#the most kind he can be now is to just stay silent

[paige1722]

Bah Humbug

Summary: instead of playing nice with the village that chooses to sacrifice you, you get revenge!!! This is an alternative to Silent Night.

Pairing: Krampus!Konig x GN!Reader

Warnings: major death, gruesome, Krampus, attempted sacrifice, mentions of hell

I hope this is what you were looking for, it starts out kind of similar but I made the characters a little more cruel towards the reader. I hope you like it!!! @melimelisworld

The village you live in is small and quite quaint; everyone knows everyone, and nothing stays secret for long. Growing up here, you recall how loving everyone was to each other, people constantly stepping up to help others. Now that all seems like a distant memory, as the never-ending blizzard that plagues your town causes food and trading shortages, everyone has become bitter and cruel towards one another, willing to do anything just to save themselves. 

As you looked out of the window of your small cottage towards the center of town, where in years past, you would be able to see streets filled with people walking around with their loved ones, children, and their parents playing out in the snow together, laughter filling the air, but now the streets are empty nothing but the white snow covering the stone paths throughout the village. The harsh wind caused the window panes to groan, and the snow kept piling up more and more. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as a figure marches their way through the thick snow from your neighbor's house towards your front door. 

You walk to your front door just in time to hear a harsh knock. When you open it, you see Philip, the assistant to the village leader. Moving back so he can enter, he makes his way inside, tracking snow throughout your house. Once inside, he makes his way towards your fireplace, placing his hands in front of the fire. 

“Philip, what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” you asked, closing the door behind him and moving to stand in the middle of your living room. Feeling a bit uneasy at the sight of him in your house, nothing good ever comes from one of his visits, usually trying to con people out of food rations for himself, saying it is for the good of the village. 

He turns around, placing his hands around his back to keep them in front of the fire, his eyes scrutinizing you, a small sneer on his face. The fire casing an ominous shadow over his frame, and you are now able to get a better look at him. The food shortages obviously have no effect on him. At the same time, most people in your village, yourself included, are forced to ration their food just to make it through the week. He and Shepherd, the village leader, constantly have full plates, never once having to starve, wondering where their next meal is coming from. His expensive fur jacket looked more pristine than ever, and nothing on his outfit was out of place. 

“Yes, I have been tasked with letting everyone know that at six tonight, there will be an emergency village meeting in the church. It is mandatory for everyone to be in attendance.” He sounds as if this task is below him, but he will do whatever Shepherd tells him to do.

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and you feel skeptical about the emergency meeting. “Oh, okay. By any chance, do you know what the meeting will be about?” 

At your innocent question, Philip squints his eye, looking at you up and down suspiciously, clenching his jaw and taking quick steps towards you. He points an accusatory finger in your face, causing you to step back at his fast approach. “It does not matter what the meeting is about. You are required to be in attendance, understand?” 

Your back hits the wall separating the living room from the kitchen; setting your hands on his chest, pushing him back from you, he stumbles back, grabbing hold of your wrist, disgust clear on his face. His breath hits your face, “have some respect for your village leaders.” 

Ripping your hand from his grip, you walk towards the door, open it, and motion for him to leave, venom clear in your voice, “You are just the assistant, not the town leader. You can leave now. You told me about the meeting.” 

Smoothing down his jacket and giving you one of his signature smiles, Philip chuckles and walks back toward the front door. He pauses to stare at you, a strange look in his eye. “I look forward to seeing you at the meeting then,” he winks as he walks out the door and back into the snow.

You shut the door behind him, sliding the lock into place. You let out the breath you had been holding, wishing that things could go back to normal in the village. What does it matter if you were not going to attend the meeting? Though with his reaction at the thought that you were not going had him acting like that, you fear to think of what he would actually do if you failed to make an appearance. Not to mention, you are very curious as to the details of this emergency meeting; perhaps it was about food rations or the never-ending blizzard. 

You place your head against the door; a headache begins to form with all the frantic thoughts running through your head. Opening your eyes, you see the trail of snow Philip tracked into your house. Cursing him under your breath, you move to the kitchen to grab a towel to clean up the mess before it ruins your floors.  

—----

You glance at the small hand-carved clock on your wall. Seeing that it is almost time for the meeting to start, you make your way to your front door, putting on the thickest coat you own, your gloves, and winter boots. Opening the door and closing it behind you, you wrap your coat tightly around you, pulling up the collar to cover the bottom half of your face as you venture down the snow-covered stone path that leads throughout the village. You see your neighbors already making their way inside the church. Two men stand outside wrapped in thick fur jackets and hats, each holding lanterns to signal the start of the meeting. You trudge through the thick snow, carefully walking up the ice-covered steps to the entrance. The two men, who you now recognize as Simon and Johnny, the town’s butchers, open the massive doors. You mumble a quick thank you to the men and make your way inside the warm church. 

Looking around the massive sanctuary, a long line of lit candles operas on either side of the pews gives the room an almost eerie glow. You realize you are one of the last villagers to arrive, seeing as most of the pews are already filled to the brim with people waiting for the meeting to start; whispers could be heard throughout the room, filled with hateful gossip about one another. You decide to sit in the back, where there is still a little bit of space left, sitting in one of the only empty spots left.

You take off your thick jacket and hang it on the back of the pew you were sitting on, and continue looking around the room. At the front of the pulpit stands Philip Graves, talking in hushed tones to the village leader, Shepherd. They look to be arguing, judging by the looks on their faces. Philip turns his head, looking near the door; when he makes eye contact with you, he turns back to Shepherd, whispering in his ear, a sinister grin appearing on their faces.

The front doors slamming closed behind you cause you to jump a bit. You turn around in your seat to see Johnny and Simon standing inside the church, placing the lanterns on the golden hooks on either side of the doors. They move to stand behind the pew you are sitting on, making you feel uncomfortable, but before you can ask them about it. A throat clearing causes you to turn your attention back to the front of the church, where Shepherd now stands behind the podium with Philip by his side.

“Thank you all so much for joining us today for this emergency meeting. We know that things have been tough recently for us all. But fear not; we have come up with a solution that will surely save us all from this torment.” 

Everyone perks up at the news, excited at the thought of ending their suffering. For some reason, you feel a sense of dread overcome by this news. Something about this whole situation does not sit right with you. Something in your gut telling you that nothing good is going to come out of this meeting.  

“Now, I know you all must be wondering as to what the solution to our problem is. Philip and I have found who is responsible for our suffering it is none other than the demon Krampus. He must be growing bored with punishing children and is looking to torture the innocent people of this village.” 

Gasps echo around the room; Shepherd raises his hand up to silence the murmuring, “To appease his wrath, we must give him an offering; then I am certain we will be saved.” 

Your heart starts to pound in your chest, an offering? What could anyone in the village possibly possess that would be good enough to use as an offering to a demon to appease them? Shepherd locks eyes with you, “I know what you all must be thinking: we have no material possessions good enough for such a beast. We will give the demon a human sacrifice!” 

The room suddenly becomes too hot, sweat beads down your face. Johnny and Simon come up behind you and pull you out of your seat. They begin dragging you, kicking and screaming, to the front of the church. You try to pull your arms from their grip, but is it no use, kicking your feet, trying anything to free yourself. Tears flow freely from your eyes. You look around at the people of your village, pleading with them, hoping that someone, anyone, will help you, but they just all sit there watching, doing nothing. Reaching the front of the church, Philip grabs you from the grip of the two butchers, placing a rough hand over your mouth to silence your yelling. 

Your back is pressed against Philips's chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you, keeping you in place; you struggle in his grip, causing him to tighten his grip on you. His grip bruises your arms, but you refuse to give up. Ignoring your efforts, he says, “Tomorrow, everything will be back to normal once the demon has his offering! Return to your homes and await the glorious rewards that will be gifted upon us all!” He yells out, his chest rumbling against your back. 

As you watch, everyone slowly rise from their seats and make their way toward the entrance of the church, leaving you to your demise. You bite the hand covering your mouth as you let out more screams for help, “Please don’t do this, there must be another way!!” you yell out desperation clear in your voice,  but all you get in return is a slap across the face from Philip. 

“Bitch just bite me, hand me the gag. I can’t stand to hear any more of this pathetic screaming.” Simon reaches into his pocket and pulls out a gag before harshly shoving the cloth in your mouth and tying it around your head. 

Once the door slams, such as the last of the villagers returning safely to their homes, Shepherd grabs a rope from his pocket and stands in front of you, “Ah, fear not. Think about the good your sacrifice will bring to the people of this village, all the lives you will save.” He pulls your wrists together in front of you and binds them tightly together, the rough rope digging into your skin.

Philip unwraps his arms around you and grabs the rope around your wrist, dragging you towards the front doors of the church, the rope squeezing your wrists, causing you to let out a pained gasp that is muffled by the cloth in your mouth. What was about to happen to you setting in, causing you to dig your feet into the carpet of the church trying to free yourself. Tears flow down your face, muffled screaming, as you try desperately to escape. 

“Alright, I can’t deal with this the whole way to the forest. We got to do something,” says Philip, annoyed by your constant struggle. 

Johnny walks back to the podium and pulls out more rope; he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, handing the rope to Simon, “Tie their feet together. It will probably just be easier to carry them.” 

Simon takes the rope from Johnny, grabs both of your kicking feet and ties them together as tight as he can, making it more difficult for you to free yourself.

With you bound tightly over Johnny's shoulder, the group makes its way to the front of the church. Simon and Johnny retrieve their lanterns from where they had been left earlier. The heavy church doors open, and they begin their journey toward your death, the flickering flames casting long, eerie shadows in the snow. Your muffled screams echo through the village. Through blurred, tear-filled eyes, you catch glimpses of people watching from behind their windows, doing nothing to help you. 

—-

They have been carrying you farther and further into the forest, walking for what seems like hours. The light from the moon can be seen through the trees; the only source of light for miles is the lanterns. Your throat is sore from all the screaming, and you're pretty sure your wrists and ankles are now bleeding due to the rope rubbing against your skin from your flailing around. As you all reach a clearing in the middle of the forest where only a single twisted tree stands in the darkness, everyone stops walking; Johnny throws your body on the ground, the harsh impact knocking the breath from your lungs. 

Philip yanks you up from the rope around your wrist, dragging you through the snow towards the tree, the fear flooding your body, giving you a new rush of adrenaline, trying to dig your feet into the ground but with your ankles tied together, making it near impossible. Shepherd is already standing underneath the lowest hanging branch of the tree, holding one end of a rope that has been tied around the branch. They tie the rope through the rope on your wrists, hoisting your arms above your head until your arms are straining and your toes are barely scraping the ground. You let out muffled groans of pain and cursing them as best you could.

All four men are standing in front of you; no sympathy for what they are doing to you can be seen on their faces. Shepherd gives one last look at your body hanging from the tree, “This is where we leave you. Thank you for your sacrifice.” he says smugly before turning with the others and leaving you to your death.

  As you watch them all walk away, the light from the lanterns slowly fades away until you can no longer see it, leaving you in the dark forest alone. You begin to try to free yourself from the tree. Tears run down your face and neck. You try and scream to the best of your ability, but the cloth in your mouth muffles your shouts. Flailing around, trying to somehow untie the ropes on your wrists, all you end up accomplishing is tightening the knots, burying the rope farther into your skin, and blood from the open wounds on your wrists running down your arms. 

Your body quickly runs out of energy from your constant struggle, crying, screaming, and the cold. You begin to feel tired, struggling to keep your eyes open, thinking to yourself that you really don’t want to die, especially not for the people of the town who did nothing to help you; they all just watched. Until, from the darkness, you begin to hear the distant sound of bells jingling closer and closer. Looking all around you in the darkness, you see the glow of a lantern with an outline of a huge figure. You automatically think it is probably someone who is out hunting, so you begin screaming as loudly as you can through the gag, trying to gain their attention. The figure pauses walking, turning towards the sound of your screams, and begins walking in your direction.

 A huge figure emerges from the trees, standing nearly seven feet tall with twisted horns protruding from the mask peeking out from under the hood, his eyes shining through the darkness, the mouth carved onto the front of the mask was open with sharp teeth and a long red serpent-looking tongue, underneath the dark red hood covering his face and body. With every step it draws closer to you, you catch small glimpses of the jingling of bells hanging on a chain wrapped around his torso from underneath the red cloak glimmering in the light from the lantern. 

Frozen in fear at the person walking towards you but still in the back of your head, you are hoping that they will set you free. He stops right in front of where you are hanging from the tree, even dangling in the air, the top of your head barely level with his chin. The soft glow from the lantern gives off an eerie glow to whoever is standing in front of you. You swear that you can see his eyes staring right through you. You let out a muffled “help.” 

“Warum bist du hier draußen?” The demon in front of you utters, reaching for the gag tied around your head. He pulls the fabric out of your mouth, letting it hang around your neck.

Your voice hoarse from all the hours you spent screaming for help, you manage to croak out a gasped, “What?” 

He eyes you curiously, looking at your bound hands and feet. He reaches inside the large red cloak and pulls out a sharp hunting knife. Wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you from falling to the ground. He cut the rope around your wrists, your numb arms falling limply to your sides. Lowering you to sit on the snowy ground, he moves down to the rope around your ankles, cutting the rope. You rub your wrist, trying to bring feeling back into your body, the blood flowing through your arms causing a tingling sensation. 

Still crouched down in front of you, he places the hunting knife back inside his cloak and pulls out a small water skin, holding it out for you to take. You eye him cautiously before grabbing the water skin and taking big gulps of water, the cool water soothing your raw throat. As you hand him back the half-empty water, he says,  “Now, let's try this again, ja. Why are you out here?”

Sniffling due to the cold, anger courses through your body at the memories of the past few hours. You hiss. “They said I was supposed to be some kind of offering to save the village from Krampus’s wrath. They tied me up and dragged me out here against my will.” You take a deep breath, pulling your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them before continuing your voice much softer this time, “No one even bothered to help me. I was screaming at them, but they wouldn’t listen.” 

The man in front of you lets out a hum, “I have no need for an innocent sacrifice. Where do people get these silly little ideas from.” he says, scoffing and shaking his head in disbelief. 

You squint your eyes at him, looking him up and down from the way he is sitting in front of you, causes his cloak to open a bit and allowing you to see the chains wrapped around his torso more clearly. On the chains are the little golden bells engraved with small intricate designs. You can barely make out the cursive ‘Krampus’ written across them. Come to think of it, his cloak, mask, the bells remind you of the description of Krampus from the old stories people in your village used to tell children to keep them from misbehaving or else the demon would arrive and punish them. You look up into his eyes, and seeing him already staring at you, you ask, “You are Krampus?” 

“That’s me. Though you can call me Konig.” He stands up to his full height, holding his gloved hand out for you to grab, “come, let’s go.” 

Taking his hand, allowing yourself to be pulled to your feet, swaying slightly due to the feeling not completely coming back to your legs. “Where are we going?” you ask, tilting your head back to look at him. Still holding his hand, following him deeper into the forest.

He looks down at you, his voice dripping with disdain as if the answer should be obvious. "Back to your village."

"My village? Why?"

Konig stops in his tracks, turning to face you fully. His eyes rake over your face, a calculating look in his eyes. "I am Krampus. I punish those who are bad."

You furrow your brows in confusion. Is he really suggesting that he's going to punish your village for you? And what does he mean by "punish"? Scare them? Or… something worse?

His gaze lingers, reading the flurry of thoughts playing out behind your eyes. After a moment, he adds, his voice low and heavy with dark promise, "I assumed you'd want revenge. It is your choice. After all, you are the one they wronged. Though I should probably warn you, many will not survive."

The memories of your village’s betrayal flood back—how they ignored your pleas for mercy, how they bound you and left you to die in the forest. It is no longer the same village you grew up in. You nod in a slow, deliberate motion. "I want revenge."

Even with the mask hiding his face, you can see the faintest crinkle at the edges of his eyes, a wicked gleam catching the faint light. He lets out a low chuckle, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "Let’s go then," he murmurs, continuing walking. "It’s been a long time since I let my elves have any real fun."

—--

You stand at the outskirts of your village with Konig, his elves circling the perimeter, waiting for him to give the word. The streets are empty; everyone is already in their houses, settling in for the night. Rage courses through your veins at the thought that while they left you to freeze to death hanging from a tree, they were all snuggled up safe and sound in their beds without a care in the world. 

Konig’s elves were dressed similarly to him, standing tall in the darkness, though none of them were as tall as Konig. They wore terrifying masks with twisted and crooked horns protruding from their foreheads demonic-looking faces carved into the wood of their masks. Their gloved hands gripped jagged tools that clinked along with the bells wrapped around them as they moved. The air around the village seemed to thrum with a dark, malevolent energy.

Konig places a hand on your shoulder, “Stay with me. I do not want you to get hurt.” You nod your head in response, grabbing a hold of the chain around his torso, which is now on full display. His cloak sits wrapped around your shoulders to protect you from the harsh weather. 

“Hinterlasse keine Überlebenden.” His thick accent echoing in the darkness. The elves take off their maniacal laughs and pounding footsteps, announcing the chaos that was about to ensue.  

He trails behind them, you in tow, gripping tightly onto the chain wrapped around his torso, struggling to keep pace with his long strides as he makes a beeline straight toward the church where all of this began.

Screams pierce the stillness of the night as the elves burst into homes, ripping people from their beds. Some set fire to houses, others destroy everything in sight, their chaos unquenchable. Simon stumbles out of his front door, drenched in blood, not making it very far before an elf hurls a bola at his feet. The cord wraps tightly around his ankles, sending him crashing face-first into the snow.

When Simon sees you walking alongside Konig, he tries crawling toward you, desperation in his voice. “Please! Help us! We’re being attacked!” 

You don’t even spare him a glance as you keep walking, your pace steady as Konig leads the way. Behind you, you hear the sound of the elf dragging Simon away back into the madness. No one had come to your rescue when you screamed and begged for mercy. No one here will get any sympathy from you. They deserve this.

You both reach the church and with a single, powerful kick, Konig sends the locked doors crashing to the ground, causing some of the candles near the door to extinguish the smoke traveling to the ceiling. The wood splinters violently under the sheer force of his strength. He enters the church, ducking to clear the doorframe. His gaze sharpens as he spots Philip and Shepherd huddled in fear before the pulpit.

Konig rolls his shoulders back, making himself seem more menacing and threatening as he approaches them, his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the church. With every step, the bells make a small chime. Each jingle is a reminder of their impending doom. Shepherd and Philip stand unmoving as Krampus now stands before them, towering over their trembling forms. 

He stands tall, the shadow created from the lit candles throughout the room, causing him to look more and more like a demon, but you are not scared, knowing that you are not the one receiving his anger. His eyes glow with a burning hatred and promises of pain. You let go of the chain around his torso, moving to stand beside Konig, wanting to see them suffer as they made you suffer.

Shepherd tries to appear unfazed, staring Konig right in the eyes. “What is the meaning of this? We gave you a sacrifice to save us, not kill us all!” he says, raising his voice at the end and pointing a finger toward you. Both men gave you disgusted looks as if it was your fault that all of this was happening to them.

“You thought sacrificing someone who has done no wrong would put an end to your suffering?” Konig growls, his accent thick, “I am the one who brings retribution to the wicked.” 

With a flick of his wrist, using his dark magic, a rope slithers down from the rafters of the church, wrapping itself around Philip’s and Shepherd’s wrists and hauling them up until they were dangling in the air much like how you were when Konig found you. They let out groans of pain, trying to free themselves from the rope, but the more they continued to struggle, the tighter the rope wrapped around their wrists.

Konig rips one of the bells from the chain, a sinister glow now emitting from the bell, the intricate details now shining a dark red. He tosses the bell on the ground at the men’s hanging feet. As soon as the bell makes contact with the floor, the ground begins to shake and split open, revealing a deep, fiery pit. 

They both look down, seeing the entrance to hell open up beneath them, causing Shepherd to frantically try and plead with Konig to let them go, “Please, let us go. We are sorry, don’t do this.”

Philip looks at you, screaming profanities at you, “This is all your fucking fault, bitch. Stop him! Set us free!” 

Tired of hearing their useless pleading, Konig waves his hand, and a gag appears over their mouths, muffling their angry shouts. Konig turns to you, his eyes softening, reaching his hand again for you to take, “do you still wish to do this?” 

Placing your hand in his and moving closer to lean into his side, you look up at his masked face, “do it.” you whisper. 

Konig looks back to where the two men hang from the ceiling, both of their wrists bleeding from where the ropes have become embedded into their skin from their constant struggle. "You failed to show mercy," Konig growls, his voice low and guttural. "Now you shall receive none."

The rope snaps, causing both men to fall into the fiery pit, screaming, descending into what you can only assume is hell, both of their souls destined to be tortured forever. The light from the pit begins to dim until all that’s left is a deep hole in the ground with a single bell in the middle of the pit. 

The village is silent once more. There is no more screaming coming from outside the church. Following Konig back out into the snow, you see your once beautiful village in ruins, homes burnt to the ground, and everything destroyed, but you don’t feel any sadness or regret for what happened here. The elves are now nowhere in sight. If it weren’t for the damage, you would have never even known they were here in the first place. 

 You walk hand in hand with Konig back into the forest, a sense of relief falling over you. The people of this village tried to sacrifice you for their own survival, not caring about you at all, but in the end, you got your revenge.

[lovecla]

IF YOU LOVE ME, LET ME KNOW | jack hughes.

extra: she’s really empathetic, she’d make a great wife.

➴ chapter warnings: rumors, mentions of cheating.

➴ word count: 2.9k

💌 from me to you: and today i reached 600 followers. may or may not have cried. thank you so much. i hope you enjoy this one, and thank you anon for giving me this idea, i hope i met your expectations!

𖧷

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JACK BLINKED slowly, as if he wasn’t really sure if what he was seeing was actually real.

He sat up straight, resting his naked back against the wooden headboard, staring at the girl in front of him.

Sophia was resting against the glass door, wearing nothing but one of Jack’s old t-shirts that he doesn’t even recall putting inside his luggage, which can only mean she did it herself, something the singer’s often doing, wearing his clothes around, like she’s seeking for some kind of closeness that only he can provide.

She’s breathtaking, Jack remembers thinking. Even with no makeup on, even with puffy, tired eyes, and even with her hair slightly tangled from sleep, she’s breathtaking.

She’s not even doing anything important; she’s not singing, she’s not dancing, she’s not smiling for the thousands of cameras which are frequently shoved up her face. She’s simply existing, simply breathing, and that is enough to make Jack Hughes believe she’s the one for him.

He knows he is lucky. He knows she’s too good for him, and he knows that, one day, she’ll probably realize it, if she hasn’t already.

But, he also knows that as long as she lives, and maybe some time after that, he won’t ever love someone like he loves her. His heart won’t ever beat this fast for someone else, even if he wanted to.

Her laugh is enough to get him through his hardest days, her voice enough to bring him out of his dark thoughts. When he watches her on stage, dancing, singing, smiling and doing what she loves most, he’s certain that she’s enough to make him the happiest man alive.

So, that’s why they are where they are today. Because he can’t lose her. Not again, not ever.

He remembers feeling his heart dropping inside his chest when he read the article. "NHL Star Caught in Cheating Scandal: Sophia Montenegro and Jack Hughes Relationship in Turmoil".

Gladly, he had been one of the first to read the excruciating story. After that one incident where Sophia thought he was fucking his ex, Ava he thinks, his Google Alerts notifications for himself and Sophia are always on, and he doesn’t miss a single thing anymore.

That’s why he almost crushes his phone inside his hands when he reads the article, over and over again, memorizing the nasty, evil words plastered for everyone to see.

There’s a picture, too. A blurry, probably edited one, showing his face beside a random girl’s he doesn’t even know. His name is beside the word “cheater”, “unfaithful” and he’s being compared with that one asshole named Harris Dickinson.

He wants to kill someone.

It’s late at night, and he is away. Sophia is back in Newark at their shared apartment, and he knows she’s probably asleep by now. He won’t get home until later that night, and he’s seriously considering murdering whoever thought that coming up with this lie, now out of all times, would be a great idea.

She’s not answering her phone, as expected, and Jack Hughes wants to scream. He just had a shitty game, they lost 4-1, even after he shot the puck at the net twenty-three times alone— not even one earned him the glorious “goal honk”.

He spends the entire ride silent, because he knows his teammates have already seen the article. He can feel their eyes on him, and he can sense their pity too. Even Luke, who always chooses to stay quiet and watch from afar, is looking at him with worried, hooded eyes.

“I didn’t do it.” Jack mumbles, looking through the window and watching the dark sky above them.

“I know,” Luke hums, sounding upset. “That’s why I am worried.”

“They can’t fucking leave us alone,” Jack hisses, his frustrated tone echoing through the silent bus. “Do they have any idea what this does to Soph? Do they have any idea how fucking messed up this is?”

“She’s a tough girl,” Luke tries. “She’ll get over this.”

“What if,” Jack stops himself. No. Sophia will hear him out, she won’t shut him out like she did last time. This isn’t the first dating scandal they have to deal with, and it certainly will not be the last. “Fuck.”

“I know nothing I say will help but,” Luke sighs, then turns his head around until he’s facing his brother. “I’m here, we’re here. I love you.”

Jack blinks, nodding once. “I know. It helps.”

He arrives at their home at three forty-nine that night. He opens the door and closes it in record time, and he doesn’t even think twice before running to their bedroom, desperate to see if Sophia had run away and desperate to see if he’d find their bed empty.

He doesn’t, though. Sophia’s there, just not like he expected her to be, asleep. No. She’s sitting on top of the covers, resting her back against the headboard, eyes glued to the TV in front of her, some random show Jack didn’t even bother acknowledging playing in the back, muted.

“Baby.”

Her eyes are tired when she looks at him, and he hates it. Hates it because he knows she isn’t tired because she spent the night doing what she loves— she’s tired because she’s thinking nonstop, and she’s not well.

“Jack.”

“You’re not asleep.” He stated, standing in front of her, looking for something he wasn’t really sure of in her face. He didn’t find it.

She smiles, tiredly, tilting her head to the side. “Had this bad feeling on my chest, like something I didn’t even know what was about to blow up in my face.”

“I didn’t do it,” he blurts out. He’s panting and he knows he probably looks awful, but he doesn’t care. “Soph, listen to me. I didn’t d—”

“I know,” she softened her tone, patting the seat beside her, on Jack’s side of the bed. He immediately complies, sitting beside the woman he’d buy the moon for if she asked to. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I know your heart, Jack.”

“Soph…”

“I know you,” she gulps, looking at something on his face, as she raises her hand and rests it against his chest. “I know you’re not him.”

“I fucking love you, Soph,” he says, and he can’t believe he’s on the verge of tears. Jack Hughes, the sassy, though player, is on the verge of crying because he can’t stomach the thought of losing his girlfriend. “I’d give you my life if you asked me to. You know that.”

“I don’t want you to,” she smiles, softly, her eyes filled with tears too. “Where’s the fun in that? I want you by my side, every day. I want people to write your name on my biography when I die, and I want people to know that you’re it for me.”

“I’m going to kill whoever wrote that,” he promises. “I know I can find them, and I know I can make them pay for what they did, I just know that,” he’s seeing red, and he’s ready to punch someone in the face when Sophia kisses him, sweet, honeyed lips touching each other.

“Let’s make the most out of this,” she whispers. “This time, let’s just see the glass half full.”

Making the most out of that awful situation turned out to be spending a week at Calilo, a private, five star hotel in Ios, a Greek island.

The room they chose had a private pool, and a private entrance to the beach, which they were in love with. Sophia cried when they opened the hotel’s room door because of course she did, and Jack took a picture of her there to send to the family group chat, before turning his wifi off, something he promised he’d do once they arrived at their destination.

For seven days, one hundred and sixty-eight hours, ten thousand and eight minutes, six hundred four thousand, eight hundred seconds, they weren’t going to be the famous singer and Hockey player, Sophia Montenegro and Jack Hughes.

No. They’d be Sophia and Jack, a normal couple living a normal life.

“We could be royalty, king and queen of nowhere,” Sophia sings, voice smooth and quiet, yet enough to make Jack want to jump out of bed and kiss her senseless. “Lose it all, everything. As long as we got you and I, you and me, they can tear this whole house down. All we have is love.”

“Did I die and go to Heaven?” Jack mumbles, and smiles as Sophia turns around and faces him. He barely tries to hide the way he scans her body with hungry eyes, lingering over the outline of her boobs for longer than he probably should.

“Some people do say I’m an angel,” she blinks innocently, and walks towards the bed, sitting on Jack’s lap, gracefully putting her legs on each side of Jack’s body. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a girl who just got knocked up.” He smirks, and Sophia laughs, throwing her head back as Jack holds her in place with his hands on her waist, carefully arranging her on top of him.

“We’ll have to work on this newly developed kink of yours…” she winks.

“Like it isn’t your fault,” he rolls his eyes, playfully, staring at the outline of her panties sitting right on top of his own boxers. “Making a song about wanting to get knocked up. Singing said song in front of thousands of people. Asking me to fuck you in unthinkable positions just so you could do them on stage.”

“I mean…” she smirks. “I gotta keep my fans interested, right? And what are boyfriends for if not for helping their girlfriends out?”

“You’re unreal, Sophia Montenegro,” Jack says, leaning forward and kissing the singer fervently. She tastes sweet, she tastes like his favorite person in the world.

But maybe that’s just because that’s what she is.

𖧷

SOPHIA HAD already forgotten how good it was to live a normal life.

She loves her fans, she really does. She also loves to sing, and she loves to be this huge pop star people say she is, but also loves to be human. She loves to walk around without thousands of people taking pictures of her and analyzing everything she does. She loves to eat a silent dinner by herself or with her friends and family and not have several cameras in her face.

When Jack suggested, after that terrible article, that they should travel somewhere quiet and safe, she thought he was just kidding. It was June, he was technically off his NHL player duties, and she did have some time before she had to headline festivals and make appearances in TV shows so it made sense for them to take some time for themselves, but they had never done that before— why, she doesn’t know, but now she realizes how dumb they had both been.

Ios was a small island, and the few people who were there didn’t know who they were. They walked around with their hands together without anyone batting an eye at them, and even when they asked for people to take pictures of them together, no one hit them with the usual “oh my God, are you that one singer and that one player?”

People treated them normally, and she couldn’t be happier. The past few weeks had been like hell, living on the edge and worrying that something would break them apart, but now?

Now, they were walking together after eating Chicken Gyros and Bubble Waffles with chocolate ice cream (“That’s too sweet, baby, it’s disgusting.”, “You’re disgusting, Rowdy.”), making their way to the private beach in front of their bedroom, which Sophia promptly said it belonged to them from now on.

She spent the entire walk singing, because Jack had asked her to. The lyrics of I Have A Dream slipped out of her mouth like syrup, each sentence sweeter than the previous one. Jack, who has been holding her hand and watching her the entire time, smiled and felt his hands getting sweaty.

“I have a dream, a song to sing. To help me cope with anything, if you see the wonder of a fairy tale, you can take the future even if you fail. I believe in angels.”

She loved this song, it had been one of the many who inspired her to be a singer. And to get to sing it in Greece, while holding hands with the person she’s sure to be the love of her life?

She won.

Her white sundress contrasted perfectly with the sunset in the background, and when she and Jack decided that they wanted to sit by the sea, the sun was already saying its last words.

“It’s beautiful.” She sighs, content.

“It is, yeah,” Jack answers, but when she turns around, he’s not looking at the view, he’s looking at her.

She laughs, smacking his chest. “Did you just call me ‘it’?”

“I don’t know, man, I heard the word beautiful and thought we were talking about you.” He cheesily answers, and she rolls her eyes at him.

“You’re actually so annoying,” Sophia chuckles, moving the sand around with her feet. “I don’t know how I’ve been handling your ass for almost five years.”

Jack stays silent for a while, something that isn’t like him at all, but Sophia doesn’t ask anything. He’s been like that since that one article, and even though she can tell it still bothers him, she promised him she wouldn’t ask any more questions.

It was upsetting, to say the least, to know that people were constantly praying for their downfall. At least once every two months they would come up with a new genius idea of how they weren’t together anymore, and how they hated each other, and how Jack was a freaking cheater and how Sophia was a homewrecker.

She understands that they may not look like the perfect match— who would’ve thought? The bratty, Mr. I-hate-media-attention dating the singer whose name is practically in every headline and whose face is in almost every magazine cover, not to mention her songs always doing numbers in the charts.

But they are happy.

So, so happy.

“I don’t think I want to leave,” Sophia whispers, listening to the sounds of the waves in front of them. Her head is resting on Jack’s shoulder, and he has his left hand wrapped around her thigh. “Like, ever.”

Jack hums. “Not even to make concerts?”

“Well. Maybe,” she sounds childish and Jack smiles. “I wish I could have all of that with all of this. You know what I mean? This peace, their love. Is it weird?”

“Not really, baby. A bit confusing, though.” He kisses her temple, and she chuckles.

“I’ve been in the spotlight for half of my life. Ever since I’ve decided that I wanted to be famous, I’ve been watched like some kind of wild animal,” she whispers, voice filled with emotion. “I love what I do. But… I also love who I am when I’m not performing. When I’m not Sophia Montenegro. I like it when I’m just… yours, for example.”

“Soph—”

“I’m sorry if it sounds confusing…” she pouts, and Jack smirks.

“Do you like being mine?” He asks, and she rolls her eyes at him, annoyed by the obvious question.

“You already know the answer to that,” she says. “Of course I do.”

“Would you like to be mine for the rest of our lives?” He lowers his voice, and Sophia furrows her eyebrows, lifting her head up and staring at the man sitting beside her.

“I mean I would but…” she watches his face. He looks beautiful, she thinks. His eyes match the sea. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because I want to know if you’d say yes.” He simply says. Sophia notices he’s shaking, though.

“If I’d say yes to what?” She answers, but she can feel her heart racing inside her chest already.

“To be my wife,” he finally says, pulling a black, velvet box out of his jeans pocket, and opening at the same time her first tears start to roll down her cheeks. “I also love who you are when you’re not performing, but I love it even more when you’re just mine. So, please, Soph, tell me—”

“Jack—” she gasps, putting her hand in front of her mouth.

“Will you marry me? Will you make me the happiest man alive and let me make you my wife?” He asks, blue eyes full of expectations and hope.

Sophia laughs wetly before throwing herself in front of her boyfriend— fiancé—, kissing him messily, just because she can. And because she wants him to feel the turmoil going on inside her, and what he did to her.

How he found her, a garden with no flowers— and then he bought the seeds, planted and watered them, and how he’s now watching them grow and bloom. How he delicately took care of each one of them, and how he’d kiss them gently before going away.

“This could go very wrong,” she says, voice trembling as Jack puts the ring, a very fancy one she notices, on her finger. “You could get tired of me. And you could realize I’m not that cool—”

“Soph, forget it,” Jack laughs. “I’m not letting you go anytime soon. So either you start getting used to being called Sophia Montenegro Hughes now or you’ll have a very hard time.”

“I fucking love you.” She sobs, rolling her wet eyes at him.

“Always so romantic, my postar,” he kisses her cheeks, wiping her tears with his lips. “I happen to fucking love you too.”

𖧷

sophiamontenegro

Ios, Greece

liked by morgan.grace, tyla, elblue6 and 3,902,012 others

sophiamontenegro that feeling when you’re sooo empathetic he had no other option but to make you his wife 💌 that’s that me engaged i guess

View all 9,103 comments

user1 SOPHIA I FUCKING LOVE YOU

user2 HARD LAUNCHING YOUR ENGAGEMENT WHEN PEOPLE SPEND THE ENTIRE MONTH TALKING ABOUT YOUR “BREAK UP” WHAT A QUEEN

trevorzegras That feeling when you have knee surgery tomorrow :/

sophiamontenegro trevorzegras 👍🏻

morgan.grace YOU BETTER CALL ME RIGHT FUCKING NOW SOPHIA WHAT THE HELL

sophiamontenegro morgan.grace on it baby 🫡

user3 THE CAPTION

user4 ngl i thought they wouldn’t last a week but look at them 4 years later getting married

user5 soph you better live stream your wedding pls

jackhughes 😈

user6 we survived another “jack and sophia broke up” moment let’s GOOOOO

user7 album when

𖧷

jackhughes

liked by lhughes_06, njdevils, curtislazar95 and 293,928 others

jackhughes

View all 2,892 comments

lhughes_06 👍🏻

user0 lhughes_06 average hughes brothers reaction

user1 It’s okay Jack we know how overwhelming choosing a caption talking about your engagement with the world’s most famous pop singer can be…

user2 THE SCREENSHOT LMFAO HE DID SOPH DIRTY

sophiamontenegro delete that or i’m asking for a divorce

jackhughes sophiamontenegro we’re not even married yet ?

nicohischier Congrats Jack and Soph ❤️

_quinnhughes congrats!! love ya

elblue6 🥹

subbanator HELL YEAAAAH

trevorzegras Can’t wait until the priest says speak now or forever hold your peace and I get up 😌

jackhughes trevorzegras you’re not even invited

trevorzegras jackhughes 🙁

user3 didn’t know yall were locked in like that

user4 my sister just started screaming and crying 😂

user5 Mama and Papa 💜

user6 THE CONTACT NAME NOOOO

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

You get my motor running

Written for the day 27 of the @steddieholidaydrabbles, and for round one of the @steddiebingo

Prompts: Traffic & Handjobs

Rated: E

Tags: Established Relationship; Post-Vecna; Some vague references to PTSD; Handjobs; Semi-public sex

“Paper towels,” Steve barks, throwing himself into the passenger seat and slamming the door. A little avalanche descends off the van's roof. Eddie flinches back to attention. 

“That's a curse word I haven't heard before.”

Steve scowls, brushing snow from his hair. It leaves the carefully styled strands ruffled and sticking up at odd angles, giving him a slightly manic look. 

“Hilarious. There is a fucking truck lying in a ditch, like half a mile from here, paper towels all over the place. Police are waving the cars past, but there’s hundreds in front of us. It’ll be hours before we get out of here.” 

“Huh,” Eddie says.

“Yeah,” Steve huffs, crossing his arms. “Huh.”

They sit in silence for a while. 

“We should’ve gone yesterday,” Steve mutters. His leg starts twitching. “Everyone and their mother wants out of the city for the holidays, we should’ve known traffic would be fucking crazy. We’ll never make it to Hawkins on time at this rate. The others will-” 

“They’ll survive, Stevie,” Eddie says, catching his hand and running his fingers over his knuckles. They’re raw from the frosty air, dry skin coming off where Steve picked at it. A habit he's developed in the aftermath of everything, now that there's nothing left to punch, nothing left to go at with nail bats and axes and molotovs. “It's only Christmas dinner.” 

Steve’s fingers flex and Eddie knows he wants to argue, but then he sighs. 

“Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry, I'm just-” 

“Nervous,” Eddie says, tangling their fingers together. “I know, big boy.” 

It hasn't been easy for either of them, leaving Hawkins, but Eddie knows that it's been even harder for Steve. Steve, who's been involved in the Upside Down shit from the get-go, who's spent the better part of his teenage years fighting monsters - the fanged and clawed kind as well as the human-shaped ones. Who still wakes up screaming sometimes, throwing punches at the pillows, trying to protect his loved ones from threats that are long gone. 

“We'll be here for a while, honey,” Eddie says. “Nothing to be done about it. Just relax.” 

“I wish I could,” Steve groans, head thudding against the backrest, and fondness blooms in Eddie’s chest.

“Well,” he mutters, shifting his gaze back to the road, at the same time that his hand lets go of Steve’s fingers and travels to his thigh. “I think I can help you with that.” 

Steve gasps. Eddie stays focused on the road. He doesn’t need to turn his head to know there’s a blush slowly spreading over that pretty face.

“What are you doing?” Steve’s voice is a low, frantic hiss, but he makes no attempt to swat Eddie off. Eddie grins, shifting his hand just a little bit further upwards, and Steve bucks in his seat. “Are you insane? What if anyone sees?” 

“Well,” Eddie drawls, letting his eyes roam over the surrounding vehicles. Most of the drivers are staring off into space, some drumming their fingers to the sounds of their radios, some arguing with their passengers. Nobody is paying them any attention. His palm finds the bulge in Steve’s pants and cups it in a firm grip. “Guess we’ll just need to be subtle about it, huh?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see how Steve’s face twitches as he silently weighs his options. 

“I mean, we could always wait and pull into a side road later,” Eddie shrugs. “But you said it yourself. It’ll be hours...” 

For a few seconds, the only sound is that of tires crunching on snow.

“You’re such an asshole,” Steve snaps, shimmying in his seat so that he can lift his hips and unzip his pants. “C’mon then, make it quick.” 

“Well, aren’t you generous?” Eddie coos, and reaches over. 

As far as handjobs go, it’s one of the odder ones he’s given. 

He needs to keep one hand on the steering wheel and his feet on the pedals, so the angle is awkward. He also can’t watch Steve’s face as he usually does, but they’ve been together long enough for his imagination to fill in the gaps. Steve makes a needy little noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper, rutting up into Eddie’s hand, and he can just imagine the way he flushes, the way he bites down on that pink bottom lip to keep louder sounds from spilling out. For all his initial reluctance, it takes him mere seconds to get hard, and soon his breathy whines are joined by the wet sound of his precome-slickened cock fucking in and out of Eddie’s palm.

Steve never believes him when he says it, but Eddie can feel his orgasm coming before he himself does. He’s learned to read the little telltale signs - the stutter of his hips, the minute hitch of his breath, the way his cock starts twitching in anticipation. Today is no exception. 

“Shit, I’m gonna-” Steve moans, trying to jerk away, to tuck himself back in, but Eddie makes a soft shushing sound and tightens his grip, keeping him in place. Eyes trained at the snowflakes falling beyond the windshield, he lets Steve shake apart in his hold, head thrown back into a silent scream, spilling hot and wet all over Eddie’s hand and his pants and the seat. By the time his breathing evens out, the cars in front of them have started moving again. 

“Well?” Eddie asks, wiping his hand on his pants. “Relaxed now?” 

Steve huffs, a breathy and incredulous thing, but his features have gone soft and content.

“Relaxed and fucking filthy. How are you gonna explain the stains to the others, genius?” 

“Well,” Eddie winks. “Maybe someone up there can lend us a paper towel.” 

Steve almost makes him walk the rest of the way, but he thinks it’s well worth it.

More holiday drabbles

More Steddie Bingo

[daryltwdixon]

Know It's For the Better

Was listening to Phoebe Bridger's Waiting Room today and my heart hurt thinking of Daryl pining, longing, and angsty while critical of himself. Never letting himself have you.

There are moments when he thinks it’d be easier to walk away, to stop feeling like this, but the idea of losing even the smallest piece of you feels like a wound he’d never come back from.

The door swings shut behind Daryl with barely a sound—he’d oiled the hinges last week after they started squealing loud enough to wake the dead. Tonight, he steps out onto the porch, pausing when he catches sight of you sitting on the steps, your figure framed by the soft glow of moonlight.

For a second, he hesitates, unsure whether to join you or leave you to the quiet. But his feet don’t carry him back inside. Instead, he leans against the porch railing, his shoulders pressing into the rough wood, watching you from the shadows. He’s always been good at staying silent when he needs to, moving like a ghost, unnoticed until he wants to be seen.

You don’t look up, your attention on the blade of grass you’re twirling between your fingers. Your body is relaxed, at ease in the stillness of the night. There’s something easy about the way you sit there, your body relaxed, your hair catching the faint silver light of the moon. You look at home in this quiet, the same way you do when you’re laughing with the others or tearing through walkers like it’s second nature. He doesn’t know which version of you hits him harder—the one who smiles without hesitation, or the one who stares a little too long at nothing, lost in her own thoughts.

He likes both. That’s the problem.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been watching you at this point—too long, probably. Long enough that every inch of you is burned into his memory, like some kind of cruel brand he’s too far gone to scrape off. And not just tonight, in the moonlight that floods the neighborhood. But always. He's always watching you. He tells himself he’s just keeping watch, keeping you safe, and that is true... But there's more. He knows he'd be lying if he said that was all it was. When it comes to you, he can't stop...watching, looking--admiring.

You shift slightly, leaning back on your hands, your face turned up to the stars like you’re trying to soak them in. It’s so damn effortless—the way you exist, the way you look at the world like it might still have something left to offer you. He wonders what it feels like, that kind of quiet hope. Wonders what it would feel like if you ever looked at him that way.

He’s too old, too broken. Too rough around the edges to be anything you could want. Hell, he wouldn’t even know what to do if he had the chance. Wouldn’t know how to hold you let alone touch you. And definitely, most definitely, wouldn’t know how to tell you just how much space you’ve taken up in his head without scaring you off.

“Something on your mind?” you ask suddenly, not looking back. Your voice is light, teasing, like you already know the answer.

Shit, of course you knew he was there. It was hard to sneak around you, he should've known by now. Daryl clears his throat, pushing the words back down where they belong. “Nah,” he mutters, glancing at the dark horizon instead of you.

You hum softly, like you don’t believe him, and lean back on your hands. The way your shoulders tilt, your neck arching just slightly, still turned to him with your eyes closed, the curve of your cheek catching the moonlight.--it sends an ache through him. The urge to reach out...to feel, to caress, to just touch you.

He wonders if you can feel it too—that pull between you, like some invisible thread tying him to you no matter how far he tries to stay. He wonders if you’ve ever noticed the way his hands shake when you’re close, or the way he looks at you like you’re something he doesn’t know how to hold but can’t bring himself to let go of.

But he’d never tell you. Not ever. He’s too messed up, too worn down and rough from this world and the one before it. It’s better this way—better to stay at a distance, close enough to watch over you but far enough to keep from ruining whatever this is.

Know it’s for the better, he tells himself, over and over, the words circling his mind like a chant, praying one day he'd believe them.

It’s for the better—because you deserve someone who could give you more than silence and scars.

It’s for the better—because he doesn’t know how to hold you without feeling like his hands might break something delicate, like he’s never been made for soft things.

It’s for the better—because every part of him is rough-edged and jagged, and you? You’re all the things he’s spent his life convincing himself he doesn’t deserve.

It’s for the better—because letting himself think otherwise, even for a second, feels like the kind of hope that’d split him wide open.

“You ever think about it?” you ask, breaking his spiraling thoughts, your eyes on him. He's not sure how long since you opened them and had been staring at him, “What life would’ve been like if this hadn’t happened?”

It’s not a sad question, not the way you ask it. Just curious, like you’re thinking about what you’d do with a world full of empty possibilities.

Daryl shrugs, “Ain’t much to think about.”

The truth is, he doesn’t want to imagine what life would’ve been like if everything hadn’t gone to hell. Because then he wouldn’t have known you, wouldn’t have found you. And even if he can’t let himself have you, he can’t picture his life without you in it.

You stare up at the sky again then, “No dreams? No big plans?”

He huffs out a breath almost like a laugh, looking down at the worn wood under his boots. “Don’t think I’d be much different. Probably still out there somewhere, bein' a screw up.”

You don't laugh, don't reply right away, and yet when he looks up the look in your eyes still makes his skin rise with goosebumps.

“You really don't see how good you are, do you?” you say casually, like it’s a fact you’d bet your life on.

He freezes, his throat tightening, because how the hell are you supposed to say something like that and then just go back to looking at the stars like it didn’t knock the world off its axis? He shifts his weight, the words crawling up the back of his throat before he can stop them.

“You should get some rest,” he mutters, his voice rougher than he means for it to be. His fingers tighten around the edge of the railing like it might keep him steady.

Despite his dismissiveness, you don’t look away, and for a second, the world narrows to just the two of you, the soft rustle of the wind, the faint hum of crickets in the distance.

“You should too,” you say softly, finally standing and brushing the dust off your hands.

As you turn toward him, you hesitate, like you’re weighing something in your mind. Then you close the small distance between you, stepping up onto the porch until you’re standing in front of him.

Daryl straightens instinctively, unsure what you’re about to do, his hand still gripping the railing. You tilt your head, your gaze searching his face, and then your hand moves. Slowly, deliberately, you reach out and brush a strand of hair out of his face, your fingers lingering just a moment too long against his temple.

His breath hitches, and he feels rooted to the spot, like one wrong move might break whatever quiet spell you’ve cast.

"You didn't answer my question." you say softly, your voice steady but gentle.

He swallows hard, the words tangling in his throat. You’re looking at him expectantly but with a kindness so soft it hurts, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from leaning into your touch.

"I uh--" Daryl clears his throat, "I dunno,"

For a moment, your fingers linger on his face before you let your hand fall, the warmth of your touch still ghosting across his skin. You smile then, small and quiet, but it’s enough to make the knot in his chest loosen, just a little.

“Goodnight, Daryl.” you murmur, your voice soft as you step back.

But you don’t leave right away. Your eyes linger on his for a second longer, your expression open, unguarded, like you’re waiting for him to say something—do something.

He doesn’t. He can’t. It's for the better.

“Night,” he rasps finally, the word uneven and raw, but it’s enough to make you smile one last time before you turn and disappear inside.

Know it's for the better, he chants in his head again. But damn if it doesn’t feel like he’s been left out here with half of himself locked on the other side of that door.

[kawoala]

DRIVEN BY ADRENALINE suna rintarou. chapter 004 ; jailbird.

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২ 𓂅 ࣪ ೨ ; 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 (1,033)

২ 𓂅 ࣪ ೨ ; 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 (bailing someone out of jail, runa being upset but only bc she loves her cousin, flirty! suna AGAIN, tiny bit of arguing, kind of also a filler :/)

There are many perks of having a roommate. For example, you’re no longer alone. Now, when you stay up late, there is someone keeping you company, making you laugh and swapping war stories with you.

Just as there are perks, there are bad things as well. For example, you can hear everything that goes on. Including when Runa gets a phone call in the middle of the night, despite her phone being silent.

“Hello?” Her voice groggy, sleep still coating her throat. She pauses, then clears her throat. “Rin? What are—“ she stops talking, or she’s cut off. You roll over in bed and face her. “Oh, okay, yeah. Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute. Okay, yeah, love you too.”

She glances at you and, even in the dark, she can see your eyes open. “Sorry,” she apologizes in a whisper. “Rin called me. He, um, got arrested. Again.”

You blink a couple times, your tiredness suddenly gone. You sit up at the same time she does. “Again?” You repeat. You watch her slip on her shoes, forgetting about even needing socks. “Are you going to bail him out?”

“Yeah,” she says, standing up and rushing to put a coat on. “I’m sorry I woke you up. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Um, wait.” She stops, but you can see the urgency in her eyes. “Can I go with you? I don’t mean to be codependent, or whatever, but, um.”

She sighs, pressing the palm of her hand against her forehead, then nods. “Yeah,” she says, nodding. “Yeah, you can come. Just, uh, hurry up. Please.”

Suddenly, all the years of people calling you weird for sleeping in socks are thrown out the window. All you have to do is slip on some shoes. Thanks to the extremely cold AC in your building, you’re already in a hoodie and sweatpants.

The streets are practically empty as Runa drives down them. That’s to be expected, though, since it’s nearly three o’clock in the morning on a Tuesday. She opts out of playing music. Her knuckles are white as they grip the steering wheel. You wonder how many times she’s done this before. 

You’ve never been to a police station. Actually, that’s a lie. You went on a field trip in middle school— the first and last time you’d ever been inside one. You don’t know how bailing someone out works, either, but Runa looks familiar with the process, so you just follow her.

The police station is quiet— unexpectedly so. You spent years of your childhood watching police shows, so you expected it to be a little more rowdy than a homeless man and a sobbing teenage girl. It’s colder than you expected, too. Even though you’re wearing a hoodie, you still have to wrap your arms around yourself.

The woman at the front desk seems familiar with Runa. They talk in hushed voices for a minute or two, and then Runa gestures for you to follow her. You glance back at the desk woman, but she’s typing away at her computer once again, seemingly honed in on whatever.

You follow Runa to what you assume is the back of the station. There are jail cells lined up against the wall, but most of them are empty. You stop at the last one and a quiet gasp leaves your mouth at the sight.

It’s Rin, but he’s hunched over, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His knuckles are visibly bruised and you think there might be blood staining his shirt. He looks up at the absence of further footsteps. His eyes are red.

“You’re an idiot,” Runa says, crossing her arms over her chest.

His eyes flicker from her to you and you wave. “Hi, Rin.”

“I mean—“ She scoffs. “This is, what, the third time in as many months? Get it together, Rin! Like, what were you thinking? You know how much this costs me?”

“Costs you?” Rin repeats, scoffing as he now stands up. “I pay you back every time, don’t even.”

She clamps her jaw shut, and you know it’s because she’s too angry to speak. She glances back and waves her hand. The next thing you know, Rin is standing next to you and Runa.

You’re quiet, because what else are you supposed to do? Runa and Rin keep glaring at each other and, for a brief moment, you think they’re communicating telepathically. Rin looks at you, a small smirk on his face, and you look away.

This was a bad idea.

When you finally leave, something occurs to you. Where are you supposed to sit now? The front seat or the back seat? Rin is her cousin, but she’s mad at him, so maybe she’ll make him sit in the back? Your feet seem to stutter and you trip a bit, catching yourself before you can hit the ground. Rin and Runa look back, brows furrowed, but you clear your throat and shrug.

And then Runa solves all your problems by getting in the passenger seat. Rin is driving, got it. You get in the backseat and sit behind Rin.

This is ridiculous. The car ride is quiet. You can practically see steam coming off of Runa. Rin is driving with one hand. Your head is swimming. You stare out the window and look at the houses as you pass them.

Rin drives to his house and, before he leaves, he walks over to your side of the car and leans down into the window. “You came with her.”

You shrug, wringing your fingers in your lap. “I’ve never been to a police station before.” It’s an excuse, you know he knows. “And I was bored.”

“You were sleeping,” he hums out. “I think,” he leans closer, now whispering, “you just wanted to see me.”

“What?” Your face heats up, eyes widening a bit. “That’s— I didn’t— Runa was just—“

He laughs and smacks the roof of the car. “I’ll see you guys later, yeah?” He looks at Runa and stops laughing. “I’m sorry, Runie. I’ll pay you back tomorrow.”

“Yeah, whatever.” She rolls her eyes. She puts the car in drive and drives off.

@sahrii , @cherrysurf , @heartmaddie , @jpegarchives , @massacremars

@vertejay , @tiramizuloz , @gumims , @mybelovedvi , @chaotic-neutral-ig

@usbrous , @iheartamora , @iluv-ace , @xavlyzn , @velvetreds

@mysticstrawberryballoon , @h0n3y-l3m0n05 , @aethersluvrr , @smiithys , @rriwyu

@twiishaa , @kissingkzuha

[gildedbirdcage-if]

Your fingers threaten to do so, even now, but you recall Orion telling you there’s certain things you can only do when you’re young. That things lose their innocence as you get older.

You hear Alek, but you are not doing a very good job at listening. His face is awfully close to yours, in a way that could mean something when you’re older. The way Orion warned you. The way your novels sometimes end.

I'm not sure if you take requests for snippets, but if so could we please get a flashback of Orion having these talks with MC/warning them? It sounds like it would be both cute and funny with how sheltered the MC is! I understand if it's not possible though, so please don't feel pressured :)

So sorry to answer this so late- holidays are always so busy! Snippet down below- may not be exactly how it will be in the story but it’ll be something like this. Set around when MC is 15 and Orion is 14 with a crushing Orion because I can’t help myself. TW for slight alluding to sexual harassment/abuse. Please read at your own discretion and health. MDNI

You wake with a start.

It was not a very good day- filled with glares, comments, and shoves disguised poorly as accidents. It appeared such things couldn’t help but bleed into the night as well- into your very dreams. With such things invading your room, you fear there may never be an escape from the torment. No haven from this hate.

As quickly as you think there is no where to go, you remind yourself that of course there is. You could go to the kitchens in your wing that houses Orion. Grumpy with you as he may oft be, he was still a much happier option than being alone. He would never lay a hand on you and it has seemed like ages since he’s uttered a truly hateful word to you- whether that be because he found you more agreeable these days or because he was sick of Alek in his ear, you may never know.

You fling blankets off of you, rush to the window, and fling the curtains in a similar fashion. Outside the window, the sky was pitch black and the only light to cover the world is a rather full and bright moon.

Well… even better, you think to yourself. Likely Orion still sleeps and it’s been an awful long time since you’ve had a sleepover with anyone. The poison of the day, try as it might to get you in the night, could not get you when such a wonderfully genius idea manifests itself.

You arrange the curtains back to sorts and spin away from the window, the skirt of your nightgown expanding momentarily around you as you do, and set your sights on the door to exit your room and begin to roam through the empty halls.

The halls are silent, save the thumping of your bare feet, and you are grateful for this. People would only ruin the beautiful mood you’ve put yourself in with your brilliant idea and you simply can not, will not, stand for it. It’s a shame Alek isn’t home for you to share your idea, you hadn’t had a sleepover with him in so long either. Alek and Orion’s lives seem too busy for such things any more while you… well, you just seemed to float from one day to the next. Unchanging.

Time has robbed you of sleepovers, days where you would play all day, and days where it seemed all you had was each other. Now Alek leaves home more than he stays, puts his life in danger, and has become quite set on becoming the commander of the army one day. When you are most lonely and sad, he assures you in letters that someday you’ll understand. That if he could do it all from home he would. That it hurts him to leave you so. You wish you could tell him how hollowing it can be to one day feel like you were the center of someone’s world and the next realize you aren’t. But you are being unreasonable, Orion has told you many a time, and a country does not simply protect itself.

Orion, while in no great danger, similarly is too busy to entertain you. He minds you less and less occupying a corner in his kitchens but he is lost in the flurry of the work and he has no time to listen to what kind of bug you saw and what patterns it held, the way you got stuck trying to find a good hiding place for a game that you, Alek, and Orion no longer play, or how the sparks from the fireplace cracked so loud and reached so far you scrambled away so quickly with a fit of giggles lest it set you ablaze. How heartbreaking it was to make sounds at people but they never truly hear. Orion has his dreams of being the best chef in the castle, no, the country, he tells you, and he must work his hardest each day to achieve that. No noble wouldn’t know his name.

But look at you, making your own eyes water when you have set yourself on no one ruining your mood or idea. It seems you cannot let your guard down even against your own thoughts.

You enter Orion’s domain, the kitchens his room is attached to, and it’s as you’ve always known it. Orion runs a tight ship and the only imperfect, messy piece is the corner dedicated just for you that he allows no one to touch. Projects you start but never finish decorate it and you have to pry yourself from the idea of just setting up camp right then and there for the day. Sleepover, you remind yourself.

Opening the door, you smile at how very Orion this room is- as it ought to be seeing it is his. The moon shines it’s light through his window giving you the ability to see how tidy and very grownup the room is, not even a spare sock to be seen. Very different from your own room that you couldn’t care less if everything looked prim and proper. Dark blue, his favorite color since before you met him, is found everywhere here and adds to his air of sophistication.

The only childish thing that spoils the room can be found on his desk, in bright colors that betray the somber room. Your heart awkwardly beats at the sight… they were pictures you’ve drawn just for him, poems you wrote and stories from when you figured yourself an accomplished author, lyrics you wrote that you thought rather charming. Something unnameable warmed in you as you stared at it- it was not lost on you that in Orion’s busy, tidy, controlled, and uniform life he somehow found a corner just for you and no one else to have in his two most lived in places.

Unsure if he would have wanted you to see that he still kept the things you’ve given him over the years, you turn to his bed where he sure enough is sleeping, unaware of your entering.

The brown hair he’s been growing out is splattered across his pillow and messy as he sleeps on his side, facing the window, and he cuddles a pillow tightly to himself. His scars from his occupation shine like silver in the moonlight on his arms around the pillow. While mostly covered in a blanket, you can see his bare back, also scarred, and wonder why he is allowed to wear less clothes as time marches on but you must wear more. Thankfully, Orion does not wear nothing and you can see the waistband of sleep pants.

You come across your first hurdle here… normally, you would not have any problems with simply waking him up but he seems so peaceful here, so deeply asleep with his small snores here and there, that you fear you would feel guilty getting in the way of that. You cannot lay yourself quietly at his back due to how he sleeps and his bed is not as large as yours to find a place for yourself. Maybe at one time you could but Orion has grown too tall, unfortunately.

Troubling, indeed.

Well… Orion, you, and the pillow obviously can’t fit so you become resolved to remove the offending pillow. Crawling onto his bed, you pull at the pillow until it is set free, launch it somewhere in the room, and wiggle yourself in it’s place and you are immediately warm and comfortable.

Orion, in his sleep, seems perfectly unaware that the pillow has vanished and his strong arms wrap around you quite tightly. There’s something about the hold that makes you feel feverish and makes it hard to breathe… but you feel safe, nonetheless. Bad dreams can’t afflict you here.

Getting a good look at his face, your eyes are drawn to the crease his eyebrows create. Even in sleep, Orion finds a way to somehow have a scowl about him. Inching your hands to it, you can’t help but press at it and attempt to massage it away. You used to be skeptical when Alek’s mother would say that if you had your face a certain way it would get stuck like that… but now you think she may have been telling the truth.

Orion grumbles at your attentions, stretches his legs, tightening his arms about you more somehow, and opens his eyes a smidge and looks at you. You have been caught, which really should not come as a shock to you. Really, you can’t just touch someone’s face as you are and think they wouldn’t feel it.

Staring at you bleary-eyed, Orion plucks your hand away from his brow and places it on his chest, near his heart you dare say, before closing his eyes and placing his arms back around you just so… rubbing soothingly at knots that are not there.

You have no opportunity to make anything of it before his eyes shoot back open, wide, and he gasps- untangling himself and falling to the floor with a thud that causes you to wince.

He takes the blankets with him, pulls them up to cover his chest, and says, “What in God’s name are you doing in my room?”

His tone makes you feel as though, perhaps, your idea was not as brilliant as you thought.

“I… I was having bad dreams from the day and I thought-“ you begin.

Orion cuts you off. “I’m quite certain you weren’t thinking anything. My God, did anyone see you enter here?”

He gets up then and fetches a shirt to put on while you feel like you should get up and flee. Lock yourself up in your room. Hide away from your friend’s ire.

“I was not seen, I was not heard… I’m sorry, Orion, I just… I had a bad day that became a bad night and wanted to be with someone. Have a sleepover like we used to. Remember?”

You want to add that you don’t understand his anger, it never mattered before. Why would something as small as a sleepover matter now?

Still facing away from you, you hear Orion take a very slow, very large intake of air and expel it equally as slow. You recognize it, it happens often enough. It’s the kind of breath Orion breathes when he is trying to find his patience with you. You place your hands in your lap, fiddling with your thumbs, and look down at them feeling quite chastised.

You hear him walk back to the bed and you glance at him through your lashes, more so peeking at him. Orion’s stare goes from your exposed shoulder where your nightgown has shifted to your exposed legs- the kerfuffle had set your nightgown out of sorts without you realizing. Carefully, avoiding touching your skin, he fixes your sleeve and then grabs the hem of your nightgown to pull it back over your legs. As an extra layer, he throws the blanket about you to cover you up. You didn’t think you were so chastised that you were shaking… you figure he must have thought if you were shivering that you were cold with how he was covering you.

Orion kneels on the ground in front of the bed and seems to have a hard time looking you in the eye. “I need you to understand we’re not little anymore.”

Well, that was silly. Obviously you knew that. He and Alek have become like trees in the last year or so.

“I know,” you respond, confused why he would say that.

He takes another calming breath. “No, you don’t. I need you to understand we’re not children anymore.”

That bothers you. “Yes we are. Alek’s mother still calls us children. She wouldn’t do that if we were grown up.”

He looks you in the eye now and you can tell you’re still not hearing him the way he wants you to.

“We are not children, MC, and we’re not grownups either. We’re awkwardly in the middle but I need you to understand that it still means something. You cannot… sneak into a man’s room, especially one seen as a servant, in the middle of the night in just a nightgown.”

“What else should I wear for a sleepover? This is what I’ve always worn.”

Orion runs his hands through his hair. He looks a mixture of embarrassed and frustrated and you’re not sure why.

“We can’t have sleepovers anymore, MC, and when I say that I mean that you and I can’t. You and Alek can’t. Those days are over and gone. It means something different now.”

You feel your lip quiver at the mention of your days of fun, of being around them whenever you so choose, being over. Gone.

You feel that wall you thought of earlier begin to add more bricks between you and Orion. Maybe even Alek too. This knowledge that they’re so privy to while you stay infantile to them. You are older than Orion and yet that can’t be. They move on, they run, while you seem to never be able to move on beyond a crawl.

“Don’t do that,” Orion says, sounding a little taken aback by your apparent heartbreak and hurt.

“You’re just being cruel, the way Alek says you like to be in some misguided way.” You say, sniffles finding their way into the sentence.

You can almost see him cursing Alek.

“Maybe I am being cruel but I’m doing what no one else will do and telling you the way of the world. I would give anything for this to be someone else’s job but I can’t let you be ignorant any longer. It’s dangerous now to let you continue on this way. Everyone can treat you like a baby who says a word wrong but never corrects them because they find it cute but I won’t do that to you.” Orion says with great feeling.

Deep down, you know he is not intentionally being cruel the way he was when you first met. It was unfair to accuse him of it. Orion is pulling weight in your life that he shouldn’t have to.

He sees you are listening now.

“People like you are sold to the highest bidder when they’re young and I don’t think you’ll be safe from it for forever. And even if you are… there’s people out there, evil people, who will take advantage of you not knowing… things. You need to know how it is. Between people.”

“Things lose their innocence as we get older,” Orion continues. “That’s why you can’t have sleepovers anymore or be seen with us in just a nightgown. I know, Alek knows, that you sneaking into our beds means nothing… but anyone else? Anyone who would catch you doing that would think you did mean something. That you did something. That you’re- that we- anyways, you just can’t do that, okay?”

No, it wasn’t okay and you didn’t understand.

“Okay,” you say quietly, sadly.

Orion sighs heavily, his frustration moving from you to himself. “I- I don’t think I can explain the ins and the outs to you of what I want you to know. I thought I could but it’s… awkward and embarrassing, all right? Just… know that you can’t go sleeping with- next- know that you can’t have sleepovers anymore with me or Alek. And you tell us if someone tries to get you to, okay? You don’t agree, you don’t say anything, you just run as fast as you can to me or Alek’s family.”

He moves to tip your chin to make sure you’re looking at him, that you’re still listening. All you can do is nod your head. You understand he needs you to know this is important, and you do, but you don’t understand at all. You still feel rather unfairly chastised when you don’t know what you’ve done wrong… just that you have done wrong.

Orion drops his hand like it burns and looks embarrassed still, a rarity that you can’t even enjoy because you feel so down and ashamed.

“I’ll see if I can get a book or something so you can learn. Or maybe writing it would be easier on me and then you can burn it. I don’t know. I’ll figure it out. For now, you need to go back to your room before everyone wakes up. Go back to sleep. No more coming here at night.”

You come out the the blanket cocoon and head to the door, wordlessly doing as he asks. Orion seems restless at your silence.

Before you can leave, Orion grabs the crook of your elbow and pulls you back to face him.

“I didn’t want to- I didn’t mean to- why don’t I make your favorite for breakfast? And- and we’ll play that game I hate. The one where we have to draw something and the other guesses. The one you’re so good at. I’ll even make your favorite dessert for when you win.”

It’s awkward, him being so kind. You appreciate him trying.

You give him your best smile but even you know it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Okay.”

But you don’t leave your room that day. Today you hide away in your room, door firmly locked, and stay with your books and drawings that you wear as armor against growing up. At things changing. At your friends going upwards and onwards. At all the unknowns and things you’re ignorant to.

You will face the world on another day.

On this day, you cry.

[slay00ryu]

From Shadows to Limelight. - Angel x Fem!reader.

Angel x reader, fake dating, reader is a popular actress who needs that fake relationship to keep people interested in her.

You were once a great actress, known all over the states, the most profound directors fighting for you to play in their projects. You loved it, the attention, fame, money, love. Your fans' devotion was something that kept you going.

Unfortunately popularity isn't something that will stay in one position, no, it will flow like water. So now, you're sitting in your apartament with your manager, the Maria de la Rosa and her manager. A stack of papers in front of you, a contract. Contract making you two a couple. A fake couple for your own benefits, media attention on both sides, additional new content for Maria's channel with you as the main character of said content. There were some additional points like attending events together, Maria coming to the movies premieres with you and stuff like these.

You weren't really content with this agreement, especially with how much you would have to spend with her, dates, public meetings, and so on. You would lie if you said that you liked Maria, you didn't enjoy her company or content, she always seemed extremely fake to you, mainly because you weren't the realest person while in work. Her pink and sweet theme always looked like it was a perfectly polished play to you, and she was the main character in that play.

Well, you couldn't be picky here, your career was depending on the blonde sitting in front of you. You signed the papers, handing them to your manager who silently slid them into a file.

"That'll be all mr Finian and ms Rosa, we will contact you for the next planned meeting." He said, getting up to shale hands with the other manager.

You just nodded at de la Rosa and watched as she left your house, accompanied by her manager.

"So, I'm supposed to date her now?" You said, looking at your manager with narrowed eyes.

"Yes Y/N, and you have to act the part, just treat it like a movie, okay? You want popularity, you have to get in controversial relationships." You groaned at his words. "Oh yeah, and don't tell it to anyone, not even your family. One spilled word and we're all ruined."

With that you were left alone, left to prepare for another movie to take part in as the leading role.

Amongst that chaos, there was one place that kept you save. The Slaughter House. A server full of serial killers, yeah a weird place for an actress, but you somehow got in after you were doing some... research for your new role as a murderer, it had to be perfect to ensure people's eyes being kept on you, and you alone.

That strange friend-group of yours gave you comfort, especially Angelic. That woman is the closest friend you made amongst all the killers, she was similar to you, a perfectionist with a really heavy work schedule. You found comfort and mutual understanding in each other, exchanging messages with anyone never felt as good as it feel with her. Angel is a wonderful person, and you trust her even if she could be the reason for your death.

>N/N: Ugh, I can't believe it. They really pushed me into that fake relationship.

You sent a message to Angel after you were done with all of your work for the evening.

>Angelic: Oh :( >Angelic: I'm sorry to hear that... My work place threw a burden at me too...

>N/N: Honestly, I'm so glad we can understand each other.

>Angelic: I know! Finally someone who I can share my work issues with <3 >Angelic: I love our friends, but they'll never understand me as well as you do ^^;

You chuckled at that. Yeah, most of the server didn't understand the field, that's what made your friendship with Angel so special. You could relate, be it the work load or people.

You admired her, her sweetness that had some dangerous undertones in it, it was mesmerising, she was the inspiration for your role. The killer you played was sickly sweet, kind and dangerous. You enjoyed the character you created in your mind, the way you wore that character's skin, it felt like your own, it made you feel like you were closer to Angel that way.

Today was the day of your first official encounter with Maria de la Rosa as her girlfriend, after much thought you reached the conclusion that it wasn't so bad, maybe her sweetness will make this better for the two of you? She will be all smiles and pink, it should be doable.

You stood in front of the filming plan, waiting for the model to arrive, she was supposed to watch your acting and then praise you with a small kiss at the end... Wow you really did imagine it as a movie script.

"Hey Y/N, I hope I'm not to late!" You heard that voice you knew so well behind you, you turned around to see Maria herself, this time without her manager.

'No, you're actually perfectly on time." You said with your mastered up sweet smile, you outstretched your hand toward her,, hoping that she would get the sign.

"Oh thank god, wouldn't want to miss you in action, love." She replied in the most natural and warm tone possible.

Damn, she's quick with her acting.

Angel was sitting next to the producers, ignoring the stares coming from all the actors and staff. Her eyes locked only on you, her fake girlfriend who was the master of acting. She was in awe of your portrayal of the femme fatale you were playing, but something unsettled her in your act.

It felt like she was looking at a mirror image of herself as The Heartsick Angel, the perfectionism put in between the insanity and vengeance of the murderer, it was somewhat close to home for Angel.

Seeing you, someone who was so far from knowing about her murderous side, wear the role of her alias so well, it made her want to explore you more.

Angel was observing you closely at your every meeting, playing the role of a loving and caring girlfriend while she watched over you. She started to notice some similarities between you and N/N, you had the same writing style, talked a lot about your acting work, it all made Angel crazy.

What if her fake girlfriend was also the same member of the serial killer she likes so much? It wouldn't be so hard to believe, N/N did say that they took The Heartsick Angel as an inspiration for their new role.

Finally, Angel caught you red handed one day.

You were getting ready for a Christmas Event Angel was invited, media was loud about you, so of course you were invited as her plus one. While you were finishing your make up in the bathroom, Angel was walking around your room. Your computer was on, she wanted to turn it off for you, but in front of her was the server she knew so well, and the same chat she was participating in on her way to your house.

So it was you. You were the person Angel adored so much. You were the person who stole her heart and make her smile to her phone.

That knowledge felt oddly good. Angel felt glad that you were the one who took her heart.

After all, you were already dating, what would be so hard in turning the fake into real?

THIS WILL HAVE TWO PARTS

DON'T KNOW WHEN THE SECOND PART WILL BE OUT

Support me by leaving a commission in my discord dms @slay__ryu!

My carrd!

I hope you enjoyed this <3

[yasmeensh]

Link is forcing himself to be kind at this point

[itsalwaysdark]

thank GODDD the doctor is taking time to work on himself maybe now he can stop ruining womens lives .

[sonicboomseason3]

a brief recap of what has been going on with the sonic movieverse in the past several months:

paramount has come out in public support of israel

keanu reeves, a man who has publicly rubbed elbows with none other than benjamin netanyahu, reportedly gets cast as shadow for the upcoming third movie

james marsden, the guy who plays tom, got exposed as having written a letter of support for a convicted pedophile

there's fucking??? zionist propaganda in the knuckles series???

kind of connected to the last point but adam pally, the guy who plays wade, is evidently pro-israel too

this is a complete and utter joke.

EDIT AS OF 4/30/24: if people see this version of the post, i'd really appreciate it if you reblog it instead of the other versions, as it's the most updated one with all the information that i want included. thank you :]

you know, it's been a few days since i've made this post, and some of you (not most) are staying determined in defending/justifying/giving the benefit of the doubt to keanu for that photo with netanyahu, whether it's because "it was a decade ago," "him being civil to someone he ran into at a party one time doesn't mean anything," "he's probably just silent because his pr managers won't allow him to speak up," etc. i've made my thoughts on the matter quite clear by directly responding to these people, but at this point, i'm tired of both seeing them in my notes and repeating myself, so take this as my final word on the issue.

i can't help it if you don't think the photo with netanyahu is damning, and i'm done engaging with everyone going out of their way to tell me that. i obviously disagree, especially after finding out that 1. the host of the party, arnon milchan, is a former israeli spy who has a history of developing israel's nuclear program and promoting apartheid in south africa (information that had broken out a few months prior to the party and thus would've been fresh news around the time keanu chose to attend) and 2. keanu has been caught hanging around at least two other weirdos, but if you don't find any of that to be cause for reasonable concern, then there really is nothing else i can say afaik.

with all that said, i'm beginning to realize how strange it is that these people's first instinct when seeing this post is to start debating about keanu's political stances without ever acknowledging any of the other bullet points. you guys realize that this isn't just about him, right? i know tumblr reading comprehension is known for being piss-poor, but like… you realize that i was trying to make a point of how there are MULTIPLE terrible things that have broken out about the people and company involved in the sonic movies, right? and yet, a lot of the people leaping to speak on keanu's behalf in my notes are completely ignoring the parts where i bring up paramount, pally, etc. all in favor of zeroing in on the singular point about keanu and making bad faith assumptions about me for holding him accountable. really makes one wonder where your priorities lie if, in a post that talks about so many other things, me accusing an a-list celebrity with, according to google, a net worth of almost $400 million is where you draw the line and apparently the only thing worth your acknowledgment.

ultimately, what i'm trying to say is that the intention of this post was just to gather up everything that i had been hearing for the past several months and put it all together in one place. there were a bunch of people who didn't know about at least one of the bullet points before seeing this post, and i'm glad that i could help inform them, that was what i was hoping to do! but as for the keanu thing, i've said pretty much all i can say for now, and i don't want to derail the original post even more than i may have already. unless something new comes up, i'm done talking about him.

[rafecameronssl4t]

What's ours || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: canon fic based off this scene in s4 ep6!!!!

Warnings: angst!!!

Word count: 2, 458

A/n: HAD to write abt this scene

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

"Rafey?" your voice rings out as you step out of the shared bedroom, the soft sound of your bare feet padding against the wooden floor. "'M out here on the porch," his voice calls back, low and calm, carrying just a hint of warmth. A smile spreads across your lips as you pick up your pace, excitement bubbling in your chest. Sliding the glass door, you step onto the porch, the late afternoon sunlight casting a golden glow across everything it touches.

There he is, lounging casually on the couch, his polo clinging to his broad shoulders and biceps in a way that makes your stomach flutter. "Hey, baby," Rafe greets, his smile wide and genuine, the kind that always has a way of making you feel like the most important person in the room. "Hey," you murmur, your eyes locking with his. You pause for a moment, giving him the chance to drink in the sight of you.

With a playful glint in your eye, you do a small twirl, letting the flow of your new dress spin out around you, the fabric catching the evening light. You watch Rafe’s reaction carefully, feeling a thrill at how his gaze moves down your figure. "What do you think?" You ask, the words soft but full of a quiet confidence. "It looks good," Rafe says after a beat, his eyes lingering on you for a fraction longer than you expect.

There’s a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his lips, and when he leans back against the cushions of the couch, his eyes never leave you. "You look good," he adds, his voice deeper now, like the words are heavy with more than just praise. You beam at his words, crossing the porch to close the distance between you. "Where you going lookin’ all pretty?" he teases, spreading his legs slightly as he pats his thighs, his grin turning sly.

The gesture is an open invitation, and you happily accept, settling onto his lap. Your arm slides naturally around his shoulders, and his hands find their place on your knee, the warmth of his touch grounding you. "Just shopping with the girls," you explain, playing with the collar of his shirt absentmindedly. "There's this new boutique that just opened up—" You’re cut off by the sound of the front door creaking open and a hesitant voice calling out, "Hello?"

Your brows furrow as you glance at Rafe. "Were you expecting someone?" you ask, your voice laced with curiosity. Rafe exhales a sharp breath, "Yeah," he admits nonchalantly. "Sarah." Your surprise is instant, and your voice reflects it. "Sarah? She agreed to meet up with you?" He chuckles, the sound warm and a little cynical. "Yeah, well… desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess." Before you can process his words, Sarah’s footsteps sound on the porch, slow but deliberate.

Your eyes shift to the doorway, and soon enough, her figure appears. She glances at you briefly as you move to sit beside Rafe, her gaze cool but not unfriendly, before turning her attention to Rafe. "Hey," he greets her with exaggerated enthusiasm, clapping his hands together with theatrical flair. "Thanks for showing up. Good work." Sarah doesn’t miss a beat, rolling her eyes as if she’s heard this act too many times. "Please, stop," she says flatly.

Rafe grins even wider, running a hand through his buzzed hair, clearly enjoying the reaction. You shift slightly, about to stand to give them space, but Rafe’s hand tightens gently on your waist, silently urging you to stay. "I don’t want to argue, Rafe," Sarah sighs, crossing her arms as she looks at him. Her tone is exasperated, but there’s something softer beneath it. "We already have enough people against us."

An awkward silence settles over the porch, the only sound being the occasional chirping of birds in the trees. The air grows heavy with the weight of unspoken things, a tension that seems to hum between them. You clear your throat, trying to ease the tension. "Can I get you something to drink? Iced tea, maybe?" you offer, your voice polite, even as your eyes flicker between Sarah and Rafe, sensing the undercurrent of frustration.

Sarah’s eyes meet yours, her gaze flicking over the space with an almost detached interest before she shakes her head. "No, thanks. I don’t plan on staying long." You nod, the smile on your lips soft but understanding. There’s something about the way she holds herself—tired, wary—that makes you feel a strange sense of empathy. It’s clear she’s not here for pleasantries.

"Kiara mentioned…" Sarah starts, her voice uncertain as she scans the porch, her eyes flitting from the furniture to the surroundings, clearly uncomfortable. "That you might be able to help." She directs the latter half of her sentence at Rafe, her gaze lingering on him, but there’s a hesitation in her tone, a quiet pleading buried beneath the words. Rafe pulls at the sleeve of his polo, his fingers tugging at the fabric.

He doesn’t look up immediately but instead turns his attention to the ground in front of him, gathering his thoughts. "Uh, no. No, not with the land stuff. You guys are on your own with that," he responds firmly, his gaze briefly flicking up to meet Sarah's. There's an almost apologetic edge to his words, but it's clear that he's drawing a hard line in the sand. Sarah’s expression falls, disappointment flashing across her face, her shoulders sagging slightly as if the weight of unspoken words is pulling her down.

"Right," she mutters softly, the edge of frustration in her voice barely concealed. She pauses, taking a breath before looking back at Rafe. "Sorry," Rafe adds, his voice quieter, almost regretful, but the frustration is still evident. "But…" He hesitates, his gaze dropping to the papers scattered across the table before him, the flicker of something heavier passing through his eyes.

"But there's… there's something else I wanted to talk to you about," he says, his tone shifting. It’s not just business now—there’s a vulnerability that creeps in, something raw beneath the surface. You watch him, your eyes tracing the subtle movements of his hand as he runs his fingers across his lips, trying to gather the right words. You stay silent, your own gaze fixed on his profile, your heart picking up pace as you sense the shift in the air.

This is no longer just a casual conversation—it feels more like a breaking point, something much deeper. "So when…" Rafe starts, his voice faltering slightly, the words coming out with an almost painful deliberation. He takes a moment, his eyes lingering on the papers again, then he looks down at your left hand resting on his shoulder, his gaze momentarily softening when it lands on the ring you wear—the one his mother gave him.

"Dad died," he finally says, the words coming out like a slow exhale, as if speaking them is harder than he’d like to admit. You feel the change in his tone immediately, the sadness in his voice gripping you, and you instinctively start rubbing gentle circles on his shoulder with your thumb, your mind connecting the dots, knowing how touchy the subject of Ward’s death always is for Rafe.

"...the first time," Rafe adds, his voice quiet, as though even acknowledging that death was not the final one is too painful to process fully. "um, he said I got a quarter of what he had," Rafe continues, his voice distant now, lost in the past as he leans forward, flicking through the papers with a focus that feels almost obsessive. "Yeah, he said I got a quarter too," Sarah chimes in, nodding slowly.

There’s something tired in her voice, a recognition of the weight of their father’s legacy that neither of them ever truly asked for. "But you didn’t get it, did you?" Rafe’s words are sharp, his gaze intense as it locks onto Sarah. There’s a challenge in his eyes, a quiet demand for the truth. Sarah hesitates for a moment, the silence stretching longer than it should. You can see her thinking, weighing her words carefully before answering.

"No," Sarah says finally, her voice quiet but firm. "Yeah, well, good luck trying to get that from Rose's greedy paws," Rafe scoffs, the bitterness dripping from his words. "She's got that money locked down tight." Sarah’s brows knit together, "well, I keep trying to call," she retorts, her tone sharp. "She won’t even let me talk to Wheezie." She crosses her arms, her gaze flickering away as if saying it out loud makes the situation even more real.

Rafe leans forward, his elbows digging into his knees as his expression hardens. "Yes, yes, that’s what I’m saying," he says, his voice rising slightly. He locks eyes with Sarah, a fiery determination in his blue gaze. "We’re a family, and I’m not—" He cuts himself off, inhaling deeply as he shakes his head. "I’m not even allowed to talk to my own sister? That’s not fair, Sarah. You know that."

Sarah’s jaw tightens, and she slowly nods, her lips pressed together as she looks down. "And then Rose," Rafe continues, his arm gesturing wide as his frustration boils over. "She just gets to keep all that gold for herself? What gives her the right? That’s not what Dad intended." His fist slams into the wooden coffee table with a resounding thud, causing Sarah to flinch in her seat. The tension spikes in the air, and you instinctively place your hand on his shoulder, your touch firm yet gentle, hoping to ground him.

"That’s not what Dad wanted," Rafe repeats, his voice cracking slightly as he pounds the table again. Sarah visibly recoils this time, her discomfort palpable. "And it pisses me off!" Rafe’s voice rises, his anger spilling out unchecked. But before his hand can connect with the table a third time, you reach forward and grab it, your fingers curling around his. "Rafe," you say softly, your voice calm but firm. His eyes dart to you, and for a moment, the fire in them dims.

He exhales sharply, leaning back slightly as he glances at Sarah, who keeps her gaze down, avoiding his. "That’s our money, okay?" Rafe insists, his tone quieter but still edged with frustration. Sarah lets out a shaky exhale, her hands fidgeting in her lap as Rafe sighs heavily, running a hand over his buzzed hair. The silence stretches, heavy and uncomfortable, until you place your palm on Rafe’s thigh, your thumb brushing soothingly against the fabric of his shorts.

He glances at you, and you offer him a small, reassuring smile. He manages a faint one in return before looking back at Sarah. "I don’t know about you, but I really—I need that money," Rafe admits, his voice tinged with vulnerability. Sarah’s gaze snaps to him, her expression hardening. "And what about the gold cross you stole?" she counters, her tone sharp and accusatory.

"It was gold-plated," Rafe shoots back with a shrug, rubbing his eyes as if the conversation is draining him. "It was a good score. It’s not endless. It’s not like the Merchant gold, so..." His voice trails off, exhaustion creeping in. "I’m so sorry to hear that," Sarah says, her words laced with sarcasm. Rafe exhales through his nose, standing abruptly, "I don't know. I was just thinking, um." Both you and Sarah track his movements as he walks to the porch railing, gripping it tightly before turning to face her.

"You know, you and me," he starts, gesturing between them, "we try to get Wheezie back." Sarah’s eyes narrow in disbelief. "How?" she asks, her voice flat, as if she’s waiting for him to say something ridiculous. "I don’t know, but..." Rafe admits, pacing back to the table. He moves the glass in front of him before perching on the edge, leaning closer to Sarah. His proximity makes her shift uncomfortably, but she doesn’t move away.

"And then we try to get the money back," Rafe continues, his voice steady and resolute. You can see the determination etched into his features, the way his jaw sets and his eyes gleam with a fervour you know all too well. He pauses, his gaze fixed on Sarah. "Which is why we need to work together," he says, his tone almost pleading now. "Just like Dad taught us. We align our interests." Sarah’s lips press into a thin line, her eyes fixed on the table as Rafe quietly watches.

"I just thought, you and me," Rafe begins again, his voice softer. "We can get back what’s ours." There’s a beat of silence, the weight of his words hanging between them. Sarah bites her lip, her gaze darting to Rafe, then away again. "Look, I’m trying here—" Rafe says, but Sarah cuts him off, rising to her feet abruptly. "No," she says firmly, shaking her head. "I’m sorry."

She turns and strides off the deck, the sound of the front door slamming shut echoing behind her. You stand, moving to where Rafe is still perched on the table, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed. Your hands find his shoulders, squeezing gently as he lets out a frustrated groan. "Can’t she see that I’m trying?" he mutters, his voice laced with annoyance. "Like seriously—" "Shh," you murmur, your thumbs massaging the tense muscles in his shoulders.

"I know, baby. I know you’re trying." You move to stand in front of him, slotting yourself between his legs as he rests his forehead against your stomach. Your manicured fingers run through his buzzed hair, the rhythmic motion calming him as he exhales deeply. "When will she realise that we’re on her side here?" he whispers, his voice tinged with despair.

"You just have to give her time," you reply softly, your fingers stilling for a moment. "She wants to trust you, but she can’t just yet, Rafe." He tilts his head to look up at you, his blue eyes glassy. "I’ve already lost Dad," he says quietly, his voice cracking. "I don’t want to lose her—I don’t want our family to fall apart." Your heart clenches at the raw vulnerability in his tone. You cradle his face gently, your thumbs brushing against his cheekbones as you hold his gaze.

"Listen to me, Rafe," you say, your voice steady and full of conviction. "You won’t lose Sarah, and your family won’t fall apart." His lips press into a thin line, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. "How can you be so sure?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just know," you reply softly, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. "Because I believe in you."

[lamiadrowned]

*:･ﾟ✧ sweet like sugar venom

jinx x fem!reader | nsfw

there are many unexpectedly rewarding things about going out with a girl who is mostly seen as nothing but an enemy of the public– a menace to everybody that she doesn’t feel deserves her kindness.

of course, there are ways she expresses her fondness and respect for those who she deems deserving, like silco and sevika (and sometimes thieram, if he can talk to her long enough without becoming visibly uncomfortable by some of the things she says).

but, it seems you’ve been granted the most special treatment by jinx as she learns the ropes of affection and becomes acquainted with the idea of being loved, and showing love in return.

you’ve gotten used to finding trinkets made of scrap metal marked with a signature paint that is unmistakably done by her, or small music boxes that play an off-key rendition of a song she’d overheard you listening to. sometimes, you get to keep them. other times, they explode into a plume of colorful smoke with a reverberating bang.

you’ve also gotten used to her odd compliments. she may not be the best with her words, but one thing is for certain– she’s never been hesitant to say what’s on her mind, even if her idea of a compliment often leaves you bewildered more than anything.

regardless of how she shows her love, you’re often discovering new depths to how sweet she can be.

how sweet she is when she hugs you, as if it’s the last time she’ll ever see you every time she gets her arms around you.

how sweet she is when she kisses you, feeling the giddy smile on her lips as they intertwine with yours.

how sweet she tastes, melting like chocolate under your tongue, one hand gripping the sheets of your bed while the other holds a fistful of your hair.

if it were your choice, you’d stay like this forever– kneeling between her trembling thighs that fight against the tough grip your hands have on them, struggling to keep her legs spread for you while you work your magic. it’s a luxury that’s reserved especially for you, a rare showcase of vulnerability that nobody else gets to see.

it makes you feel worthy, and oddly possessive.

“just like that!” she cries out, fingers gripping your hair hard enough to make you groan. you love how vocal she is. how controlling she tries to be, even when you’re the one in control. “fuck, i’m– i’m gonna–”

you wrap your lips around her clit and snake one of your hands down her stomach, brushing over the goosebumps that follow, and slowly ease your middle finger inside of her. with a single curl upwards into that spot that makes her see stars every time, your hear her let out a long gasp, see her legs tense up as her back arches impossibly high off the bed, and wince at the feeling of her nearly pulling the hair out of your head with how hard she tugs it.

when she finally eases up, jinx’s body goes visibly limp, left in the silent bliss of a post-orgasmic daze. that is, until she gasps when you going back for more– ducking down further to lick up some of the sticky mess she made and moaning at the taste. the vibration makes her choke out a quiet whimper, throat awfully sore from all the screams you’d pulled from the depths of her bare chest.

you don’t let up until she uses a much more gentle, yet firm grip on your hair to pull you away. it isn’t surprising for her to see that signature look on your face; a mix between smugness and pure adoration.

you prop yourself up on your hands and lean down to press your lips to hers, ensuring she can taste herself, only because you know the effect it has on her. she uses the last bit of her otherwise endless stamina to grab your shoulders and flip you onto your back, quickly shuffling to lay herself on top of you with a low growl.

“don’t get overzealous on me, now,” you joke, looking up at her mischievous grin with a skeptical expression. “if you start something, you have to finish it.”

“finish you, you mean?” she tilts her head, frizzy blue hair falling like curtains around your face. one of her hands trails up to your throat, gently wrapping around it and applying enough pressure for you to go pliant beneath her. “you know i don’t like it when you underestimate me.”

you reach up and place your hand over hers, squeezing it as a notion for her to tighten her grip, and she gives you a toothy smile, her eyes wide and observant. so sweet. “i know.”

[4chensungs]

after sex with jisung is pure perfection. almost as good as the sex itself. 

you two had been going for hours, his stamina is so fucking high and he just can't get enough of you. 

your legs are completely wobbly, every part of your body is sore. your eyes are closed and the only thing you're able to feel right now is: tiredness and the cozy and restful sensation running through your body from your boyfriend's loving words. 

"i got you.. i got you, baby." he mumbles right on the spot where your shoulder and neck meet; his heavy breathing making his lips press onto your skin every time he speaks. 

jisung kisses your neck ever so gently, runs his big hands all over your body, caressing every perfect inch of you, in attempt to show you that he loves, he cares.

"it hurts, ji." your voice is almost a whisper, fingers tangling in his dark sweaty hair.

his left hand made its way between your legs under the sheets, just resting his palm on your crotch; afraid any kind of touch might hurt, “shh.. i know, princess. you’ll be alright.. i’m sorry m’.. so sorry…” 

jisung sounds drunk, mind messy and full of you. almost as if he’s still in that haze you put him in. how can he not when his girlfriend’s velvety walls hug him so perfectly, making him fight the urge to stay buried deep inside you forever. 

"you did wonderful, my love. so good." he kisses your neck again, nuzzling his nose on the skin, "'m sorry if it was too much.. got caught up in the moment." 

you chuckle at his words and hug his hot bare torso, silently writing down your names on his back with your nails. “it'll be okay, yeah baby? let's get you cleaned up. i promise you'll feel much better." he assures you that the soreness will soon go away. 

"mhm... please, ji." his eyes search for yours, leaning to give a chaste peck to your wet lips, "let me take care of you, baby.” he grins. 

jisung's sweaty body soon lose its contact with yours, he gets off the bed and make his way to the bathroom, preparing the water and letting you rest for some more while before calling you. 

aftercare with your lover means that he'll be the most attentive ever. jisung ties your hair up in a ponytail, helping you join the tub before gently running the water down your face to your body. 

he rubs the soap on your arms, stomach; gently pushes your knees up to your chest, making sure to take care of the still sensitive spot between your legs. 

"i love you so much.” jisung whispers once again, wanting this to be the three words that you'll hear the most this night. 

you can only hum and smile weakly as a reaction. he helps you get off the tub, wrapping the towel around your body, as well as his arms that hug you to his chest.

after being all clean and dressed in one of jisung's huge oversized shirts, you finally lay down on the bed again. 

"feeling alright, princess?" your boyfriend hugs you tightly, smiling when he sees you nodding. 

he kisses your forehead, "i love to hear that.” and his smile grows even wider when you lean closer to his face to whisper,

“and i love you. i don’t think i said that today.”

[lov-3-rs]

Let’s be Honest

Simon Riley (Bodyguard) x Reader!!

(mdni 18+)

Your father is an undercover investigator working a dangerous case on a human trafficking ring. Unfortunately, they somehow discovered his intentions, and now they're out for revenge. So, they’ve put a bounty on your head, claiming you’re worth millions to whoever is able to find you and sell you to the best bidder. Despite the danger, your father can’t abandon his mission as there were other lives on the line. He’s too close to cracking the case, rescuing the victims. To protect you, he hired someone no one would see coming for them and that was going to be protecting you. He hired a Ghost.

————————————————————————————

The moment you saw the brute, you couldn’t believe it. This 6’3”, 220lb, constantly masked man was supposed to be by your side for who knows how long. The sheer size of him was intimidating enough, but the mask? It kept you wondering what kind of man was beneath it.

You couldn’t argue with your father, though. He wanted you safe, and you weren’t about to be taken and sold off to some creep. So, you dealt with it. But now it’s been two months too long. Two damn months of constant monitoring, endless rules, and the same warnings: 'You need to listen to me Y/n,' 'Stay by my side,' or ‘It’s not safe.' It was honestly getting sickening at the fact he had complete control over your day to day life now.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“I was thinking of going shopping today, get some fresh air,” you say, taking a bite of your breakfast. He stands near the window, eyes scanning the street outside like he always does. “Maybe,” he says, his voice low, almost disinterested. You roll your eyes. “Jesus Christ, why not? It’s just us walking down the street, Simon.”

You started using his real name after weeks of pestering him to tell you. It felt weird calling him “Ghost” all the time—like something out of a video game. What good was being around someone this long if you didn’t even know their name?

He glances back at you, his expression unreadable behind the mask—if there’s an expression at all. Then, just as silently, he turns back to the window. “You never know.” You put your fork down and stop eating, “Simon, I can’t keep going days without stepping foot outside, i’m literally going insane”, he steps away from the window and pulls a chair out to sit beside you. “Everything I do and everything I say is to protect you, that is the whole reason I am here”. you looked into his hauntingly dead eyes. “Please you can’t keep me trapped in these walls”. You say with hesitation in your voice wondering if this will be another useless plea to let him agree for you to get out the house. He paused for a moment before nodding his head in agreement. You smile, “oh my gosh really? we can go?!” you say quickly standing from your chair in excitement. “yes. but the moment I feel something is off we leave, immediately” he says sternly. You were already putting your plate away and running to your room to get ready.

You visited a few of your favorite stores near your house, picking up small items here and there. Simon stayed close, as usual, walking silently beside you. As you stepped out of another shop, he leaned in slightly, his voice low. “We’re going to one more store, then we’re heading home. Do you understand?” You shot him a side-eye but nodded, not in the mood for another argument.

The last stop was the lingerie shop—you had been eyeing their new fall line for weeks. You grabbed a few panties and bras before something else caught your eye: the most stunning, sexy set you’d ever seen. You had to try it on. Walking into the dressing room, you slipped out of your clothes and into the delicate lace set. The fabric felt luxurious against your skin. You peeked your head out, only seeing Simon waiting, his posture as stoic as ever. You stepped out to check yourself in the mirror, admiring the way the set hugged your curves. From the corner of his eye, Simon caught sight of you. His jaw clenched almost immediately as he tried to keep his focus elsewhere, but it was impossible. He’d been around you every day for two months, and he had seen plenty—your tight shirts with no bra, shorts that barely covered anything. He’d always kept his cool, reminding himself that you were off-limits, and he took care of himself whenever you were asleep or when he took a shower. But seeing you now, in something so revealing, stirred something deeper in him that made his jeans tighten. He forced himself to remain still, but the tension in his body betrayed his thoughts. Respect for your father, the job—those were the only things keeping him from acting on what he felt. And he had to keep it that way, or at least he was trying to.

You caught Simon’s gaze in the mirror, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to shift. His eyes were unreadable behind the mask, but you could feel something he wasn’t saying. You quickly looked away, clearing your throat. “What do you think?” you asked casually, but your pulse quickened. You didn’t know why you even asked—it wasn’t like you cared what he thought about lingerie. Or did you?

He blinked, caught off guard. “About what?”

“The lingerie,” you teased, crossing your arms. “I thought I’d get a professional opinion.” His jaw tightened more, but you caught the flicker of something in his eyes. “You don’t need my opinion.” You stepped a little closer, testing his boundaries. “Maybe I do.” He stayed still, but you could see the tension in his stance. His voice, when he spoke, was low. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.” You laughed lightly. “What? Shopping?” His eyes met yours, and for a second, there was nothing but silence between you. “No,” he said softly, almost reluctantly. “This.” The weight of his words hung in the air. For a moment, neither of you moved. His response was a beat too slow. “You should hurry up,” he muttered, his voice deeper than usual. You rolled your eyes, but his tone made your skin tingle. There was something about the way he held himself that made you wonder—did he see you the way you were starting to see him? You slipped back into the dressing room to change, but the tension lingered, thick in the air. When you came out, dressed again, Simon stood up immediately, his shoulders tense. “Let’s go.” The rest of the walk home was quiet, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something between you had shifted.

You walked into the house, setting your bags down and slipping off your shoes. Simon followed closely behind, immediately locking the door and heading to the windows like he always did, scanning the outside for any sign of danger. But your mind was elsewhere, replaying that one word—this—over and over again.

What did ‘it’ mean? You had to know.

“Simon,” you called out softly, still unable to meet his eyes. “What did you mean earlier?” He stiffened immediately, turning to face you. He knew exactly what you were talking about, but he’d been hoping you would let it go. He didn’t mean to let that word slip out, and now he was trying to think of a way around it. “What do you mean?” His tone was even, but there was a slight edge to it, a hint of tension. You swallowed, gathering your courage. “You said I was making this hard. I’m not sure what that means… I want you to tell me.” Finally, you looked up at him, meeting his gaze. For a moment, Simon just stared at you, his jaw clenching and unclenching like he was fighting with himself. His silence hung in the air, thick and heavy, as though he was weighing whether or not to tell you the truth. He turned back to the window, staring outside as if it would give him the answer he needed. “You’re making my job harder,” he said after a long pause, but there was something in his voice—a hesitation. But you had a smirk on your face knowing exactly what it was, “it was the set wasn’t it?” there was a pause, “you thought I looked good, too good right?” you stepped closer to him testing his limits wanting more reaction out of him. “I think you should keep this fantasy shit to yourself” he said quickly snapping back at you, but you kept pushing, “I don’t blame you Simon, I bet it’s been months since you got laid and I won’t lie it’s been a hot minute for me too with you being around me all the time, having me cooped in this house” you can see his brows furrowing. “you’re crossing the god damn line” that’s what he was saying but the raging boner in his pants said completely different about your attitude.

Before you knew it, he was stepping toward you, his hand gripping your arm firmly. “You’re pushing me too far,” he said, his voice low and rough. You met his gaze, feeling a mix of fear and excitement. “Maybe I need you to push back,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The moment was charged, and without warning, one of his hands let go from your arm to lift up his mask above his nose exposing his lips. your eyes widen never seeing anything but his eyes for the last few months. Before you knew it his lips were on yours, It was intense and consuming, leaving both of you breathless and more entangled than before.

He picked you up and put you on the dining table. the kiss became more passionate with his hands tangled in your hair, you could feel your core throb waiting to be touched. Simon pulled away from you and looked into your eyes, “you don’t understand how long i’ve wanted to touch you” he says breathing heavily. “all those times you walked around with no bra and I could see your fucking nipples through your shirt and the times you walked around with your ass out, god I wanted to bend you over, i’d fuck you right there and don’t even forget about the times I could here you moaning in the shower doing god knows what to that pussy, ya fuckin minx” your cunt was practically dripping at his words, your breathing became more heavier, “Then do it Simon, bend me over and fuck me” before you could say anymore he already was turning you over on the counter and pulling your pants down. “already planning on it love”. Simon pulled your pants down then slowly pulled your panties down revealing your wet pussy. he bent down to get eye level with it bring his fingers up to your folds and playing with your clit. You moaned at his touched, “fuh-fuck”. Simon pulled his fingers away and replaced it with his tongue, licking your throbbing clit and making you squirm.

He ate you out till you came on his mouth, “Si please”. Simon got up and looked at your bent over form while he started unbuckling his pants, “please what love?” he already knew what you wanted and he wanted it just as bad. “fuck me hard” he smiled at your words taking his hard cock in his hand rubbing his pre cum all over the top of his head giving it extra lubricant. He aligned his cocked to your hole and slammed into you making you jump, “Shhhhhhhit” you hiss out the word from the painful pleasure. He started to thrust in and out of you hearing your moans made him want to cum already but he couldn’t, it felt too damn good to stop now. Simon bent down to your ear, “All those fuckin times you were playing with this tight cunt in the shower, who were you thinkin about huh?”. You didn’t want to answer out of embarrassment but you did it anyways, “y-you si, I thought about sucking your cock and you cumming all over my tits” that snapped something in him when you said that, his pace picked up he started fucking you harder, his balls slapping against your clit. “what would ya daddy think of the man he hired to protect you fucking your pussy raw?”. You could feel your self about to cum, “Si I’m gonna cum on your cock” his thrust became sloppier feeling himself about to finish too, “cum baby, cum”. Simon thrusted harder into your cunt making your back arch more and your ass jiggle against his hips the sight was pushing him over the edge, “god damn baby i’m gonna to cum” his hands gripped into your hips harder. “Simon cum inside me god please”. He busted a load in you, pushing his cock feel in you making sure nothing came out, “fuckin hell”.

After the intensity of the moment subsided, Simon and you lay there in the aftermath, the room now quiet except for your shared breathing. He gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch tender. “I didn’t plan for this,” Simon said softly, his voice filled with a mixture of regret and affection. “I never wanted to cross that line.” You turned to face him, your own emotions swirling. “Neither did I, but… it felt right in the moment. I just want to know what this means for us.” Simon looked at you with a conflicted expression. “I don’t have all the answers. This situation is complicated, and I’m still trying to figure out how to balance my feelings with my responsibilities.” he says lowly “I understand,” you replied, taking his hand in yours. “I just need to know where we stand. Do you want to try and make this work, or is this something we need to move past?” There was a pause as Simon considered his words. “I care about you more than I should,” he admitted. “But I also need to focus on keeping you safe. We’ll have to navigate this carefully.” You nodded, feeling a mix of relief and uncertainty. “We’ll figure it out together,” you said, squeezing his hand.

“As long as we’re honest with each other.”

[valkyriexo]

Silence | Bang Chan

ᑉ³pairing; Boyfriend Chan x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Angst , Smut

ᑉ³warnings; SMUT MDNI ,dirty talk, swearing, Fingering, oral f reciving, begging

ᑉ³Authors Note; 1k event Commisson giveaway winner @chrizzztopherbang (sorry it took so long :((( )

The restaurant was bustling, filled with the chatter of people enjoying their Friday night.

But at your table, a tense silence hung in the air.

Your parents sat across from you, glancing at the door every few minutes, waiting for the man they’d heard so much about. But as the minutes ticked by, Chan’s absence became glaring

Your stomach churned with anxiety, but you kept a smile on your face, holding onto the thin hope that maybe he was just running late. He had to be coming—this was the night you were finally introducing him to your parents, the people who mattered most to you.

Your phone sat face-up on the table, dark and motionless. No missed calls. No texts.

Not even a simple message to say he wasn’t coming.

You checked your phone again, the light of the screen glaringly bright in the dim restaurant. Nothing. He hadn’t reached out. No explanation. No apology. You swallowed the growing lump in your throat, trying to keep the disappointment from showing on your face.

Your mom glanced at her watch, then back at you with a sympathetic smile. “Honey, maybe he got caught up in traffic or something. We can wait a bit longer.”

Your dad, on the other hand, wasn’t as forgiving. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his face a mask of thinly veiled frustration. “It’s been nearly an hour. If he can’t even make it to dinner with your parents, what does that say about him?”

You opened your mouth to defend him but stopped. You couldn’t deny that this wasn’t just an isolated event. Over the past few weeks, Chan had been slipping—forgetting dates, canceling plans last minute, or worse, just not showing up. But tonight, of all nights, was different. He knew how important this was to you. To both of you.

And he still wasn’t here.

It felt like a punch to the gut. You’d been nervous about tonight for weeks, planning every detail in your head. Your parents had flown in just for this. And Chan, the man you’d been dating for months, wasn’t even here

“Maybe something came up…” you offered weakly, though the words felt hollow, even to you.

Your dad sighed, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, a man who cares about you doesn’t let ‘something’ come up on a night like this. He makes time.”

The words stung because deep down, you knew he was right. You’d been making excuses for Chan for weeks, convincing yourself that his work, his schedule, was just overwhelming, and that it wasn’t personal. But this? This felt personal.

Your mom reached across the table, squeezing your hand gently. “We don’t have to stay, you know. We can reschedule, or…”

The thought of leaving without even hearing from him made your stomach drop. You wanted to brush it off, pretend like it didn’t matter, but it did. You wanted your parents to see the man you loved, to understand why you were so devoted to him. But right now, even you were struggling to remember that reason.

The waiter approached, a polite smile on his face. “Are we ready to order, or should I give you a few more minutes?”

You hesitated, glancing at the empty seat beside you, before shaking your head. “No, I think we’re ready.”

The rest of dinner was strained, your parents trying to keep up light conversation, but the tension in the air was undeniable. Every few minutes, your eyes drifted to your phone, but it remained painfully silent.

No word from Chan. No explanation.

By the time you made it back home, the weight of the evening settled heavily on your shoulders. Your parents had been kind—understanding, even—but their disappointment lingered. You could feel it in the hug your mom gave you before she left, the look your dad gave you as he told you to "think about what you deserve."

And he was right. You deserved better than this.

When you finally walked into your apartment, the quiet was suffocating. You dropped your bag on the couch, sitting down with a heavy sigh, staring at the blank screen of your phone once more. A million thoughts raced through your head—maybe something had happened, maybe there was a reason he couldn’t make it, maybe—

Your phone lit up, and your heart leapt for a split second. But it wasn’t Chan. It was a notification from some random app, and the disappointment hit you like a wave.

You leaned back against the couch, the realization sinking in. He hadn’t forgotten tonight. He’d just… not shown up. And the worst part was, he hadn’t even bothered to tell you.

There was no last-minute excuse, no frantic apology, no explanation. He had simply left you waiting.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, staring at nothing, feeling the weight of it all. But eventually, the front door opened, and Chan walked in, looking exhausted but casual, as if it were any other night. He saw you on the couch and smiled, dropping his keys onto the table.

“Hey, sorry I’m late. Long day at the studio,” he said, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t even look guilty.

You blinked, staring at him in disbelief. “Late? You didn’t even come.”

Chan frowned, confused. “What are you talking about? I’m here now.”

“You didn’t come to dinner,” you said, your voice shaking with a mixture of anger and sadness. “I waited for you. My parents waited for you.”

It was as if the weight of what you were saying finally hit him. His eyes widened, realization dawning. “Shit, wait—dinner. That was tonight?”

You stood up, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeah, it was tonight. The dinner where you were supposed to meet my parents for the first time. The dinner we planned weeks ago. And you didn’t show up.”

His face paled, guilt creeping in, but it wasn’t enough. Not this time. You had waited, excused, and forgiven too many times before.

“I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t mean to—” Chan started, but you cut him off.

“No, Chan. You didn’t even tell me you weren’t coming. You didn’t call, you didn’t text. You left me sitting there, waiting, with no idea where you were.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep being the one who waits.”

Chan’s expression crumbled as he stepped forward, but you took a step back. “Please, I’ll make it right. I swear—”

But you’d heard it all before. And this time, it wasn’t enough.

The silence that followed your words was thick, suffocating. Chan stared at you, his face twisted in guilt, but it wasn’t enough this time. Nothing he could say would make up for the way you felt tonight—alone, forgotten, like an afterthought.

"I said I’m sorry, okay?" His voice was low, almost pleading. But the apology felt like it was more for his own peace of mind than for you.

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. "Sorry? That’s all you have to say? You didn’t even care enough to send me a text, Chan! You didn’t care enough to let me know you weren’t coming to meet my parents!"

“I do care—” he started, but you cut him off, voice trembling with the frustration and hurt you’d been bottling up for weeks.

“Do you? Do you really? Because it feels like I’m the only one putting any effort into this relationship!” The words spilled out before you could stop them, years of unsaid feelings finally surfacing. “I’ve been bending over backwards for you, making excuses for you, and for what? For you to just forget about me over and over again?”

Chan’s jaw clenched, his eyes flickering with anger, but he kept his voice calm. “It’s not like I’m doing this on purpose. I’m trying to juggle everything—the studio, the group, the deadlines—it’s not easy.”

“Don’t you dare try to make me feel guilty for that.” Your voice cracked, and you took a step toward him, fists clenched. “I’ve been patient. I’ve understood every time you’ve had to cancel plans, every time you’ve been late because of work. But this was important, Chan! You were supposed to meet my parents! You were supposed to be there for me for once!”

He flinched, as if your words physically hurt him, but he still tried to defend himself. “I know it was important, but I can’t always be everywhere at once. I’m doing my best, and sometimes things slip through the cracks.”

You stared at him, feeling a bitter mix of anger and heartbreak. “I shouldn’t have to feel like I’m slipping through the cracks in your life.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Chan’s face softened as he realized how deeply he had hurt you. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. You could see the guilt in his eyes, but it was too late. The damage was done.

You turned away from him, your arms wrapping around yourself, trying to hold in the tears that threatened to spill. “I need space, Chan. I need to think.”

“Wait,” he said, stepping forward, his voice desperate now. “Don’t shut me out. Please, we can talk about this.”

You shook your head, your voice cold and distant. “There’s nothing to talk about right now. I just… I need time.”

Without another word, you walked past him, retreating into your bedroom, leaving him standing alone in the living room, guilt and frustration etched across his face.

The next few days were a blur of silence. You avoided Chan’s calls, ignored his texts, and when you saw him, you barely acknowledged his presence. The silent treatment weighed heavily on both of you, but you weren’t ready to face him. Not yet. The sting of being let down, again and again, was too fresh.

At first, Chan tried to give you space, respecting your need for time to process. But as the days went on, he began to grow more desperate. The messages started coming more frequently—apologies, explanations, everything he could think of to get through to you. But you remained silent.

One night, you were sitting in your living room, laying on the couch and scrolling through your phone aimlessly, when you heard a knock at your door. You didn’t respond, hoping he’d go away, but then the door opened slowly, and Chan stepped inside.

He looked exhausted, his usual confidence replaced by an unmistakable vulnerability. He stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say, before finally sitting down at the edge of your bed.

“I know you’re mad,” he started, his voice low and hesitant. “And you have every right to be.”

You didn’t say anything, keeping your eyes glued to your phone. But the tension in the room was thick, and you could feel him watching you, waiting for some kind of response.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I messed up. I know I did. And I can’t stand that I hurt you like this. I’ve been trying to fix it, but I don’t even know where to start anymore.”

Still, you said nothing, but your heart ached at the sadness in his voice. You wanted to forgive him, to let it go, but a part of you needed him to understand just how deeply his actions had hurt you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m so sorry I made you feel like you don’t matter. Because you do. You’re the most important person in my life, and I hate that I’ve made you feel otherwise.”

You glanced up at him, and the sight of him—his eyes red, his face etched with regret—made something inside you soften. But you weren’t ready to give in just yet.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” you said quietly, finally breaking your silence. “I can’t keep waiting for you to show up, wondering if I’m ever going to be enough to make you prioritize me.”

Chan’s eyes widened, and he shook his head quickly. “You are enough. You’re more than enough. I’ve just been so caught up in everything that I lost sight of what’s really important.”

He reached out, taking your hand gently, and for the first time in days, you didn’t pull away.

“I can’t lose you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know I’ve been an idiot. I know I’ve let you down more times than I can count, but I’m begging you… please don’t give up on us.”

Tears stung your eyes as you looked at him, the vulnerability in his expression breaking down the last of your defenses. You could see how much he meant every word, how deeply he regretted the pain he’d caused you.

“I don’t want to give up on us either,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “But something has to change, Chan. I need to know that I can rely on you, that I matter.”

“You do,” he said quickly, his grip on your hand tightening. “I swear, things will be different. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll be better. For you. For us.”

Before you could respond, Chan sank to his knees in front of you, his eyes locked on yours. The raw vulnerability in his expression made your heart ache. “Please,” he said, his voice breaking. “I know I’ve let you down. I know I’ve been a mess. But I’m begging you, please don’t give up on us. I need you. I’ll do anything to make this right. Just give me a chance.”

You stared at him, shocked by his sudden desperation. The image of him on his knees, pleading with you, was almost too much to bear. The hurt was still fresh, and though his words and actions were sincere, you struggled with the weight of what he’d done.

You looked down at Chan, kneeling before you, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and desperation. His plea hung in the air, heavy with unspoken promises and fear. You could see how much he wanted to make things right, but the pain and disappointment you felt were still raw and unsettling.

“I don’t know, Chan,” you said finally, your voice wavering. “I want to believe that things will be different, but I’m not sure if I can just forgive and forget. You’ve let me down so many times. How can I be sure this time will be any different?”

Chan’s face fell, and he lowered his gaze, his shoulders slumping. “I understand if you’re not ready to forgive me. I really do. But please, just give me a chance to prove it to you. I know I’ve been a fool, and I’m sorry. I’ll work every day to show you that I’m worth your trust.”

Your heart ached at the sight of him, so vulnerable and earnest. You wanted to believe him, wanted to reach out and pull him up from his knees, but the scars of past disappointments were still fresh. You needed to see more than words. You needed to know that the change he promised was real and lasting.

Before you could voice your doubts, Chan moved closer, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity of his gaze was disarming, and you felt your resolve waver as he closed the distance between you. He reached out gently, cupping your face with his hands, his touch warm and tender.

As he leaned in, his breath mingling with yours, you felt a surge of emotion that you couldn’t ignore. You wanted to push him away, to maintain your boundaries, but the vulnerability and sincerity in his eyes made it hard to resist. When his lips brushed against yours, it was soft and hesitant, a plea for forgiveness more profound than words could convey.

You hesitated for a moment, your mind racing with conflicting thoughts, but then you found yourself responding, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was both passionate and desperate. The connection was electric, and for a brief, fleeting moment, it felt like the world outside ceased to exist.

Chan’s kiss deepened, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he seemed to pour all his remorse and longing into that single, heartfelt kiss. It was as if he was trying to erase the distance that had grown between you, to bridge the gap left by all the unfulfilled promises.

You leaned back, pulling him with you, your body arching into his touch as his hands trailed over your skin. The sensation was intoxicating, and you found yourself lost in the moment, all rational thought fading away. You needed this, needed him.

His hands continued to trail, and one made its way to your clothed heat.

Your breath hitched as you felt him rub you through the fabric, a delicious friction building.

"Channie..." you breathed out, your voice barely a whisper.

"I need you, Y/N," he mumbled, his lips grazing your neck.

The battle raged on around you. Your body ached for him, for his touch, his kisses. As his fingers slipped underneath your panties, the warmth of his skin against yours, you felt your resolve crumble.

You wanted him, needed him, despite all the hurt and disappointment he had caused. In that moment, none of it mattered. All you could focus on was the way he made you feel.

Chan's eyes were dark with lust as his fingers slipped between your wet folds, the pressure of his thumb on your clit making your breath catch in your throat.

"God, Y/N, you're so wet," he murmured, his voice low and husky. " I missed this.."

As he continued his teasing, you could feel yourself giving in, the pleasure clouding your judgment. Your hips rocked against his hand, seeking more, and a moan escaped your lips as he slid a finger inside of you.

"You like that?" he whispered, his lips ghosting over your ear.

"Yes," you breathed out, your voice shaky.

The feeling of his fingers inside you, curling up just the way you liked, was almost too much to bear. His palm pressed against your clit, the heat and pressure driving you wild, his other hand beginning to slip your clothes off.

Your mind raced, conflicting thoughts tugging at you. Part of you wanted to stop this, to keep your walls up and protect yourself. But another part of you needed this, needed him, more than anything.

"I want to taste you.... To apologize with my tounge in places my words couldnt reach," he whispered against your ear

Chan's voice was thick with desire, his eyes dark and hungry as he looked at you. Your mind was spinning, but all you could focus on was how good it felt.

As he sank to his deeper into his knees in front of you, his face inches from your heat, you knew there was no going back. His breath was hot against your skin as he leaned in, and the feeling of his tongue against your folds was enough to make you moan.

Chan was relentless, licking and sucking at your sensitive flesh, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place. The feeling of his lips and tongue on your most intimate parts was intoxicating, and you could feel the pleasure building inside of you, a delicious heat spreading through your body.

"Fuck, Y/N," he murmured, his voice muffled against you. "You taste so good."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but let out a moan as he teased your entrance with his tongue.

"Channie..." you breathed out, your voice shaky.

You could feel the pressure building inside of you, your muscles tensing as his tongue lapped at your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you.

The pleasure was overwhelming, and you could feel yourself losing control. Your hips bucked against his mouth, and you dug your fingers into his hair, holding him against you.

"Don't stop," you gasped, the words spilling from your lips without a thought.

You were teetering on the edge, your body aching for release but he wasnt gonna let it end there.

He was apologizing right?

You could feel it coming, the sweet relief just out of reach. You needed more, needed him deeper.

"Please," you moaned, the sound desperate and needy.

Chan responded immediately, his fingers pumping faster, his tongue swirling around your clit. He was relentless, his pace increasing, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Your muscles tightened, and the pressure inside you was almost too much to bear.

Then, suddenly, everything went white. You cried out, your body shuddering as the orgasm crashed through you. Your vision blurred, and all you could feel was the intense, pulsing pleasure coursing through your veins.

As you came down from the high, your breath ragged and your heart racing, you could feel the tension in the room.

But that wasnt the end for Chan

He continued to eat you out, wanting to give you another one.

You were exhausted, physically and emotionally, but Chan's hands held you in place, his tongue tracing patterns across your clit. The sensations were too much, and you could feel yourself quickly building toward another release.

"C-Chan," you whimpered, your voice shaky.

"Let go, baby," he whispered, his words sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. "Come for me again."

As his fingers curled inside you, and as he found that perfect spot, you knew you were done for. Your muscles tensed, and the pressure inside you threatened to burst.

"P-Please" You say without thinking, the pleasure taking over any rational thoughts.

"Oh no, no... this is my apology to you, baby. Im going to make you cum until i'm forgiven"

And then, with one final, torturous swipe of his tongue, you were gone.

Over and Over and Over again, until you could no longer remember why you were even mad at him in the first place.

ઇଓ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support ♡ | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like ♡ | © 2024 Valkyriexo 

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[sceletaflores]

A Different Kind of Compensation.

part two!

pairing: mike schmidt x fem!reader

prompt: you’ve been babysitting abby for mike nearly three months now. he constantly apologizes for not paying you yet, you constantly tell him it doesn't bother you. one night he comes back from his shift at freddy’s and has a different idea on how to compensate you for all of your hard work.

warnings: 18+, oral (fem receiving), vaginal fingering (kinda???), munch!mike.

word count: this was supposed to be a short dirty work that somehow turned into a 2.2k monster. told you i love to ramble.

authors note: remember when i said i might write smut if i was just so moved by an ask? well turns out my very first ask moved me. y'all are nasty, i love it. mike, of course, is a munch because why would he be anything else? i never, with a capital N, write smut so please bear with me if it sucks. i hope whoever requested this loves it! i wrote it instead of finishing my scientific article for bio so it better be decent hehe.

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗ ╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

The sound of the front door opening followed by heavy footsteps woke you up from where you were dozing off on the couch. You gazed at the clock on the side table near you and sure enough, 6:10 blinked back at you. Mike was finally home. You heard him shuffling around in the kitchen, most likely shedding his work vest and hanging his keys on the little hook by the door.

You yawned, trying to rub the sleep out of your eyes as you sat up on the couch. The blanket you used to cover yourself falling to pool around your waist. Mike finally made his way to the living room, sitting on the couch with a soft grunt. 

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice rough from lack of use. “Abby eat anything?”

“Yeah, a little,” You mutter back through a barely concealed yawn, head lolling to rest on the back of the couch. “You know how she is.”

He hums in acknowledgement but stays silent apart from that, keeping his gaze trained on the infomercial playing on TV. A comfortable silence settles over the two of you. You sit up even further on the couch, leaning against the arm rest facing Mike. The blue/green hue of the TV bathed him in light, his hair was unruly with curls sticking out at awkward angles. He had deep bags under his eyes. Just as you thought about getting up to take off, he spoke up again. 

“I promise I’ll get you the money,” he says softly, not taking his eyes off the TV, “I…I just need some time.”

You scoff in mock annoyance, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Mike, you know I don’t care about the money. I don’t mind doing this for you.” You reply, nudging his knee with your foot softly then just leaving it perched on his lap.

Mike finally turns to look at you, there's a strange look on his face that you can’t quite place, but you give him a small smile all the same. He stares at you for a few beats, you can practically see the gears turning in his head. 

“You deserve something,” he whispers, his brows furrowed in frustration. “You do so much for me, it’s only fair.” As he speaks, he slowly moves his hand off the couch to your ankle still resting on his thigh, he starts rubbing slow circles over the skin there. His eyes never left yours as he touched you, a very obvious question in them. Asking if you wanted this.

Heat instantly rushed to your belly, cheeks turning a light shade of red at his touch. You’d always thought Mike was attractive, but you never would have imagined he’d want to be anything more than friends. Since he was already so busy with taking care of Abby and his hellish new job.

You swallow once before speaking, your throat feeling dry all of a sudden. “What are you suggesting?” You ask so softly, wondering if he even heard you. Mikes’ fingers stop in favor of trailing his hand up your calf in a featherlight touch, disappearing under the blanket to seek out more of your soft skin. Your heart is beating so fast you think you might die, the sound of it echoing in your ears loudly. 

Mike's big brown eyes stare into yours with a newfound intensity, visibly shocked that you're reacting so viscerally to his touch, his pupils are blown to hell. Chocolate brown being swallowed by black.  His tongue coming out to sweep over his top lip.

“How about you,” he says slowly, scooting closer to you on the small couch. He crowds into your personal space like he belongs there. Mike’s lips inches away from yours. He smells like old leather and dust from being cramped in the security office at Freddy’s. Your chest heaves as your eyes flit back and forth from his eyes to his lips. Seconds drag by like hours as you painstakingly wait for him to finish his sentence. “Stay right there while I make you feel good.” He finally says, his breath fanning over your face hotly. You can’t even speak, afraid of how desperate you might sound, just nodding your head roughly, not looking away from his hungry gaze.

Mike’s hand runs up your leg quickly after you give him the green-light, slipping further under the blanket and higher up your leg until he reaches his destination. He rubs you gently through your shorts, your breath hitches sharply at what should be just a simple touch, but you’re still so worked up from earlier that it feels ten times more extreme. You grasp the blanket still strewn over your lap tightly in your fists, it's the only thing keeping you from seeing Mike’s hand at work between your legs.

Mike reacts to touching you for the first time like he can feel it too. His breath stutters out of his chest, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your already wet folds through your thin cotton sleeping shorts. “Fuck.” He breathes out quietly, so quietly you doubt he even meant to say it out loud. He opens his eyes again, breathing slightly rougher as he stares at you through his arousal induced haze and heavy eyelids. 

Seeing your face must spur him on because he starts rubbing with more fervor than before, his clever fingers applying more pressure making you moan softly. You cut yourself off quickly, eyes darting down the hall to Abby's bedroom door. It's still closed, there's no light leaking through the crack between it and the floor.

"Shit, Mike." You whine quietly.

Mike groans softly at the sound of his name leaving your lips, body trembling slightly with the feeling. Suddenly he wrenches his hand out from under the blanket, and rips it off your lap frantically. You gasp sharply at the cool air breaking through the bubble of warmth the blanket provided, involuntarily closing your legs.

Mike pushes up from his position on the couch next to you, knee walking over so he's kneeling in-front of your clenched thighs. You're still slightly sprawled across the cushions, leaning on the arm of the couch.

"Do you know how crazy you make me?" He asks roughly, putting both his hands on your still closed knees. It takes a second for your brain to catch up to answer him, after a few moments you finally manage a faint shake of your head.

"No?" He asks, tilting his head to the left slightly. "Let me show you then."

Mike grabs your wrist, tugging you closer to him, and leads your hand down into his lap. Your breath catches in your throat when he places your hand directly over his clothed erection, but it gets drowned out by Mike's louder whine thanks to you touching him for the first time. You drag your eyes downward, his dark grey sweatpants leave little to the imagination. He got more worked up touching you than you first thought, if the wet patch forming near the tip of his hard-on was anything to go by.

As soon as you started to rub him with purpose, Mike grabbed your wrist, halting your efforts. "No," He said breathlessly, practically panting. "No, this is for you tonight. Just wanna focus on you."

He let go of your wrist, turning his head in your direction. Both of you failed to realize how close you'd gotten when he dragged you to him. Your noses practically touch when he turns, catching you both off guard. His eyes travel down to your lips, staring at how red and puffy they'd gotten from you biting them to muffle your moans.

"How sweet of you, Mike." You whisper, leaning in just a tad closer. He lets out a guttural groan and closes the distance between your lips, claiming your mouth with his own. He leans forward, gently guiding you to lay back on the couch. His body completely covering yours as the two of you makeout, his arms on either side of your head and his hips slotting against yours, letting you feel the hard length of his cock against your cunt. You moan into his mouth, your hips bucking up to meet his.

Mike breaks the kiss with a whine, trying to muffle the noise by shoving his face in your neck. You bring your hands up to tangle in his curly hair, yanking it roughly as he starts littering kisses all along your collarbones. Nipping and sucking in-between his gasping little moans as you twist and pull his hair in your grip.

He tears his mouth away to stare up at you through his lashes, his lips are swollen and red. “Please,” He gasps out, his hips unconsciously grinding down into your thigh. “Let me eat you out. Please. Tell me I can, say I can.” He babbles, hips rutting faster every second you don’t answer him.

“Yes.” You exclaim as quietly as possible. “Do it, Mike. Eat me out.”

Mike’s whole body shudders at your words, eyes falling closed for a second before he quickly slides down your body, leaving an odd kiss here and there as he goes. He brings his hands up to grip the waistband of your shorts, pausing to take a single steadying breath, then he tugs them down along with your panties and tosses them aside. He stares down at you in awe for a good few moments before he lays on his stomach, right in front of your dripping cunt.

Mike kisses along the inside of your thighs for a bit, licking everywhere but where you want him to the most. “Thank you.” he mutters, tone way too earnest for the situation at hand but you don’t have much time to think about it before he’s diving face first into your thighs.

“Fuck!” You let your voice get way too loud in the quiet atmosphere of the house, but you can’t help it. You didn’t think Mike had lots of experience because of some late night drunken talks before, but he was either lying or holding out. He works his tongue expertly along every inch of you. Every swirl, flick, or suck has you catapulting to the edge way faster than you’d imagined.

It doesn't help that Mike keeps letting out these noises. Small needy whines or deep guttural groans that you can feel. He’s moaning like he’s the one getting head, unashamed and authentic. It’s so fucking sexy.

“Shit Mike, I’m close. I’m so close.” You whisper too quietly for him to hear with his head trapped between your thighs, but it doesn’t matter. Mike brings his thumb up to lightly circle your clit as he laps against your entrance, and you're gone.

Your thighs shake as you release, grabbing on Mike’s hair for dear life as you go through the most intense orgasm ever. He moans into your cunt, working you through the aftershocks. He laves his tongue along you until the overstimulation gets to be too much and you drag his face away by his hair.

He sits up, the bottom half of his face covered in spit and slick. That visual alone is almost enough to get you ready for round two. It’s silent except for the heavy breathing coming from you both.

After he catches his breath, Mike retrieves the blanket from behind his back somewhere to cover the lower half of your body. Your thighs are still shaking as he lays next to you, it’s a tight squeeze but neither of you seem to mind. He kisses the side of your face sweetly, throwing his arm around your waist to pull you in even closer.

You finally regain enough conscience to speak. “Are you sure you don’t want to get off?” You ask, “I mean I can’t feel my legs but I’m sure we could think of something.” Mike only laughs quietly, shaking his head. “Maybe next time, this was about you.” He said, beginning to rub his fingers back and forth on your hip. “Plus I, uh, I already sort of…” He trails off, a flush forming on his cheeks.

It took you a second to realize what he was saying, but when it clicked you couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped your mouth. You lifted up the blanket covering the two of you, and sure enough Mike had an impressive wet patch seeping through his sweats.

He pinches your hip lightly, offended by your giggling. “Don’t laugh at me,” He complains with a smile, yanking the blanket back up. “I couldn’t help it.”

You stifle another laugh to the best of your ability, though your shoulders still shake ever so slightly. You turn your head to press a kiss to his lips. It’s different from the previous kisses you shared tonight. It’s slower and softer, full of a new emotion that you both feel, but know that it can wait to be talked about later. For now you’re both just basking in the afterglow.

You break the kiss first, pulling back only slightly to lean your forehead against his. You both smile at each other for a second.

“Okay,” You give in, brushing a strand of sweaty hair away from his face. “But believe that tomorrow is all about you.”