her in a way no one else could. It warmed her to feel special, especially when that feeling was rare for her.

As they drove, their conversation flowed easily. Y/N found herself opening up more and more, rambling about anything that came to mind. Harry listened intently, his smile soft as he asked questions, showing genuine interest in everything she said. Her eyes sparkled in the dim light of the car, and each time she answered bashfully, his lips curved. 

Y/N��s eyebrows furrowed as they drove deeper into the city. The lights grew brighter, illuminating a part of town she rarely found herself in—where the wealthy lived, with towering apartment complexes and upscale restaurants lining the streets. Harry pulled over in front of a sleek Italian restaurant, where a man stood waiting by the curb.

“Are we allowed to park here?” Y/N asked, her face bathed in the glow of the restaurant’s lights.

Harry suppressed a grin at her confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well… I just assumed we weren’t eating here, which is totally fine! You don’t need to impress me with a fancy restaurant.” Her cheeks flushed pink as she tried to clarify.

Harry’s lips curled into a teasing smirk. “What if I told you we are eating here?”

Y/N’s eyes widened in disbelief. “A-are we?”

Without answering, Harry reached for her hand, brushing his lips over the back of it. “Y’ too cute,” he murmured. “Come on, they’re waiting for us.” He stepped out of the car, passing his keys to the valet standing nearby, before adjusting his blazer and moving to open the door for her, his hand stretched out toward her for her to grab onto. 

Y/N hesitated, her mind reeling. There was no way they were eating at this restaurant—the kind with a year-long reservation list and three Michelin stars. She’d heard rumours that a single course here could cost more than her entire paycheck for the week. But as she took his hand and stepped out, it felt impossible to believe this was really happening.

Harry intertwined their fingers, offering a brief nod to the waiter who opened the door for them. “Harry… are you sure? They probably don’t have any tables for people just walking in,” she whispered.

He chuckled softly. “Don’t worry, love. I made some arrangements.”

Her brows furrowed in surprise. “Arrangements? How?”

Stopping at the ‘Please Wait to Be Seated’ sign, Harry finally turned to her with a playful twinkle in his eye. “I own the restaurant.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open as a waiter approached, menus tucked neatly under his arm. “Good evening, Mr. Styles. Your table is ready.”

Feeling like she was in a dream, Y/N walked hand-in-hand with Harry to a private table near the large glass windows at the back. The breathtaking view of the city’s skyline stretched out before them, and the table, set for two, was tucked away to offer them some privacy. 

As they were seated, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the quiet stares and murmurs from other guests. She knew Harry owned a clothing business, but… just how successful was he?

The waiter laid the menus out in front of them and left them to decide what they wanted to order. Y/N hadn’t even noticed as her wide eyes gazed around the room at the glowing chandeliers. 

Harry reached for her hand beneath the table, “Are y’ okay love?” He asked. Y/N’s gaze snapped towards him, “I hope ‘s not too much.”

“H-Harry, I really appreciate you bringing me here, I mean even stepping inside is a dream come true, but… I c-can’t afford this.” She felt awful saying it but it was true and it was better to tell him now than when she’d finished her meal, she wouldn’t want him thinking she was out for his money.

Harry frowned, “Bambi, this is a date. Y’ don’t have to pay for anything.”

“B-but I can’t use your money.” She told him. 

She couldn’t hear it but Harry’s heart was singing in his chest. She was exactly what he was looking for someone totally opposite to all the women he had dated in his past. 

He cupped her cheek in his hand, “Look at me Y/N,” Big, doe eyes gazed into his, “Please stop worrying and let me take care of you. I know y’ haven’t been given that in the past but ‘m here now and I want this. I wanted to bring y’ here and I want y’ to be spoiled and I want to treat you in the way you deserve. So can you pick something from the menu and let me look after you Bambi baby, please? Think you can do that?”

Her lips parted, slowly nodding her head but she quickly said one last thing, “You don’t have to take me to fancy places to make me feel spoiled Harry. I already feel spoiled enough just getting to be with you.”

He smiled, eyes glistening under the low light of the chandelier. He placed a hand on her thigh and squeezed as a small thank you. “Have you decided what you’re going to eat?”

"Hmmm," Harry grinned, watching Y/N's pouted lips as she studied the menu with intense concentration. "I can't decide between the truffle pasta or the smoked salmon!" she huffed, clearly torn.

"How about this," he offered with a shrug, "I’ll get the smoked salmon, you get the truffle pasta, and we can share? That way you can try both."

She glanced up at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “You don’t want something else?”

He had been planning on ordering the steak and potatoes, but seeing how much this small decision seemed to weigh on her, he didn’t mind changing his mind. The smoked salmon was one of his favourite dishes anyway.

When the waiter came over, Harry confidently placed the order for both of them, which made Y/N visibly relax. She hated the pressure of ordering her own food, so the simple act of him taking charge made her feel instantly at ease.

“We’ll make sure to have your order as a priority, Mr. Styles,” the waiter nodded respectfully before walking away.

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wow. They must really like you here.”

Harry chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. “Didn’t I mention I owned a clothing business?”

“Mhm,” she nodded, “But I thought it was just a boutique or something.” She shrugged, clearly unaware of the scale.

Harry laughed a warm, deep sound that made her stomach flip. “Bambi,” he said, pulling her gently into his side until their cheeks were almost touching, “See that guy’s sweater? That woman’s hat? And that lady’s dress over there?” She nodded everytime he pointed towards them, her heart skipping a beat at their closeness. “We made all of those.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “W-wait, you own Pleasing?”

Harry nodded, a small, proud smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Y/N couldn’t even count how many times she had opened the Pleasing website, scrolling through pages of clothes she desperately wanted but couldn’t afford. And now, she was sitting across from its owner—no, she was on a date with him.

“Mhm,” he hummed, pulling away slightly to gauge her reaction. "Which reminds me, have you given any more thought to the job?"

She had, actually. The idea had been rolling around in her mind ever since he’d mentioned it. "What's the role again?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

"My assistant," Harry replied smoothly. "You’d help with emails, scheduling meetings, running errands—nothing too complicated. Just being my right hand.”

“Wouldn’t that be awkward, though? Since we’re, y’know... dating?”

Harry smirked, catching the implication. "So, there’s going to be a second date?" His teasing tone made her blush. “And if anything, it makes it better. I’d get to see you every day instead of just texting."

“But what about school?” Y/N asked, trying to think practically.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said easily. “Whatever you need. We can make it work.”

“Shouldn’t there be an interview or something?” she quipped, trying to lighten the moment, though her heart was racing.

Harry sighed dramatically, playing along. “Alright. Hello, Miss Y/L/N. Welcome to your official interview for the position of Mr. Styles’ personal assistant.”

Y/N giggled, her nerves easing as she followed his lead. “Well, hello Mr. Styles. Thank you for having me.”

Harry’s lips curled into a smile, his eyes twinkling as he played along. “First question,” he said, leaning closer, their faces now just inches apart. “How do you feel about spending every day with me? Answer carefully—it’s a tough one.”

Y/N couldn’t help but giggle, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. “Well, Mr. Styles, I think I could manage that.”

“Good answer,” he praised, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. “Next question: Can you handle a man who’s very particular about his coffee?”

She tilted her head, raising an eyebrow in playful suspicion. “Are we talking normal particular, or... like, twelve-steps-to-make-a-single-cup particular?”

Harry chuckled, his dimples deepening. “Maybe somewhere in between. But don’t worry, I can teach you.”

Y/N laughed softly, her nerves easing even more. Being around him was easy, natural—like slipping into something familiar and warm. “I think I could handle that.”

"One last question," Harry murmured, leaning in even closer. His gaze flickered to her lips for a brief second before locking back onto her eyes. "How do you feel about sneaking around with your boss?"

Her laughter died down, a trace of seriousness replacing it. She knew the risks—things had to stay professional, no hint of their relationship could slip through especially since Harry would not only be her boss but was the Senior Director and had to have the respect of everyone.  But still, she couldn’t resist.

“I think it could be fun,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Good,” He murmured, “I think you’ve passed the test, Bambi,” Y/N noticed how close his lips were to hers, if she moved her face forward they’d be touching, “Any questions?”

. . . 

Harry pulled the car up to the curb just outside Y/N’s house, the gentle hum of the engine fading as he switched it off. The street was quiet, the only light coming from the street lamps casting long shadows on the pavement. Inside her house, the windows were dark, and she silently hoped her brothers were already asleep, sparing her the awkwardness of explaining why she wasn’t rushing inside.

The silence between them felt comfortable yet charged, neither making a move to leave. It was as if both of them knew the night shouldn’t end yet, even though it had to at some point. Y/N looked down at her hands, nervously tracing the edge of her coat, stealing glances at Harry every few moments. He seemed deep in thought, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel, but the same hesitation hung in the air between them.

“Thanks for dinner,” she said softly, her voice breaking the silence.

He turned to her, his expression soft but intent, as if weighing every word. “Don’t need t’ thank me Bambi,” he replied, his eyes lingering on her face a moment longer than necessary. 

“I wish I didn’t have to go home,” She huffed, looking down at her fingers on her lap.

Harry’s lips curved into a small smile, but there was a seriousness in his eyes. He leaned back in his seat, turning his body slightly toward her. “Y’ want to go back to mine?”

She wanted nothing more, the pain of saying no physically paining her, “M-my brothers... they have school,” she murmured.

“S okay,” He smiled. 

The air between them felt thick with unspoken feelings, and she could feel her heart race as the weight of his gaze settled on her. He reached over, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his touch soft.

“Bambi,” he said quietly, his voice suddenly more intimate, like he was laying something important on the table.

She turned to face him fully, her breath catching as his fingers brushed against her cheek, lingering just long enough to make her pulse race. The space between them seemed to vanish, and suddenly, all she could think about was the way his lips would feel against hers.

Neither of them spoke. The tension that had been simmering all evening finally boiled over. Harry’s hand cupped her cheek, and in that quiet moment under the dim streetlights, he leaned in.

The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, like they were both testing the waters. But as soon as their lips touched, a wave of emotion flooded over her, and she couldn’t help but respond. Her hand found its way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, slow and lingering. It wasn’t rushed or hurried—just soft, warm, and full of everything Y/N had been dreaming about for longer than she cared to admit. 

When they finally pulled apart, Harry rested his forehead against hers, both of them catching their breath, their lips still tingling from the kiss. His hand lingered on her cheek, as though neither of them was ready to let the moment slip away just yet.

Y/N opened her mouth to say something, maybe to break the silence or make a joke about how long they’d waited for this. But before she could speak, a loud thud startled her. She turned her head, eyes widening as the lights in her house flickered on. And there they were—her brothers, pressed against the living room window, grinning like fools and making exaggerated kissy faces at them.

“Oh my God,” Y/N groaned, mortified. Her face flushed a deep shade of red as she fumbled with her seatbelt. "This is so embarrassing."

She pushed the door open and scrambled out of her seat, grabbing her purse in a flurry of panic. “I am so sorry, Harry. I-I have to go,” she stammered, her words tumbling out in a rush as she awkwardly tried to regain her composure. “Thank you for dinner, a-and the kiss! Oh, and the job too!”

In her haste, her heel caught on a paving stone, and she stumbled slightly, her purse nearly slipping from her hand as she made her way toward the front door.

Harry watched her, his mouth half open, caught between amusement and disbelief. She was flustered, rambling, and absolutely adorable. He couldn't stop the soft chuckle that escaped him as he leaned back in his seat, shaking his head.

"Bambi!" he called out the car window, grinning. “I'll take that as a yes on the job?”

Y/N turned back briefly, her face flushed but her smile shy and genuine. “Yes! Definitely yes!” she called over her shoulder, before hurrying inside, her brothers still laughing from the window.

As she disappeared through the door, Harry chuckled to himself, the warmth from their kiss still lingering. He turned the ignition on, shaking his head in disbelief at how the night had unfolded. It was far from the graceful goodbye he had imagined, but somehow, it felt perfect. He couldn’t stop smiling as he pulled away from the curb. 

Yeah, he thought to himself, that definitely meant she was taking the job.

[innerfare]

You’re Jealous

 Summary: You get jealous of someone else in his life.

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, and Kid

Genre: Slight Angst // Fluff

CW: None // SFW

——— 

Luffy: He never told you Boa Hancock was in love with him, and when you find out, you have to remove yourself from the situation before you have an emotional outburst and start something with the Pirate Empress. The problem is, you don’t even know which emotion will spill out of you. Finding out the world’s most beautiful woman, and a powerful Warlord, no less, is desperate to marry Luffy is a whirlwind, to say the least. Luffy can seem clueless at times, but his emotional intelligence is through the roof, and he picks up on what has you upset almost straight away. He knows to give you some space, and when he senses you’re ready, he approaches you with a handful of wildflowers he picked. He doesn’t really say much, just pulls you into a hug, presses a few kisses into your cheek and temple, and says in your ear, “you’re my girl.” 

Zoro: He didn’t mention Perona was also at Mihawk’s castle for those two years until a few months after the crew gets together. He tells a story that features her, and you realize there was a woman keeping him company. Your heart drops into your stomach. Zoro insists he didn’t mention her because he didn’t think she was relevant; the only thing Perona did those two years was annoy him. He’s actually the one who won’t let it go, not you (even though you are pretty jealous). Whereas you’d prefer not to talk about it, Zoro is wracked with guilt because he’d never considered the whole thing in a relationship context. Him fretting constantly over it actually heals your jealousy because you realize you’ve never seen him panic over the prospect of hurting anyone else’s feelings. 

Sanji: Even with a third eye, Pudding is stunning. And Sanji almost married her. It was before you two were together, but listening to the stories from Whole Cake, hearing how close he came to marrying another woman, knowing she really did fall in love with his kind heart and wonderful cooking, turns you into a little green monster. You know you shouldn’t feel jealous of a woman you’ve never met before, a woman Sanji chose not to marry, but you can’t help it. Sanji is completely shocked that you would feel jealous over his relationship (if it could even be called that) with Pudding, though after thinking about it some more, he does realize why you might be jealous that he had a fiancé. His solution is to bring you a bouquet of roses and walk you through the dark details of his life, telling you things he’s never outright told anyone, so you understand the special place you have in his life. 

Ace: He collects people without trying, and often times, without realizing, either. Ace thinks he’s just making friends, but you see the way the women he laughs and shares drinks with are drawn to him like plants to the sun. He promises them freedom and adventure (and he has a very nice laugh), and you can see how it excites them. You don’t really mind it, knowing Ace well enough to see the way he holds those women at arm’s length, even if he seems close with them (such is the magic of Fire First Ace). But Yamato makes you jealous. It’s not hearing the way they laughed together but hearing the way they fought that gets to you. You know how Ace lives to fight and even just roughhouse, you know how he’s a rough and tumble guy, and you worry you’re not tough enough. Should you be punching his arm when he makes a joke? Should you be trying to trip him out on deck? What should you be doing? When you finally come clean with Ace about what’s been bothering you, he actually laughs. “If I wanted to be with someone who gives me hell, I’d be sleeping in Marco’s cabin every night. Besides,” he says, scooping you up in his arms, “I like being able to manhandle you.” 

Sabo: Sabo is a flirt, and you knew that going into your relationship. It actually doesn’t bother you when he flashes that charming smile of his at someone else or swoops in to save a damsel in distress (a speciality of his) and even serves to entertain, especially on the rare occasions his flirtations are rebuked. What does bother you, though, is his tight relationship with Koala. You know it’s ridiculous to be envious, you know Koala would sooner saw off her arm than kiss the man she considers her irksome big brother, but they’ve known each other since they were little kids, and Koala has been through so much with Sabo that the pair have such a close bond. It’s not the angry kind of jealousy that bubbles up in you when Koala mentions something about Sabo’s past that she assumes you know but you don’t, just the sad kind that you try to keep to yourself. Surprisingly, Sabo notices, though you don’t realize until he hugs you from behind and mumbles in your ear that he’s glad you’re the only one who knows he has a skincare routine, his silly words diffusing your mood and acting as the exact affirmation you needed. If it’s not enough, though, he’ll happily prove his loyalty to you by challenging Koala to a karate match, though.  

Law: Dr. Law and Dr. Robin sure do get along well- so well, in fact, you can’t help but wonder if they are better suited to each other than you and him. Even if they didn’t have such good chemistry, it would be impossible not to feel a touch of jealousy toward the archeologist. She’s intelligent, beautiful, fiercely loyal, a member of the Straw Hats, and has an impressive bounty that she earned even before she became a pirate. Needless to say, you find yourself brooding when the Robin brings him a beer and sits down beside him to discuss the immune systems of fishmen, a topic both are rather interested in. Of course, you’re interested in that, too, thus the reason Law realizes something is wrong when you don’t participate in the conversation. He ends up excusing the two of you and taking you to bed, worrying you had too much to drink, the thought you may be jealous never once occurring to him. You end up not saying anything (many thing in your relationship with Law being unspoken) and just sleeping it off, the fact that he excused the two of you proof enough of his loyalty. 

Kid: He doesn’t ever talk about his first love, Victoria. In fact, you didn’t even know she existed until Killer got drunk one night and began speaking of his dearly departed. What he didn’t mention was that Kid, too, had been in love with her. It only comes up the next night when you mention it to Wire, who mentions it was the death of his first love, Victoria, that put Kid on the war path and united the first four members of the Kid Pirates. Realizing Wire messed up, Heat chimes in to say, “he’d do the same for you.” But you’re not convinced, mainly because Kid never told you any of this. It tears you apart, leaves you tossing and turning for nights on end, until you finally burst into Kid’s workshop one night ranting about how he doesn’t trust you and holds you at arm’s length. “Heat says you’d do the same for me, but-” Kid cuts you off and says, “I wouldn’t do the same, I’d do worse. Much, much worse.” And from the wicked gleam in his eye, you’re inclined to believe him. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[ozzgin]

Yandere!School Q&A 2

Answering some of the questions involving the Yandere School universe. Gender neutral reader, mildly NSFW/suggestive in parts.

Just curious, is there a difference between men and women in the yandere/darling academy?

Not at all. In theory, there could be a difference in uniforms, as seen from the occasional depiction of skirts, but that's really up to the student. As in, they can wear either, regardless of gender.

When it comes to you, on the other hand...I feel like they'd either ask you to wear pants, or heavily reinforced skirts. Too many creepshots and perverted attempts otherwise.

I know the yandere school verse is meant to be silly but I’m genuinely invested in the lore and worldbuilding now. What classes are taught in both schools? Do the darlings resent the yanderes? WOULD THEY BEAT THE YANDERE STUDENT’S ASS IF THEY GOT FOUND OUT??? SO MANY QUESTIONS SMFKEDKK

To be honest, I still haven't considered all the logistics!

I'm imagining a mix of both when it comes to classes: you have yandere-specific courses, and then general subjects with some practical applications. Obviously you can't do without mathematics, for example. If you don't understand double integrals, how will you determine the area you need to cover to reach your Darling who's running for the hills?

Also, I don't think the Darlings would be too upset. After all, they are studying solely to find themselves a yandere one day. What is a little baffling is that out of all the damn darlings in school, this guy ends up chasing after a ‘yandere’ student.

One of the Yanderes at Yandere Academy is bound to be a Platonic, and they're probably going insane watching every student and teacher going after the school Darling. Do you think they'd be on the staff or a fellow student?

There's plenty of platonic yanderes, both among the students and teaching staff. They make up the security brigade, ensuring your safety and keeping dangers away. If other students let their infatuation go overboard, they will be quick to correct it.

In fact, this is where their yandere skills shine most. Taking care of you.

Ohh what about yan art teacher using reader as the model for nude portraits in class?

That'd be like opening Pandora's box. What's to guarantee that the students won't go feral? Even as a regular model, removing any article of clothing within the artistic depictions is strictly forbidden. The other teachers already have to sort through stacks of confiscated fanart involving you, they don't need a boost in lewd creations.

Unless you mean a private encounter with Yan!Art Teacher for some extra credit. That's a whole different story. 👀

for your yandere school au if I was in readers situation, and I got a free full?? scholarship?/ to a fancy school?/? I no longer need to go along with family tradition I’m getting that free scholarship it’s not like I particularly needed a bunch of people to stalk me 🤷

I'm kind of hoping that Yandere School comes with a full scholarship, too. Bonus points if they offer legacy benefits. Reader comes from several generations of graduates, after all.

Not to mention, you already have a bunch of people stalking you, if we are to count the yandere family members. You'll feel right at home.

The darling is christian in some other scenarios right? What if in sex ed class, she said that she would only do that if she got married? Imagine every single yanderes trying to be a good husband material but the darling is so damn clueless about it

I don't think the religion was ever specified, but you're free to imagine it however you'd like, anon. I can definitely picture the yandere students perking their ears at such statement and taking it as a challenge. You want to wait until marriage? Then they’ll bring the marriage over right now. You have to wonder if there’s some current fashion trend you’re unaware of, as every student has asked for your opinion in rings. You’d assumed it’s a question involving their own, personal acquisitions, so now there’s a bunch of classmates fighting outside because they all got different answers and clearly only one of them holds truth.

That one teacher who got all those accidental smut submissions about Y/N is gonna be feasting tonight

I suspect most teachers have a neatly organized storage full of content involving you. Whether it's accidental submissions, confiscated doodles, illegal photos and so on. Hell, they probably trade the stuff like collectibles.

"You got the fic I asked for?" one teacher asks lowly, resting against the wall.

"Uh huh."

Another teacher swipes through a thick folder with the efficacy of someone who does this too often.

Imagine yandere school y/n slips up and accidently calls a teacher mom/dad. Or worse (or perhaps better depending on who it is), mommy/daddy. y/n is embarrassed, yandere students are jealous, and teacher is now horny.

Terrifying affair. The teacher will have to evade weeks, maybe even months of assassination attempts coming from the students and parents. Reader probably joked about it at the dinner table once, and the mom/dad has been spiraling ever since. How could such a mistake happen? Have they neglected their darling child?

“I-It’s not what it looks like!” one student will stutter, terrified to find Reader’s parent behind them.

“I’d say it’s pretty obvious, you’re doing a terrible job. Hand me the binoculars”, they demand in a whisper, glaring at the object of their envious stalking: the teacher.

How would the readers parents/fam react if the reader complained about the school staff or a student? [Gym teacher dress coding reader] With this as personally speaking I would be really annoyed. The yan family could also take it as an insult because I know for a fact they make sure the reader has all the best stuff. As well how they're bothering or unfairly treating the reader. And if the yan fam connects that the school is yan (students and staff) they would FLIP OUT. But that's out of the point

I’d say it depends on their relationship. Remember, Reader’s parents are graduates of Yandere School, so it’s entirely possible they were taught by the very same teachers and staff. Thus, they might be reluctant to question their authority.

“You have to understand, I had my best intentions in mind”, gym teacher will explain to the parents with a solemn face.

“No, you’re right. We’ve seen the way those kids look at our (Y/N). Who knows what perverted thoughts linger in their mind?”

The grey-haired man dabs a handkerchief across his forehead, visibly paler.

“E-exactly. It was all to protect (Y/N) from any indecent, uh, risks.”

Gym teacher prob got a forest downstairs

Only one way to find out. Better put on your adventurer's hat! 👅

Okay but like, the poor principal having to deal with the entire Yan!academy

He probably stares in the mirror every morning, noticing yet another grey hair, or that his eyebags have gotten worse. He's going to need an early retirement. "I tried my best", he mumbles to the portraits of the previous principals.

How would the yandere school react to reader being hypersexual? P.s can I be raccoon 🦝 anon? [I'm afraid you'll have to pick a different emoji, anon, as raccoon is already taken]

I mean, I can totally picture a playboy/playgirl kind of Reader who skips class to smooch one of the students in a storage room. Or Reader getting too flustered and excited and begging one of the teachers for "help" after school. I'm sure most would comply without hesitation.

Though you may have to deal with a horde of jealous partners who don't like to share. Next thing you know, you have to compile a sexy time chart and schedule the smooching to fit everyone in.

hai ! this is related to yandere school, i’m curious to know what if reader decided to accept the scholarship to darling academy? like i can imagine readers parents worried and proud while clumsy yandere is absolutely celebrating abt it :D

Knowing Reader’s luck and Clumsy!Yandere’s misfortune, I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s more yandere students lurking the Darling Academy grounds. Or even worse, some darlings begin to develop intense feelings for Reader. Worry not, your clumsy best friend will always come to your rescue.

[luveline]

oh my goodness Fred and ghost are my favs

Okay maybe him asking her to move in but if you’re waiting to do that then what if like Fred’s the one feeling down because something at the shop or maybe he’s arguing with George and Ghost is trying to make him feel better the way he does to her (or maybe she’s just there while he needs to wallow for a bit) idk but ily

thank you for requesting!! <3

“Getting out soon?” 

Fred hums. Leans back against the bathtub wall, hot steam coming off of his skin in whirls. Lilac water laps his chest as he lets himself sink further in. “Ten minutes.” 

You take your face towel off of the radiator and pat your neck dry before the runoff from washing your face can wet your shirt. “Okay. Can I sit with you?” 

Fred hums. You sit on the floor beside the bath, bath mat soft under your knees. There are enough bubbles milling around to protect his modesty, but just, and you wonder if it’s something you’ve done to make him so upset. 

He scoops a few bubbles into his hand and blows them at you. 

Not your fault, then. Grateful he’d bother, you cover his arm closest to you where it rests on the side of the tub and make unfiltered eye contact with him. Checking him for a sign you shouldn’t be bothering him, sure, but more importantly looking for what he needs. 

“You want to talk about it?” you ask. 

“It’s nothing.” 

“Should I leave you alone?” 

“No.” He gives you a small smile. “Don’t go anywhere.” 

You pause, listening as the tap drips, drips, drips. “I can wash your hair?” 

“I’m just gonna lay here for a bit. Very still, like a statue.” 

“Okay,” you murmur, “can I stay here? I’ll stay still, too.” 

He raises a hand to your cheek. “You can always do what you want, you know that,” he says, the backs of his fingers sliding up and down your warming skin. 

You and Fred stay. He closes his eyes and tips his head back. You, in love, watch the line of his throat change with each of his taken breaths. He’s beautiful like this, pale skin dotted in freckles, chin angular and fit for kissing while his cheeks are ever so slightly soft. His lashes are a light brown against the hollows of his eyes, peaked in tents like half diamonds. Breath rushes from you to kiss his arm beneath your resting head. The corners of his lips begin to stray from their previous frowning. 

Just a little smile, but enough. 

He doesn’t let you wash his hair and you’re sure you’d tremble all over him for fear of making his bad day worse with a bad job, but you bring him a warm towel off of the radiator and kiss his wet shoulder. 

He gets dressed in pyjamas, while you drift into the kitchen —it’s not as though he needs help— to make something for dinner. Fred likes so many foods, and you’ve a full fridge, but you order a takeaway. What else would you want to eat on a bad day?

You lay down on the couch and wait. Ten minutes later, Fred returns to you with his hair drier than it started and what looks like three pairs of socks over his feet and the ends of his pyjama bottoms. 

“Cold?” you ask. 

“I’m freezing now. Is it cold in here?” 

“The window was open. I turned the heating up.” 

He bends down over the sofa in a slouch, his forehead to your shoulder and his hair falling away from his neck. 

“I ordered Chinese,” you say quietly. 

“Okay, thank you.” 

“I’m really sorry you’re having a bad day.” You try not to be too awkward and fail. 

He laughs silently. You can’t hear it, but you recognise the slight shake of his shoulders as his breath fans over your shirt. “That’s very formal, lovely. But don’t be, because it’s not your fault. And it’s not all bad.” 

“Just some bad?” 

“I’m tired. You understand how that feels better than most people.” 

“I guess I do…” 

“It’s a silver lining to all your tiredness,” he furthers, “that I don’t have to explain it to you.” 

“You never have to,” you promise. 

“I know.” He tilts your face up as he lifts his own and presses a chaste, kind kiss to your lips. You don’t have time to close your eyes. 

Fred walks around the sofa and sits down next to you. You tilt together without thought, your arm vying to slide under his and his hand resting lazily on your stomach. “Where’s the remote?” he asks. 

You pass it to him. 

“What do you wanna watch?” 

“You choose,” you say. 

“I have no idea.” 

When you’re having a bad day, like, really bad, not wanting to be in your body or talk to your loved ones or spend too much time out of bed, what makes a difference is knowing Fred is there for you. Not just that he loves you and wants to listen, but the way he makes taking care of you look easy. He chooses for you, and he always chooses right, and that makes it easier to go on. 

You steal the remote from his hand and find the movie channels. You see one of his favourites in seconds, a western with equal parts comedy and romance. You put it on, and you peek at him to make sure it’s the right choice. 

He smiles contentedly. That’s all you see of him before he lays down against your side and cuddles in. “Love you, ghost,” he whispers. 

You stroke his hair, fingernails coasting gently over his scalp. “I love you.” 

[redflagshipwriter]

Red Hot Ghouls 14 part 2/2

Masterpost 

Danny had kind of ignored the most important part of that initial message. Crud. Of course the poor bastard wanted to know about the progress on their spiritual separation. Danny cringed. He typed fast to send a new message before Jason could ask again.

It did not come out easily. He wrote and deleted two drafts before he groaned aloud. “I am not prepared to tell him that the options so far are either to marry and divorce me or to get his ass banished from the ghost dimension.” Danny spent a moment pitying himself. “I just have to say the truth.”

Cringe. Cringe so hard. 

I have two possible solutions but they both suck really hard. :/ Suck so hard you’d be shook. The suckage would change your life.

Jason sent back ellipses. It belatedly occurred to Danny that it might have looked like he was making a blowjob joke. He put the phone back on his chest and stared at the ceiling for a while, wondering why he was this way.

“Jason didn’t see that,” Danny told himself. “Jason is a professional. A professional something. I don't know what.” 

He wanted to believe it so badly that he just decided not to be mortified. Danny lifted the burner phone back up and painstakingly assembled a shrug emoji from symbols. 

Honestly they’re such bad options that I don’t even wanna tell you. Can we change the subject? : (

Jason sent back a series of laughing and crying emojis and then, Fine. Let’s talk about all the other stuff we have in common.

Danny pursed his lips. “...Do we have anything in common?” It wasn’t like he knew much about the guy, but he presumed Jason kept himself busy with some boring adult job, building muscle, and biking around looking hot. Danny crossed his legs at the knee and tried not to think of what a twig he looked like in comparison to Jason. He didn’t feel bad about it, honestly. Danny was too busy to make fitness a part of his personality and he had nothing to prove.

I’m illiterate, he settled on as a response. They definitely did not have a love of literature in common. What else did people do? I uh…. Watched a movie two years back.

Any good?

T’was shit, Danny admitted. Hm. He frowned. “I’m not sure where to take this conversation,” he said aloud.

I’m so hungry. Just got off work and I’m trying to decide what to do.

“Oh, I can do something with that.” Danny felt better. Yeah me too, I would kill for an enchilada. He tried to send a ghost emoji and groaned when he remembered that this was a shitty burner phone with no keyboard downloaded and apparently no access to the app store. Jason had already responded by the time that he gave up.

Ghosts eat Mexican food?

They would if they have human zone money, Danny sent back morosely. Oh no, it wasn’t fun anymore. Ya boy can’t pay in the tears of the damned anywhere on this plane of existence smh. His stomach growled with obnoxious timing. He groaned. The last thing he’d eaten had been that sandwich with Jazz. He could cook… He really should cook. 

Ugh. Effort. 

Danny tried to motivate himself up to the kitchen. “It’s four steps,” he said aloud, trying to be encouraging. “I can make it.”

Ah. No. That was actually kind of depressing. He lived in a shoebox with a monthly grocery budget that was just pitiful.

Haha ur broke, Jason sent, because he was a massive bitch. Danny felt a lot better about flipping him off. But then Jason followed it up with an obviously insincere, I’d get you enchiladas if you were in Gotham. Sucks to suck.

Danny sensed weakness to exploit.

“You’re going to regret that,” Danny grimly promised, and hit the call button.

Jason picked up on the second ring, sounding confused and electronic. “Hey?”

“I can be in Gotham for enchiladas,” Danny threatened. His stomach growled again. “You feeling brave? Huh? Huh?” He punched a finger at the air in accusation. “I’m not scared of you or your dank gargoyles, leatherboy.”

There was a weird mechanical sound. Maybe a snort? A laugh? “I’ll send you a GPS point, if you’re there in ten I’ll buy you all you can eat.”

Danny went still like the predator he was. “Bring your life savings.” He hit the end call button and launched himself off the couch to go stuff his feet into his shoes. He let his apartment door slam shut behind him carelessly. He’d made it to the ground level before the pin point landed.

“Fuck, it’s even in my neighborhood.” Danny laughed, flush with petty victory. He looked left, right, and went invisible before he went ghost. There was no one around at this late hour to see him drop off the visible spectrum.

[hugejk]

2 years

pablo gavi x singer!yn

cw: mentions of drug usage, smoking, drinking, addiction.

quick a/n: sorry i’ve been VERY inactive lately, i do want to write more so i’ll accept any footballer reqs!!! :-)

||_________________________||

“it’s been 2 years since we’ve seen or heard from y/n, where could she be? Most people assume she decided to quit making music, some assume she gained too much weight and is too ashamed to step out in public. But i guess we won’t know for a long time now, leave a comment below on what you think about this.”

you sigh and put down your phone. It’s been 2 years since you’ve even been in the studio at all. A 2 year hiatus from the world. Flashbacks start to play in your head on how you even ended up here.

. . .

sitting out on the edge of balcony watching all the glowing stars surrounded by the darkness of the night. You life was a mess. Parties every other night, surrounded by people who didn’t care if they ruined their life. Taking random drugs whenever you could. Drinking most of the day. The joint inbetween your fingers burning into ash. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

You were just tired of everything, and the comments on every little thing you did made everything more worse.

“maybe y/n should take a break from all the parties..”

“look at her eyes, they look dead.”

“she’s just a drug addicted psychopath. Hope she stops soon and gets some treatment.”

you were tired of all eyes on you. Biting the inside of your bottom lip, the tears started to accumulate in your eyes. Taking a big hit of the joint, feeling the burn but not feeling anything anymore. You knew there was only one way to stop getting so much attention.

Putting out the joint and heading into your apartment and opening up your laptop. You log into the device and search for flights to Barcelona. Little did you know, this small decision would change your life forever.

you didn’t tell anyone about this. You packed your bags, reset your phone, and went to bed. The next morning you had ordered and uber. Covering your face with a hat, mask, and sunglasses. You didn’t want the spotlight anymore. It took a good 30 minutes to get to the nearest airport. You wonder if anyone will even care if you disappeared, stopped making music, stopped replying to texts, stopped calling, stopped everything.

you didn’t want to live the life you had anymore. what you once thought was a blessed now had transformed into a curse right in front of your eyes. Becoming something far more evil than you thought. You remember a little y/n looking up to famous singers, wanting what they wanted. Wanting the light, wanting the eyes, wanting what they had.

but now that you had finally grasped it after years of putting everything into it, it felt like a living hell. You look up from your lap, and you were at the airport. The driver looking back at you to let you know that you had arrived, taking out your wallet fast and tipping him 15 bucks, you scurried out the black SUV, grabbing your bags from the back and trying to avoid eye contact with anyone.

A new start. You walked into the front doors of the airport, not ready to start the tedious process just to get checked in. You sighed and headed straight for check in. You just wanted to get it done and over with, but unfortunately you were in america and going to another country. They needed to identify who you were.

“trip to barcelona? can i see a passport please?”

the blonde headed lady behind the counter asked, you handed her the passport and leaned in to whisper into her ear,

“you didn’t see me here.”

as you lifted the glasses and took down the mask, a serious look on your face. You could see her eyes light up as she saw the world’s most known singer standing in front of her. But she obliged to your words and wished you a good flight as she handed the passport back.

after the whole process was over, you sat in those uncomfortable waiting seats in your terminal. Tapping your finger on your already shaking leg. You didn’t have a plan for barcelona. Fuck. Do you go seek professional help like all the comments had said? Do you stop making music? Do you take the time to heal and finally find yourself? Your mind running at a pace you couldn’t keep up with. You took a deep breath.

After a few hours of waiting they finally started calling for your flight. You couldn’t even feel nervous or excited, you were just so numb on the inside, dissociated from the world you stand on. time was flying by, one second you were waiting to be called, the next second you were in your seat, and in the blink of an eye…you were in barcelona.

Stepping off the plane, going through another tedious journey just to hit the streets of barcelona—and cry. You didn’t know what the fuck you were doing in that city. You had no house, barely enough money to hold you over for a few nights, because when you packed you thought it would be smart to only pack a little bit of your funds. Fuck. You had nothing and nobody.

Walking around the streets like a lost child, luckily for you, you knew spanish, most of it. Your mom’s side was hispanic. So from a young age she made it her duty to teach you. Thanks mom.

you manage to find a hotel, you walk in puffy eyed. Thank god for those glasses.

“do you have any available rooms?..”

you said silently, the poor lady who was working that night nodded. it looked like she needed a break more than you did. she asked for how many nights,

“uhm…just like…just a few nights.”

“im gonna need an exact number honey this hotel is going to be booked by fc barcelona soon. we need all the rooms we can take.”

you knew some stuff about football, when you were younger you would watch matches with your dad. You were even on your towns small team, hoping one day you could make it big. Other things got in the way of that.

“uhm..just 3 nights is good..”

“that’s better, that’ll be about 400. do you want room service?”

“no thank you.”

she nodded, as you handed her your card, she charged it and slid you your key. Now you were on your own. you had taken your sim card out your phone so nobody could contact you. But now you were staring to regret it. You sat on the edge of the hotel bed. You knew you had to take some time to reset, it started now.

||______________________||

a/n: plsplsplspls let me know if i should make a part 2, this was kinda just like a starting point, also inbox is very very VERY open for ideas ;-) also this is a little bit darker than what i usually write, but for what i have in mind it does get fluffier the more it goes on.

[remotewatch]

can’t hit it one time, multiple

Jack Schlossberg x reader | 2.9k wc

minors dni but still get involved and stay informed politically let me be clear

summary: volunteering is so rewarding! being a part of a cause you believe in, educating first time voters, getting dicked by the campaign’s eye candy on your lunch break; it’s got everything!

cws: shameless classic 1D style smut, bus rocking, wrap it before you tap it on THE Harris campaign reproductive freedom bus (is it legally actionable to call it by its govt name), whatever the hell is going on with the JD videos cranked up to 100, reader calls him both diva and a slut, both not totally serious, his tripod is your wingman, this Barbie tastes like clementines, semi public sex I GUESS, sub!jack SOMEWHAT

many thanks to my editor (and co-writer this time around) @mystardustmelodyyy for the organizing and romantic flair 🩵🗳️

additional thanks to Jack and the team for the inspirational Philly content, do keep it up !!

Although your day of volunteering had been nothing terribly exciting so far- setting up chairs, guiding people to their seats, a LOT of directing lost families to the bathroom- the whole town hall was thrumming with a sense of hope that felt nothing short of electric. You didn’t realize how busy you’d been until you finally got a chance to sit down and make up some gift bags. That took no time at all, leaving you a nice free chunk of the day to wander around and soak up the atmosphere. There had been rumors of a free gelato truck, and the empty breezeway pointed to them being true. The sharp thwap of sambas slapping onto marble snapped you out of your daydreaming; almost empty, apparently.

As you rounded the corner, you spotted the source of the racket: America’s most polarizing nepo baby. Filming… a stunt of some kind? He takes a running start into a front flip, landing close enough to his tripod to throw it off balance. After repositioning it and trying again, his shoes slip in a puddle on the floor, forcing him to splay out a hand to avoid falling onto his ass.

You were well aware of Jack’s work; your feed was convinced you were precisely his target demo and had been pushing his content onto you since July. Maybe it wasn’t totally off base. Regardless, watching him struggle to land a perfect somersault was much more endearing than the finished videos. When he stands up for a third attempt and manages to tangle a tripod foot up with his pants in the process, you’re unable to suppress a fit of giggles.

“Are you winning over there, diva?”

Jack looks a bit sheepish when he first glances up but recovers quickly. He adjusts the tripod and hits you with the same smile your algorithm insists makes you weak.

“I think it’s still too close to call.”

“Did you want some help with the…whatever it is you’re recording?”

One of the tripod legs abruptly gives out, the clatter echoing around the breezeway. Jack winces and nudges the fallen hunk of fiberglass with his shoe.

“Yeah, that would be great, if you don’t mind.” Five long strides over to you and he’s pressing his phone into your hands, camera already open. “If you’d just follow- well, you saw what I was trying to do.”

You can’t say if it’s the pressure of a live audience of him being fed up with his previous attempts, but Jack flips perfectly into frame this time, proceeds immediately to an immaculate standing backflip, then takes off towards the other end of the breezeway without so much as glancing at the camera. He leaps up and clicks his heels a few steps in, only turning around when you’re starting to wonder if he’s just ditching the shoot altogether.

“How was that?” He shouts on his way back over.

“Looks good!” You have no earthly idea what he was going for, but it fits right in with the absurdist athletic vibe he’s been rocking with between his more overt political content.

“Aw, that’s great. Thank you!” he beams at you after looking over the footage (you try not to focus on how small the phone looks in his hands). “The lighting is perfect too.”

“Oh, good!” Thank god. “Did you need help with anything else?”

Jack rolls his eyes mischievously like he's considering letting you in on a huge secret. “I was actually going to film a thing or two for JD if you’ve got an extra minute.”

“For that? Absolutely!”

His grin stretches wider to match yours at that response, and you realize you’re smiling at each other like two idiots.

“I’m Jack, by the way.”

He repeats your name back after you introduce yourself, and you wish he’d do it again so you can keep watching his lips move saying it.

🔹🔹🔹🔹

This time, Jack gives you slightly more direction, guiding you to hold the phone at an angle just high enough to skew provocative as he leisurely strolls backwards through the hallway. You don’t need to coach him into angling his head just right to catch the afternoon sun in his eyes; he’s got the bambi look down pat.

“JD, I really miss you. Won’t you come home so we can be a family again?” He motions just out of frame for you to aim higher, but you’re already adjusting the shot before you see his signal. “You said I shouldn’t be voting because I’m not a dad like you. Is that true, JD? Or are you making up stories again?”

Jack glances backward to check if there’s enough room for him to keep up his pace, then breaks for a second to ask “Alright, one more?” The two octave difference almost makes you drop his phone, but you keep it together and nod.

His eyes crinkle up adorably when he smiles. “Sweet.” Then he’s back to business, eyefucking the camera like he just got out of prison.

“JD, I thought you knew everything, and you told me that I should never lie. How am I supposed to trust you if I don’t know when you're telling a story or not?”

You stick your bottom lip out and mouth “more”; he happily obliges. Jack looks every bit the foxy little public servant as he peers out at the lens from under his eyelashes.

“Can you help me understand, JD? I want to understand. I just need a little help. Can you show me?” Christ, he’s practically purring. Thankfully, he snaps back to director mode before you can get too lost in the rhythm.

“You think that was too much?”

“I think you could do a little more, to be really honest.”

His eyes narrow knowingly. “How so?”

“...You could go down on your knees.” You’re half joking at the most and still think you’ve crossed a line, but sure enough, he’s kneeling down and crossing his ankles like it couldn’t come more naturally to him.

He’s still plenty tall enough to bite your pant zipper, and you quickly shove the thought aside.

“Like this?”

“Yeah, perfect, just like that.”

This time, he might as well be on mute for all the words you’re processing. It’s all slow blinking doe eyes, curls bouncing with every emphatic head tilt, his tongue stretching out to wet his lips between sentences. The “Can you show me?” rocks straight through you and breaks the spell when Jack glances up at you. His expression shifts from mockingly innocent to coquettish for just a scorching, enduring moment, then he’s back on his feet, back to the bubbly, personable demeanor you’d expect from him.

“Thank you again for the help. She was NOT playing nice today.” he nods back at the tripod.

“Oh, it’s no problem! I love your work.” He waves a hand modestly.

“I love your work! You actually came out here and helped! It’s so much more important than what I do. Is this your first event?”

“It is! It’s my first time.”

“Well, we love first timers around here.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” The implication hits you a beat too late, so you pad it with a restrained “It’s really interesting to see the behind the scenes of it all.”

Jack rocks back on his heels, his eyebrows drawing up playfully.

“Have you seen the bus?”

“Of course I’ve seen the bus!”

“No, I meant the inside of it. Did you want to see that?” He allows himself the forwardness of a head tilt.

What else could you say?

“Yeah, I really would.”

🔹🔹🔹🔹

Bless the gelato truck, because there’s not a trace of human activity on this side of the building. You’re barely paying attention to the formality of a tour Jack’s giving; his enthusiasm is adorable, but the way his fingers spread as he’s pointing out every feature in the bus is making your mind wander.

“Shoes on or off?” you manage to ask.

“Oh, whatever you want. We’re not strict.” Off, then. “As you can see, this is where the magic happens.”

Once you get to the middle of the bus, the combination of campaign paraphernalia and scattered phone chargers, melatonin gummies, and cold brew cans feels like you’re getting a peek into something thrilling. There’s a map of tour stops tacked up with current polling results on a small whiteboard to the side. It’s close, but no doubt doable. You’re so swept up that you nearly smack your head on an open cabinet door when you turn back to face your host. His hand shifts back along its edge to cushion the impact before you can think to duck, and the heat from it makes your cheek tingle.

“Careful, it’s tight in here!” he teases.

It’s hard to shake the feeling of trespassing.

“Are you sure I’m good to be here?” Jack turns back from replenishing half empty swag baskets to smile reassuringly.

“No one needs it until one. When do you have to get back?”

“My break ends at one thirty.”

“I guess it’s our bus, then!” He fetches you a sparkling water from the minifridge and cracks open his own like he owns the place. You elect to remain standing and lean against one of the chairs opposite, certainly not because you want to have him looking up at you for as long as possible.

Jack is all long limbs and tanned striations as he stretches out on the bench seat like a cat, his wingspan nearly spanning its whole length. When he arches slightly to get comfortable, his shirt catches under his pecs and makes your mouth go dry. You wonder if you’re staring too much.

“So, do you have any other directing experience, or do you just have a knack for giving orders?” His head lolls to one side, soaking up your attention. One of his feet moseys it’s way over to you, and you uncross your ankles before it has a chance to nudge them in that direction.

“I think you’re just good at taking them.” Is that a blush you’re seeing? Jack breaks into a giggle that reads almost wistful.

“I was expecting you to tell me to roll over and balance a treat on my nose.”

“Anything for the campaign, right?”

“I mean, of course, but it's still those day to day interactions that are going to win this for us.”

“Yeah, the canvassing especially is really rewarding, I didn’t expect this many people to be undecided. I guess some of them still need a little convincing.” You plop down next to him, closer than you’d ever dare if he wasn’t flushed clear down to his shirt collar. Somehow, your right leg finds itself intertwined with his. He’s a fucking furnace, even directly under the AC unit.

“Not me though; I know exactly what I want to do.”

The corners of Jack’s mouth curl up without a shred of hesitation. He squints at you again before taking a slow pull of his Perrier, Adam’s Apple bobbing like it's begging you to bite it. His middle fingertip trails lazily around the rim as he sets it down. One last lip smack, then he’s pressing them onto yours and flooding your nose with the smell of clementines and sea salt.

The buzzing in your brain reaches a fever pitch when he drapes an arm around your waist to pull you closer. Tilting your head ever so slightly, your hand wanders up to cradle his face and press a thumb to his chin. A gentle push down to open Jack’s mouth and his tongue is snaking its way in, the obscene length of it sending sparks straight down to your clit. He breathes a contented, relieved moan into your mouth when your leg swings over his hips to straddle him, then little stilted mewls as you start rocking back and forth.

“You’re a little slut for democracy aren’t you? You tease, panting against his jawline.

“Who, me?” he grins and drags his hands up your thighs to settle on your ass, thumbs playing with your waistband.

You can feel your nipples hardening as you reach one hand out to steady yourself against the window. The bracing cold glass is delicious, but you flinch back when you spot people trickling back into view, gelato cups in hand, a few racing over to pose with the bus.

“Don’t worry; they can’t see you,” he chuckles along your sternum. Jack scooches too far forward trying to get a better angle to rut against you and nearly slides you both off the seat. You hear a whispered little “oh, shit,” before he scoops you up with one arm and shifts to stand, the other grabbing a spare water on his way to the rear of the bus. He collapses onto the deep sofa without missing a beat, but looks back up at you for reassurance, as if he’s somehow being presumptuous. You don’t even see it; you’re too busy yanking at his jeans like a madwoman after feeling how hard he is.

Concerns assuaged, he manages to pull both of your pants off without incident, only an accidental kick to the end table. Jack lets out a cackle when his hand slides low enough to feel you drip down his wrist.

“And I’m the slut for democracy?”

“Oh, shut up!”

You stretch behind him to the bin of condoms marked ‘F•CK PROJECT 2025’ on the far windowsill, shamelessly letting your breasts drag over his face in the process.

“It would really be a shame if we didn’t do some quality control, since we’re already here.” You trace one along his lips until they part to accept your gift.

“Such a waste,” Jack mimics you, if a bit muffled, as his incisors shred the foil wrapper. “And,” he adds cheekily with a shrug, “we’re fresh out of plan B.”

He’s already slid it on by the time you realize he’s unclipped your bra somewhere between here and the door, and you waste absolutely no time slipping him inside, so warm it makes you shudder. His eyelids flutter when you sit down fully; he’s whining like the bus is soundproof the second you get to work, all strained little whimpers and cut off syllables as you bounce in his lap. There’s not a minute to waste, and it’s showing in the breakneck pace you set. Jack’s movements are just as frantic, bucking up hard enough to threaten to throw you straight off this ride.

Desperate to see how far down he blushes, you slide your arms under his shirt, heat blooming up to your shoulders as you do. He gets your hint and tugs it off; you waste no time planting both hands on his pecs and letting your fingers run wild through his chest hair.

Meanwhile, your shirt and bra get caught on your elbow in the process of shedding them, and your left knee skids right off the couch while you’re distracted. Jack catches your shin effortlessly and plants his foot to keep his balance; you actually spot him smiling at his own reflexes. He rolls you both over without slipping out, chuckling a little “didn’t I tell you to be careful?” into your ear. He moves to let your leg down, and you throw it over his shoulder to keep him pinned flat against you before he can do so. The new angle restricts his range a bit, but he’s already shoving a hand down to strum at your clit, face millimeters from yours for the perfect view of just how much you’re loving it. He murmurs cockily when he sees you holding back. “Won’t you let me hear you?” There’s no way you’ll attract attention if you’re just moaning into his mouth, right?

It’s all too much; Jack’s whole body draped over you like a fever that won’t break, the way he’s panting down your throat every time you clamp around him, the little calluses on his occupied fingertips and how they maintain their perfect, unbearable pace no matter how much you thrash around. You can barely squeak out a “fuck, Jack, please-,”

His “I know, I know,” sounds just as ragged and that tips you right over the edge.

Jack’s composure completely unravels with the first pulse. His eyes screw shut and his hips still as deep as he can get to ride it out with you. You’re shaking and frothing like a can of Pepsi- sweet and sticking all along his slicked-flat happy trail as you lift your leg a little higher and over the back of his neck to pull him in closer. The beads of sweat on his forehead drip onto yours when he falls into another messy kiss, aftershocks buzzing comfortably through you both.

His phone timer jolts you out of your shared stupor.

“What is that?”

“12:30,” he groans into the couch cushion. “Sit tight, I’ll get you a towel.

🔹🔹🔹🔹

Jack is steaming your dress pants in one sock and his Hanes like its second nature, and it’s making a strong case for the hottest thing he could possibly do. In a few minutes, he’ll go out the front of the bus and stir up the crowd while you exit through the back.

“Take a bev for the road if you’d like.” He slaps the minifridge pointedly.

“Thanks, you’re such a good host!” you hadn’t moved from where you were laid out on the sofa; it was too much fun watching him get flustered from the compliment, “This was fun, getting to know you and all.”

“Yeah it was,” his tone is achingly sincere as he smiles back at you, face getting flushed all over again “...Not to be too bold, but could I get your number?”

[elumish]

I talk about what writers should do a lot, so now I'm going to take a break and talk about some reforms that I think agents should make.

A caveat: I am not an agent! Unlike when I talk about writing, I am just talking about this as an author who happens to be in the midst of querying. If I have an followers who are agents who think I'm getting something wrong, please let me know!

That said, here I go:

Trad publishing is, fundamentally, about getting past a whole bunch of layers of gatekeepers, and agents are the first gatekeepers. With some very limited exceptions, you can't be trad published without having an agent. From what I can tell, being an agent is a bit of a thankless job--it's based on commission, so an agent only gets money if they are selling their clients' books. (Remember: the money flows towards the writer. If someone claiming to be an agent is telling you that you need to pay them to represent you, run.)

Because of this structure, agents have a massive amount of power over unagented authors, particularly because unagented authors simply do not have another option if they want to trad publish. It is my opinion that that power dynamic is part of the reason why querying actually sucks so unbelievably much for authors.

Now, part of why querying sucks is that it's a numbers game, which means that most of us will lose. Every writer is competing against a gazillion other writers, some of whom are better or writing things that are seen as more sellable or happen to be eariler or whatever. You are going to get a bunch of rejections, and that's not the fault of agents.

But here's the other problem:

There are, from what I can tell, no true industry standards and somewhat limited professional expectations for agents when it comes to how to deal with querying. Again, this is what it looks like from the outside--agents, if I'm getting this wrong, please let me know.

For example, many agencies and many agents will have different rules about what you can submit to them and how, and in many cases those rules are in somewhat arbitrary places, which means that querying authors have to hunt for them, and it's easy to run afoul of them even when you're trying. It's common for some agencies to say that you can't query two agents from the same agency at the same time, but some say that you can't query two agents from them ever--a rejection from one is a rejection from all.

But most agents' Twitter bios/MSWL pages/personal pages/etc. don't say that--which means that authors need to hunt through every individual agency's webpage and then cross-reference against every agent that they have ever queried previously, which can be arduous when many people are querying dozens or hundreds of agents. It also means needing to keep track of things like when agents switch agencies.

There are also no standard expectations for agents to actually respond to queries in any sort of time span, or at all, which complicates the above issue even more. But it also is just (imho) kind of unprofessional to ghost people who are seeking a professional relationship with you, when you have explicitly asked them to reach out to you seeking that professional relationship.

And to make that worse, many agents don't say whether or not they respond to all queries, meaning that authors are often left wondering if a 6-month or longer wait is a "no" or an "I haven't gotten to this yet but will definitely respond to you."

There are more issues that I could cite, but my overall point in this is that authors have no recourse here. There's not authors' union, no way to go on strike until agents change what they're doing.

And some agents are really awesome about this! But enough are not, and authors don't really know what they're going to get when they query someone.

So all of this is to say that, if you are an agent, here are some fairly easy changes I would love for you to make to your own behavior to make querying a little bit less of a nightmarish hellscape for authors (and thank you so much if you already do some or all of these):

Respond to every query that you receive

Tell people your general response times and be communicative if that changes. It's okay if it regularly takes you six months! Just tell us it regularly takes you six months, so we're not left wondering if we've been ghosted at four months

Outline all submission guidelines on Query Manager or where you accept queries, including things like a) rules about whether a rejection from one is a rejection from all, b) length expectations for things like synopses (I've seen a range), and c) any other expectations you have (e.g., you require trigger warnings). Don't make people hunt through 2-4 websites to find what you want

Stop asking or at least strongly rethink how you ask about Own Voices or why an author feels like they are qualified to write about a marginalized identity--I understand the impulse, but nobody should be expected to disclose medical or other personal information like that in a professional setting

Also, just to say (other than please don't reject my query because of this post), agents: authors really do appreciate the work you all do. I want someone to work with to get published, because I am very well aware that I am not the expert in this situation.

And again, please tell me if I got anything wrong or misrepresented anything.

[f4iry-bell]

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄 | 𝟏

pairing: popula!jameson hawthorne x nerd/goodgirl!reader

summary: who would have guessed taking an unwanted picture of her could lead to that tense moment? more than that, who would have thought it would get his attention to make a deal? and guys like him drain a person inside out when are interested in you.

warning: jamie being a slight jerk, very little. little over the top reader(?)

series taglist: @clarissaweasley-10 @whatsamongus @sheisntyou @emelia07 @elysianwayy77 @lyra-kane @bewitchingkisses @zenikswaffleshop @off-to-the-r4ces @jamcarven (lmk if you want to be added!)

a/n: IM SO EXCITED TO WRITE THIS WHOLE THING, YAY. a lot of jerk jamie in this fuc guys. sorry;(

word count: 1.5k

masterlist | series master list

“Did you just take a picture of me?” The tone and how sharp it was so surprising to the two boys to her side, one with the camera, and one with a stupid smile.

“Maybe.” The boy who was holding the camera didn't take her frowned brows, and dagger throwing eyes at him seriously. No one really takes her seriously, most of the time she is just invisible but definitely not today.

“Delete it.” She demanded, taking a step closer.

“Aw, don't want others to see your pretty face?” The boy holding the camera teased her, and then turned to his green eyes friend with a stupid smirk.

“I said, delete it.” she demanded again, this time more serious and firm than before.

“Or what?”

“I'll sue you. I'll take you to court, but before that I would like to formally inform the student body for violating my privacy, and I'm pretty sure you'd be dealt with by the faculty.” She didn't blink once, she adjusted her glasses after ending her threat.

“Woah, now let's not go there, princess” the green-eyed boy took a step forward with his hands in front in defense. “We don't want trouble.”

“She's bluffing.” The idiot with the camera said.

“She's not.” The other guy said without taking his gaze away from her face. And he is right. She's not bluffing.

The idiot was looking at her face, scanning to see what the other guy was seeing. “Alright, I'll delete it. I was just taking random pictures of the campus anyway.”

She was waiting for him to do it, but he didn't do it, yet. “Do it, right now.”

“I'll delete it later.” He said.

“Delete it now, Cory.” The green-eyed spoke, she almost thought he was a decent guy. Almost, until he spoke again. “We don't want our front row princess to tell on us to her teacher, now do we?” His lips curved up to a stupid, irritating smirk.

Her face could have sworn it was hot as hell from all the anger if it was possible. Cory finally deleted it, and showed her. “There, happy now?”

She didn't reply, just turned and walked away from them. She could feel as though her skin was being burnt because she knew that a pair of beautiful green eyes was staring at her as she walked away.

Two weeks have passed since this incident. Jameson has forgotten about it or so he thought, he did see her in class and think about how different she was that day from how she acts in class, she almost speaks to no one other than the professor to ask for doubts or questions. He wondered if she even has friends, with her introverted personality, and quick to try and sue anyone who would want to be friends with her? Or the real question is, does she want to be friends with anyone at all?

Yeah, she probably hates everyone. But why is it taking psychology? Maybe that's not her major, he wondered what her major would be. It's definitely not psychology, because he can't imagine her as a psychologist. Maybe she majors in business, but then again, why would she take psych?

Why are his thoughts filled with her and her life? She is no one. She is just some girl passing by, a girl who happened to be more than just what she shows. He knows that, Jameson knows how to read people. Even before his psychology classes, he was not as good as his brother but he is good, and he can read her, just a little more time with her, and he'll have a master degree on her.

The next couple days Jameson skipped psychology classes because he couldn't help but stare and observe her, it was getting ridiculous to the point that even Dean who sleeps in class noticed it. For two days Jameson spent psychology class hours on the rooftop, he has done this on Heights Country High, why not in Yale too? But today was different, the door’s latch was already open, and the door was about 4 inches open.

He pushes past the door and saw someone standing near the edge, at first he thought this was a suicide attempt, but the person was calm, quiet, looking everywhere with a notepad on one hand and a pen on the other. The person was a girl who wore her hair up in a ponytail, her skirt was moving in the direction of the wind, he knew who it was. He could never forget her back profile.

“Well, well, well. If it isn't my favourite front row princess.” He regretted speaking out of the blue because it scared her to the point she jerked up, she could have fallen.

“Fuck!” She yelped.

“You know how to curse?” He teased her.

“Yes, asshole. I’m not 2.” She rolled her eyes when she turned to see who it was.

He smiled. “Never thought I'd see the day where you'd skip classes. Or are you stalking me?”

“Last I checked, I was here first. So, are you stalking me?” she asked.

“I've been here for a couple days, princess. What are you doing here?” He answered and asked the question out of curiosity.

“What are you doing here?”

“You first.”

“No.”

“I'll figure it out on my own.” He said and started to observe, she was writing something down before he interrupted her. He can't figure it out, it's too vague, maybe if she gave her notepad he could get something.

She was quicker than him, she somehow figured that he was about to snatch her notepad from her, and was on her guard.

“Come on. How about we make a deal, yeah? You tell me why you are skipping class and hanging out with yourself on the rooftop, and I'll owe you one.” He tried.

“How do I know that you'd actually keep your word?” She raised an eyebrow, rolling her eyes.

“A Hawthorne never not keep his word.” He said it out proudly. Something to be proud of from that name.

“Right, you're a Hawthorne.” She added. “Why are you so determined to know why I'm here? You get nothing out of it, and yet you're saying you'll owe me one.” She was questioning whether or not to agree to this deal. Having Jameson Hawthorne owe you one is a vid deal.

“I'm a man of mysteries. I also tend to like mysteries. And you, princess? One hell of a mystery. I figured that much two weeks ago when you threatened to sue my friend.” He smiled, taking a step closer. “So? What do you say? Deal?” He asked.

She sighed. “For my journalism class, I have to write about something new…something that is ‘not in my bubble’ as my professor worded it, hence the rooftop.”

Jameson’s face was pulled together in confusion. “Still a bit vague. Are you going to try to fly?”

She rolled her eyes which made him smile. “No. Just looking at people from a different perspective. I don't think I can go out of my bubble but I can always observe people from different angles and be them for a while to write a different story. Sounds a bit stupid but it'll work. And I'll get an A.”

Jameson noticed how her eyes sparkled when she said ‘I'll get an A.” It made him smile even wider.

“That's still not doing what your professor asked.” He pointed it out.

“But it's not the same repetitive story as before. It's new, so.” She shrugged.

Jameson was quiet for a while. “You said you can't go out of your bubble. Is it can't or won't?”

She just glared at him as if he lied about something. Ironically he only told the truth.

“See? You don't even try, and say you can't.”

“It's not easy for me, okay? If I do new things out of the blue, people will stare at me, look at me weirdly or bully me too. I can't just step out of my bubble like that. Even if people are nice, it's me. I'm awkward, and just stupid when it comes to socialising or anything that's not just academics, and some extracurriculars that I do.” She let out a quick sigh before shaking her head.

“So stupid. I don't even know why I'm telling you this.” She murmured.

Jameson was quiet for a few seconds. “I'll tell you what. I said I owe you one, right? How about this; I help you get out of your bubble. I'll help you socialise and all that stuff, stuff that are not you. I'll help you with them.”

“When you owe someone it's up to them to decide what it is.” She said with a little sass.

“I know, princess. But think about it. It's a good one. I'm just suggesting, it's up to you.” He took another step, now only two feet away from her with his hands extended in front. “Deal?”

She bit her lips out of frustration.

Jameson chuckled. “Take it or leave it. Don't need to kill yourself over it.” But he wanted her to take it, so bad.

She let go of her bottom lips, and relaxed her shoulders. She passed the pen to the other hand, holding both the notepad and pen in one, she spoke “deal.”

Her soft palm met his and shook gently. The touch shouldn't have sent goosebumps to Jameson but it did.

[jesncin]

Are you at all excited for the upcoming Absolute Martian Manhunter book later this year? It'll be the most high-profile launch J'onn has been a part of for a long while, being DC's attempt at an "Ultimate Marvel" line. Given how the approach seems to be defined by removing elements of the characters' status quo - Superman has no Krypton tech, Batman is not a billionaire, Wonder Woman is the last of the Amazons etc. - I think there's a very real possibility that for J'onn they'd pivot in the opposite direction and give us a living Martian society. If only because J'onn has so little anyway, there's not as much to remove as with other members of the League, so the logical thing would be adding something back in to shake things up. I'm personally hoping for some combination of Weird and Noir.

I'm absolutely (heh) excited for it (because a new refreshing change even in an elseworld story is exactly what J'onn needs right now!) but also cautious and,,, concerned. DC's revealed the Absolute gimmicks for just about all the other solo supers but J'onn is essentially still a rumor? What's going on there? I was also concerned when Superman's Absolute gimmick was supposedly "he'll be more alien than human" "he doesn't have a fortress of solitude, no Kents, etc" which,,, sounds a lot like J'onn tbh but we'll have to wait and see. Sometimes writers do this thing where they try to do something new with Superman and it's just re-worked J'onn lore. And J'onn lore is fundamentally flawed so in turn that take on Superman doesn't work, but that's just me with early concerns.

Ooh! That's a good point actually! That feels like the most logical shakeup they could do, and YJa helped warm people up to the idea of a living Mars (which I also agree would spice things up and differentiate J'onn from Clark more). And I'd absolutely (heh) love more supernatural-weird-noir for J'onn! We finally had J'onn play into being a martian detective in the 2019 Identity run, but it was more cop drama than detective noir which I would love to see. My only addendum to the idea of a living Mars as an Absolute gimmick is, since YJa popularized this already, what else will this take do to innovate on that idea? My personal wish list is:

Revitalize J'onn's cast system (a mix of old and brand new characters. Don't just make him watch tv to care about humans. Give this martian relationships!!)

Figure out his themes outside of grief!! (I love sad Martian man but he needs to do more than that! It's been stagnating his character)

No Justice League stuff or other superhero cameos/team ups. (J'onn NEEDS to prove he can stand on his own as a solo character so he can stop being pigeonholed as the League's heart or therapist.)

Fresh new take on Martian world building (please get rid of Martian racism, it's dumb and never made sense. It's a shapeshifting society and the idea of characters like M'gann essentially "greenfacing" to "pass" is so weird)

Critical reimagining of J'onn's relationship to justice (we need to get rid of or critically examine his relationship to copaganda.)

Integrate Blackness more thoroughly into his character (CW Supergirl and that one Nubia Coronation special comic are still the only takes that have done this. Come on guys!!)

More thorough reflection of J'onn's multiple identities (undoubtedly what makes J'onn special. But the comics rarely dig into what it means for J'onn to be multiple people. I would love it if his identities [especially the racialized ones] weren't treated as so,,,disposable.)

Ma'alefa'ak please (I just want to see him again I don't even care if they do a bad job. However all I ask is he be a green martian and J'onn's twin again. And a slutty design.)

The last time we saw a big overhaul to J'onn's character was the New 52, and the major flaw of that run was that it had no clear thematic intention to how it interpreted his character. So we ended up with just a bunch of references and a convoluted edgy story that doesn't help J'onn become a self sustaining solo character. The Absolute line is the perfect platform to revitalize him as a character, but I hope the writers can think in the long term to combat his foundational issues.

[cactusisconfused]

I give you more ghoap botw ideas cuz I love the au

Here are the boys :DD ghost is designed more after link in totk cuz I felt that suited him more, and soap’s in a version of Zelda’s ceremonial dress (for him it’d be robes or some kind of suit)

For the ghosts/champions i also had some ideas

Revali - Nikolai (mainly cuz hehe pilot) or Gaz

Urbosa - Laswell

Daruk - Price or Alejandro (I lean more ale on this one, but I’ll get to why in a minute)

Mipha - Roach

Sidon - Rudy or Alex

Riju - Farah

Teba - could also be Nik

And I have no clue who Yunobo would be

King Rhoam - Price

Now hear me out, I know in hyrule warriors Rhoam was kinda a dick. I say Price would be the king because as a captain he had to make hard decisions same as a king. So in this au let’s say that Price sees that yes soap isn’t paying attention to his studies/training nor has unlocked the goddesses power yet, but he does see his son trying to help his people. (though in a really dangerous way)

So as the King, Price orders the swords champion as Soap’s personal guard to keep him safe with all the dumb shit he’s been pulling. While he’s still hard on Soap with unlocking his power; he understands that you can’t really rush it, and over all is just proud of how far Soap has come already. When the calamity hits Price fights with his people until his last breath, and prays to the goddess that Soap and Ghost are ok. (Whoa that got sad, i’m sorry 😅)

Ok sorry that this is very long, I just really like botw and totk and love the idea of this au!! Also have my recreation of that one memory :DD

OOOOOOOOOOOOO I LOVE THIS!!!!

AND YOUR ART-VERY TASTY!!!

Honestly I agree for the most part about the characters. Ravoli I feel is hard to place given he has a very cocky and self assured personality that none of our guys truly fit. I want to say Nikolai would fit the most, but I also think he would work great as Teba as well (mainly cause of the pilot thing.)

I wonder though, if roach would be a better Teba given Teba in game is seemingly a man of few words (but I also head canon roach as quiet but an absolute menace, so another problem there.)

Anywho, I also have no clue who yunobo would be either 😅

-

I feel Ghosts family should also somehow be implemented into the BOTW lore. I’m thinking that when he was going through the process of getting the master sword and training to be a royal knight, not because he felt he had a duty to the royalty of hyrule, but to gain enough respect and fear so that he could finally protect his family from not only his father but from monsters and other intruders.

However, he gains more than he ever thought he would, becoming more than just a simple knight. He has less time with his family, his mother, brother, Beth and Joesph.

Eventually, some event happens were Ghost has to go against the yiga clan. In response, the yiga clan sets out to massacre Ghost’s family, much like how they did in the comics.

I think that event, that failure to protect his family, is what drove him to go completely mute, on top of already being quiet in the first place.

Idk, this turned into a long ramble. I am living for your thoughts though, love them! :)

[theoceanoasis]

Deaf Rodimus who always has his implant audials in but takes them out to charge on a night he forgot Drift and Ratchet were coming over

No one knew he was deaf not even Ratchet. It was his biggest insecurity and something he went to great lengths to hide especially when he became Prime.

Since most injuries and diseases could simply be fixed having a disability was looked down on. Many people believed those with disabilities were useless and a burden on everyone else who should end themselves for the greater good.

It hurt growing up listening to how others like him were talked about and it was the reason he was so determined to hide this part of himself.

When he became a Prime he was even more determined. Since Primes were seen as the closest thing to a god and no one wanted a broken one.

If they found out he was deaf they would ask questions wondering if he was worthy of the matrix. Something he already had to fight so hard to prove. This would just be another thing added on top.

He didn't know why Primus didn't fix his audios when he was upgraded and some part of him thinks it's because he was unworthy and that he was always meant to give up the matrix to Optimus.

He was nothing but a stand in while Optimus was the real Prime and he didn't deserve the title and oftentimes felt like a fraud.

He tried to push the negative thoughts away as he went to charge his implants. They worked wonderfully and he wore them all the time but occasionally they needed to be charged every few months.

He'd been putting it off, not wanting to take them off. Because every time he always felt uncomfortable and his negative thoughts would oftentimes overwhelm him.

After taking it off he felt uncomfortable and exposed to the world having been so used to hearing. He grabbed blankets and made himself a little nest with his back pressed against the wall while his body faced the door.

He tried his best to relax and fall asleep wanting to wake up and have his device charged.

He didn't hear the knocking on his door or his comm blowing up with messages since he accidentally left it in the other room.

He'd been so stressed out about taking off his implants that he forgot tonight was movie night.

Ratchet and Drift waited outside for a long time both of them calling him.

"Maybe something's wrong. Since he's not picking up."

Drift suggested looking at the door worriedly.

Ratchet went to enter his code when the TV turned on. They both jumped at the loud volume and continued waiting for Rodimus to answer the door.

Drift tried calling him a few more times wondering what was going on. He seemed so excited a few days ago for their movie date. He didn't know what changed since then.

"He's clearly home and since he's not answering he's avoiding us."

"I'm sure that's not true."

Even as he said that he looked at the door skeptically. It wouldn't be the first time Rodimus avoided them although that hasn't happened since they first started to court him and some miscommunication happened.

"Maybe he forgot?"

"Then why isn't he answering the door when we've been knocking on it or answer his comm that's been ringing nonstop? I can hear it inside."

They both listened to the sound of his comm go off as they continued calling him. He gave the door a sad look because Rodimus was avoiding them again instead of talking about it.

"Rodimus if you're not going to answer the door we are leaving!"

Ratchet banged on the door a few more times and when nothing happened he walked away with a huff muttering about a waste of time. Even as he said that he could see the hurt in his optics and he followed his Conjunx. Hopefully he could get some kind of an explanation from Rodimus and if he was avoiding them he'd like to know why so they can at least try and fix it.

[nyzfiles]

Hey! I just found your blog and have read the works you’ve put out so far(they’re really good!). Could I please request a fic with IVE’s Yujin?

Where her and reader have been dating for a while now but lately reader has been rejecting Yujins advances whenever she tried initiating sex with her which, of course, Yujin respected. But, when she was on social media and saw the comments under your posts she realized why. (Which was because of the hate you were receiving about your body). When Yujin found out she decided to gently bring it up with you which resulted in you breaking down. Alright, to get to the point Yujin shows how in love with your body and how perfect she thinks it is by making love to you and kissing every inch of your skin(especially your stomach). Thank you!(sorry, I couldn’t think of how to make my explanation shorter)

a/n : hi anon! thank you so much for the request, i love this idea and body worshipping is top tier!

warnings - smut (minors and men dni!) sorta angst?

tags - soft dom!yujin x sub!fem reader, reader is very insecure, body worshipping, nipple stimulation, cunnilingus (reader receiving), fingering, yujin is just VERY in love with reader !!

word count - 1.3k

you and yujin have been dating for close to 8 months now. she's been the most attentive, loyal, and affectionate girlfriend you could ask for. in the beginning of your guys' relationship you had an amazing sex life, yujin is very much a giver and you get to benefit from that.

recently, you've been starting to reject her advances whenever she tries to be intimate with you and it's left her confused and quite honestly a bit hurt. of course she would never pressure you into anything but she can't help but wonder what's changed.

about two days ago she was scrolling through her instagram when she came across your most recent post and hearted it. out of curiosity she went to the comments and was heartbroken by what she saw. a bunch of people who claimed to be her fans were body-shaming you and leaving horrible comments.

she closed the app, deciding she would bring it up with you once she figured out how to do it gently. it all made sense now why you had stopped wanting to be intimate with her, she never imagined people would be making you feel so horrible about yourself.

now, she watches you sitting on the other end of the couch, a sad expression on your face as you scroll through your phone. "is everything alright?" she asks, concern evident in her voice. you just nod, giving her a small smile before looking back down at your phone. she sighs, placing her hand on your leg and caressing it gently. "baby...what's going on? things haven't been normal for months." she says, worry plaguing her mind.

you look back up at her, tears stinging your eyes as your lip quivers. "i've just been feeling really down about myself..." you whimper, your voice breaking as you try to confide in your girlfriend. she looks at you with sympathy, pulling you into her arms as you break down and start crying.

she kisses the top of your head, whispering softly to you as she strokes your hair. "baby, those people don't mean anything to us. i love you, and i love your body. you're so beautiful." she reassures you, tilting your chin up to place a soft kiss on your lips. "promise me you'll block anybody who makes you feel like this." she whispers against your hair, still holding you close.

you nod, starting to relax in her arms as your tears stop. "this is why you haven't wanted to have sex with me, isn't it?" she sighs softly, looking down at you. you nod, feeling a little embarrassed as you admit it to her. "i didn't want you to have to look at me and realize that all these people are right." you sniffle, wiping away the rest of your tears.

she shakes her head, cupping your face in her hands and kissing you again. "they're not right. you are beautiful, hot, sexy, stunning, and everything else in between. i am lucky to have you." she confesses, trying to show you how serious she is. you nod slowly, wrapping your arms around her. "let me show you how beautiful i think you are..." she mutters, hands cupping your ass as you sit in her lap.

you look up at her apprehensively, chewing on your lip before nodding your head. "okay..." you agree, giving yourself to her. she smiles, threading her fingers through your hair before kissing you slowly. she picks you up, hands gripping your thighs as she carries you into your guys' shared bedroom without breaking the kiss.

she gently lays you against the bed, hovering over you as her lips trail down your neck. "i can't believe how beautiful you are. how did i get so lucky?" she mumbles against your skin, hands moving to the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head. you blush, arms going to cover your stomach before she stops you. "don't. i want to see every inch of you tonight." she says, moving your hands and kissing the palms on each of them.

you watch as she undoes the clasp on your bra, throwing it on the floor beside the bed. she cups your tits, flicking her tongue over your hard nipple. you gasp softly, playing with her hair as she sucks, licks, and bites your nipples, switching between them. your moans spur her on and she kisses down to your stomach, her lips lingering there.

her mouth kisses every inch of your stomach, dampness pooling in your panties. "so fucking stunning." she whispers, gripping your waist as she kisses above the waistline of your panties. your eyes sting with tears as she worships your stomach, kissing every stretch mark and praising you.

she slowly peels your panties off, groaning softly when she sees your cunt glistening. "so pretty and wet for me." she smiles, fingers teasing your folds. you whine, your cunt clenching as her finger disregards the spot you need her the most. "please..." you mutter, heart pounding as you watch her. she leans in, placing your legs on her shoulders before running her tongue through your folds. you let out a long moan, hand tangling in her hair as she flicks her tongue over your sensitive clit.

she hums against you, the taste of you making her own arousal grow. she grips your thighs tighter, sucking on your clit and swirling her tongue around it. you throw your head back in pleasure, toes curling as your arousal leaks out of you. "feels so good..." you whimper, grinding your cunt against her tongue. she chuckles softly, slowly easing her tongue inside of your tight cunt.

you gasp, stomach tightening as she curls her tongue inside of you. your nails are practically digging into her scalp as she tongue fucks you and rubs her nose against your clit. the knot in your stomach gets tighter and you cry out her name as your thighs squeeze her head and your cum coats her tongue.

she swallows every last drop, pulling back and licking her lips as she looks at you. "tastes so sweet." she smiles, kissing her way up to your body until she reaches your lips. you laugh tiredly, wrapping your arms around her to bring her closer to you. "you're so pretty." she sighs happily, two fingers slowly rubbing your clit. you blush, bucking your hips slightly as she takes them and parts your folds.

she gently pushes her fingers inside you, making you moan and grip her biceps. her thumb rubs your clit while her fingers fuck you, her mouth leaving dark purple hickeys along your collarbone. "y...yujin..." you gasp, breath hitching as she curls her fingers against your g-spot. she smirks against the spot on your neck she was sucking on, thumb pressing harder against your clit.

you start to ride her fingers, eagerly chasing your second orgasm of the night while she leaves love bites all over your neck, collarbone, and tits. your nails dig into her biceps as she pumps her fingers deeper and moves her thumb faster, making your eyes roll back. the familiar feeling of your stomach tightening washes over you and your legs shake as your orgasm washes over you.

she slowly fucks you through your high, slipping her fingers out and licking them clean. she lays down on the bed beside you, pulling you into her arms as she kisses you sweetly. "i love you so much, you know that?" she smiles, forehead resting against yours. you nod, snuggling yourself closer to her. "i love you too." you mutter, letting her hold you as you drift off to sleep.

[starguardianniom]

I just had the funniest idea yesterday about Billy Kid and now I want to see it when we'll be in the Outer Ring.

Picture this:

Billy was pretty infamous in the Outer Ring as an enforcer, so when he comes back, naturally people notice. And panic. Because he is back after a long time and who knows what he's gonna do and what people sees is that he brought people with him that are also clearly not ordinary people and that they met up and allied themselves with the Sons of Calydon, most likely thanks to Billy again.

So I imagine someone putting a job on it on Inter Knot saying Billy is back and wanting to investigate his return or maybe try to catch/kill him to get the huge bounty on his head probably or something like that and then we fall on the request on the Inter-Knot and we wonder who the hell is "insert Billy's moniker in the Outer Ring" (cause I view the mission referring him a fearsome title that he got named during his time there just via his reputation only and not as Billy Kid because I also view his anme being spoken as a bad sign so only close friends call Billy by his name and to the rest it's that legendary "insert feared moniker") and how did said person got his crew allied with Caesar and they don't know about it and are confused about what it means.

Cue Phaethon and the rest of the Cunning Hares going to ask Caesar and Billy about it, and Caesar is just laughing at them while Billy is not pleased to having to tell them that the job is talking about him and by extention the rest of the group that is mentionned it them. Then Fairy is listing his long list of crimes to which Billy says it's innacurate because it only contains the stuff that some people got to live to tell the tales, he did far worse but only Caesar, his old boss and his old gang knows about the rest.

Pretty much everyone is surprised that Billy did all that as many things that he did that even they wouldn't even dare do that but he did and Billy admitting that he has no excuse because back then he was all in for it and mostly saw himself more as a weapon than a person even if he was treated like a person by his old boss and his gang but he grew up beyond that and is now a bit ashamed of it and does hope that the Cunning Hares won't cut him out for it, but the girls just accept him and reassures him that he's always gonna be with them.

The proxies are still curious about why Billy didn't say anything about it and he says that he felt like it would come up eventually but he doesn't like to talk about it and asked Caesar to not say anything either, and she passed the word to the rest of the Sons of Calydon. Caesar got Billy's back as much as he has her back.

"Now that that's sorted out, time to go kill the person who put that request on the Inter Knot." - Caesar and Billy.

The others: "Wait what"

Billy: "You heard us."

[burning-academia-if]

hello if you’re still taking prompts could u by chance do tears + ??? :p

??? + Tears!

‘What happened?’ Their voice presses into your head, already aching from an incoming headache brought on from your tears. You weren’t sure how to answer them, when there were so many ways you could. Home, school, death, them.

            Your words are acid, “I thought I told you to stay out of my head.”

            Even with the flood of their feelings, seeping out like blood from a wound, you try to shut them out. You never wanted this, and you had yet to think of a situation worse than one where you were tied to a formless thing who felt and saw everything you could.

            You’re so tired. The tears burn in your eyes again and you burrow tighter into yourself, “Just leave me alone. I’m so tired.”

            They don’t, but they don’t speak again either. They settle, and you feel the pinpricks in your fingers. You loosen your grip, the pull of your nails away from skin a peel of pain. You hadn’t realized how tightly you’d been holding yourself. Little crescents line up your arms. The pinpricks stop. They settle again.

            The tears keep leaking out, and with how long you’ve cried you wonder if it’s possible to go on forever. Maybe the body won’t run out of tears, and you’ll be stuck in this state until the end of time. If only you could burn this version of yourself and start again. In a different body, in a different home, you’d be better. You wouldn’t waste a second chance you would never get.

            The Voice presses into you again. You look up involuntarily and scowl as you find yourself looking towards the half-finished water bottle on the bedside desk, “I’m not a child you need to take care of.”

            ‘It’ll help the headache.’ Their voice is soft, withdrawn. ‘Take care of yourself. I’ll leave, then.’

            You grit your teeth and turn away. You won’t listen to anything they tell you to do. It’s not fair, that of all the people in your life (of the reminder there are so painfully few people in your life), the one who cares the most is the one you’re cursed with. They only care because they need a vessel. They only care so they can use you. It isn’t really them taking care of you as a person, it’s them taking care of you like a puppet.

            You hate this. Going around in circles, thinking the same thing over and over again.

            ‘Please, little moon.’ You wince at the nickname, the endearment. It comes with more emotions, each one going against the stubborn beliefs you’ve held on to. That their care for you is real. It eats away at your resistance. This time, when they pull you towards the water, you don’t fight. You down it all in a second, and when you do it hits that you’re hungry and gross and need a shower and a meal.

            What are you even doing?

            “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

            ‘I know.’

            “I can’t even take care of myself.”

            ‘I know.’

            “I hate that the only one who ever helps me is you.”

            ‘…I know.’

            They accept everything, and you stubbornly wipe away the tears instead of having a full breakdown. You get up for food, they stay with you. Although you don’t talk to them, you don’t bother to chase them away. You’re so tired, and warmth is warmth even if it’s as artificial as a lighter.

[calliecwrites]

Pretending

Sometimes pretending to be a person is easy. Sometimes it isn’t. On the bad days, numbers start crawling on the page, straight lines curl, and I’ve got to remind myself to keep my face on. I want to stretch my other limbs, but the world down here is so thin, and so easy to tear. I have to be careful not to think too hard about anything, or it might start seeping through. You have no idea how much power you have, someone told me once, being able to create with a thought. And the children of my mind look too much like madness to humans.

Cases of madness worldwide are 1.3% higher on days like that.

But I don’t want to drive them mad. I’m here to protect them, not devour them. Not this time. So I have to pretend. Though with some of them practically throwing themselves at me, that isn’t always easy.

Writers are the worst. I let my ‘pretending to be a person is hard’ line slip into the coffee I’m nursing while my head pounds with the effort of keeping it all together, and her only response is, “Yeah, I know.”

“‘A writer is a world pretending to be a person’,” she quotes at me, and then, “That’s a deliberate misquote of something Victor Hugo said: ‘A writer is a world trapped in a person’. But I like my version better. If my soul wasn’t in a human-shaped body, sometimes I think I’d turn into a galaxy or something. Or maybe more than that. A multiverse.”

Humans are famously good at detecting things that don’t quite look human. I’m not doing a particularly good job of staying out of the uncanny valley today, but she doesn’t seem to have noticed. Or, worse, she’s noticed and likes it. Writers are like that sometimes. But I’ve been deliberately staying out of her mind. I can tell it’s twisty and complex, and I’m afraid the slightest touch from me would tip her over into madness. Or, who knows, maybe she’s right, and it would trigger her transformation into some kind of eldritch goddess that would put even me to shame. I don’t want to think about what that would do to the paper-thin world down here.

I’ve been so focused on my coffee, I’ve accidentally created another one. She hasn’t noticed.

“I do wonder what being a person is actually like, though,” she goes on. “You know, actually fitting in with all the weird rules humans have. Actually feeling at home here. And most of them only get to live one life, not all the fragments of all the lives we get to. Imagine that. They’ll never know what it’s like, being able to create with a thought.”

That last part hits too close to home, and I can’t resist taking just one quick peek into her mind.

“Oh, hello,” she says, and looks me in the eye.

I withdraw. No way she should have been able to feel that. And what I saw there – she’s practically a multiverse already, all jammed up there somehow into that tiny human brain.

“I always wondered if telepathy’s real,” she’s saying, “and now you’ve gone and proven it. Do that again, so I can see how you did it.”

No way, I’m not risking that – but she fumbles around and somehow does it anyway.

“There you are!” she says. I twitch back into my defences – why does this have to be happening on a day like this, when I’m barely holding it together anyway? The writing on the menu twists and curls, and customers start walking in circles. This time she notices.

“Ooh, eldritch abomination, is it?” she says. “Here, let me try.”

She squints, and now she’s holding another coffee, too. She takes a sip. “Mmm, just like in my dreams.”

Then she’s looking at me. Not just at my rapidly-slipping human disguise, but really looking at me, all the parts that no human should ever be able to see. But I don’t think she’s human anymore – I think she’s been right at that boundary for a while.

“You know, you really should pay more attention to that,” she says. “I find pretending is much easier if I do something like this—” and she does something, and my own human form snaps back into clarity. “There you go. Get those few things right and most people won’t even notice.”

Meanwhile, her own form is becoming more solid. That’s the only way I can describe it. Soon she’ll be so solid that her slightest movement will tear right through reality like tissue paper.

“Be careful,” I say, “you’re new to this, and this world is fragile—”

But it’s too late. She twitches in just the wrong way, and something tears.

Now everything is inverting. Everything that was packed up tightly inside her brain is becoming outside. The whole world is reforming around us, into one she considers home. I’m unaffected, but the humans are being completely rewritten.

“Hmm,” she muses, observing all the worlds at once. “Looks like I was right about myself.”

And she sees my dismayed expression. Avoiding something like this is exactly why I was being so careful down here. So much for that.

“Don’t worry,” she says, and gives me a reassuring pat somewhere in the fourth dimension. “There’s more than enough room in me for everyone.”

I really like that quote she uses, and use it myself. This story came from thinking - what if it was literally true, and not just a metaphor?

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