#though i hated how it was expected of me and how it felt like the bar was always too high for me to reach

[retiredteabag]

Uncle sukuna

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Uncle Sukuna hates children and that just makes kids like him more.

They are practically magnetized to the man.

If he was being honest, he's really just afraid of hurting them, that and he has no idea how to handle a crying child. So, he avoids them at all cost.

Sometimes there's just nothing he can do though, especially when a little monster like his nephew is napping on his chest.

Which he does frequently.

Sukuna would be mean. Straight up telling the kid he was annoying. Yuuji would almost never care.

Almost.

“Don’t even think about it you little brat.” Sukuna would protest, seeing Yuuji crawling across the sofa. “Nu uh. No. Get your sticky little hands off of me!”

But eventually he would have to give in, rolling his eyes as Yuuji found his place- drooling over Sukuna’s shoulder.

Sukuna was also the type to say no and never mean it.

“Can we watch my show kuna?”

“No.”

Five minutes later? They’re smooshed together watching Yuuji’s stupid cartoon.

“Uncuna… can you help with my math homework please?”

“No.”

The next second Sukuna is in full tutor mode.

You might think that he’s the type to make a kid cry over their geometry work, but he is typically more patient than expected.

“Kuna can you make me some cinnamon toast?”

“No.”

“Pleaseeeee?????”

“No, Yuuji.” He’s firm.

Yuuji knows he’s getting that toast.

Sukuna has a love hate relationship with the kid. For Yuuji, it’s just love. That’s why, on the rare occasion, Sukuna might be just a little too rough on him.

It would likely be after a long day, maybe he worked late, maybe he had to deal with a rude person, maybe he didn’t sleep well. Whatever the case, the tattooed man would have an already short fuse when he walked in the door.

Unaware of his bad mood, Yuuji would flip around on the sofa, hearing the key turn in the door.

“KUNA!!!”

Yuuji would bound off the couch, racing for his uncle. Sukuna would sigh and roll his eyes as the boys grubby little hands encircled his leg.

“Kuna kuna! I had a presentation at school today! And I did a really good job because everybody clapped at the end like this-“ the boy smacks his hands together over and over, a big smile on his face, “I was so nervous but now that it’s all over, I wish I could do it again! It was so fun! I can’t wait for my next presentation-“

“Oh my gosh Yuuji will you shut up? I really do not care about your school project.” Sukuna would know the second it left his mouth it wouldn’t be true.

Yuujis little arms would fall away from his uncle. A frown would cover his face. “O-oh okay.” He would stumble back, watching his uncles face.

Sukuna would groan inwardly. Knowing he had been too harsh. He never actually minded hearing about his nephews day, he was just overstimulated and now he felt awful. The little boy was holding up a strong facade but his lip wobbled. The man would sigh.

“Ugh, Yuuji, I’m sorry kid, that was wrong of me-“

“No.” The boy would sniffle, “s’okay. M’sorry for making you mad.”

Oh, now Sukuna might as well walk into oncoming traffic.

He sighs, “No, Yuuji, you didn’t do a thing wrong. Don’t apologize for anything, alright?” He would run a hand through his cropped pink hair, “listen, I’m glad your presentation went well, that’s good, how about we go get dinner after I wash up, whatever ya want.”

Yuujis eyes would widen, a big grin coming back, “Yeah?!” Sukuna would sigh at the kids forgiving nature.

“Yeah, kid, I’m starved.”

Yuuji would bounce up and down, then, without a moment’s hesitation, throw himself around his uncles leg.

Sukuna would pat the boys hair, cursing himself for being so short with the kid.

And after being so annoyed just a second ago, after watching Yuuji race off to change his clothes, Sukuna realized he had forgotten what had ruined his day to begin with.

Cute little brat.

[district4loading]

Pathetic

Twice Sana x Male Reader

4k words

Content Warning: smut, cheating, mix of degrading and praise

Minors DNI

A/N: First of all I wanna say thank you so much for the support on my latest fic! It motivates me to put out more for you guys and I really appreciate it.

So so so sorry to the person that wanted female reader next, I PROMISE its coming. This is just some smut that was in my drafts, i figured I'd post it while I write the next fic I plan on uploading.

This is cut from a longer fic I wrote a little bit ago. I won't be posting the entire thing because I took alot of inspiration from a different fic I read. Not the smut though, the smut is all my writing so that's why I'm sharing it with you all.

(Also when I mention "Kim Minji" I'm talking about Jiu from Dreamcatcher.)

-

"You're pathetic"

-

One bad night was all it took, an argument with your wife over the way you looked at the intern at work earlier that day. You swore you weren't looking because 'no co-workers' was the rule in your open marriage and you would always honor that. Even if it wasn't, you knew that they didn't like each other so it'd be nothing short of betrayal to fuck someone who hated your wife. So no matter how incredible the girl looked in her short dresses and her tiny mini skirts, she was forbidden fruit.

Minji couldn't trust you though, she knew your type and could spot that look in your eye from a mile away. So she waited until you both got home to confront you about it. Of course, you denied even looking the interns way—a lie, might I add—then it turned into a screaming match, the hatred she had for her subordinate much more prevalent in her fiery eyes.

It ended with a slam of your bedroom door and the expectation that you'd sleep on the couch that night, which you did.

That's basically how you spent the following weekend, not talking to each other and only being painfully cold and passive aggressive when you did. You never liked to fight, it always felt so cold and empty, sleeping in different rooms waiting for the other to apologize. Days had passed, still barely any communication as your weekend fight bled into the weekdays. At work you kept things cordial, still not communicating much at all.

Everyone could tell, people at work could tell, there was a certain coldness in the both of you. You two were similar in that way, being extra shitty to your co-workers when things weren't going well at home. That and the fact that you chose to eat alone at lunch rather than with her.

You were in your office spending your lunch eating some ordered fast food while trying to catch up to a deadline when you heard your door open. Assuming it's one of your assistants you say "I'm on my lunch break, come back in thirty" without even looking up from your computer.

In your peripheral vision, you see the person instead step into your office and close the door behind them. Actually looking up this time, you open your mouth to speak, but the words fail to come out. It's the intern, Sana and she looks incredible. Her hair is straight and black today, very different from her usual brown wavy look but she pulled it off all the same. She wore a cute black dress, its material velvet and its collar white with three cute silver buttons down the midline. Then your eyes drift to her legs. Bare, pale and slim, not to mention there wasn't a bruise, scab or blemish in sight.

"Minatozaki, if you're looking for Mrs. Kim, she should be in her office" You throat goes dry, immediately noticing the interns quick move to lock the door behind her, a mischievous grin on her face.

"She's my boss, I know where she is. If I was looking for her, I would've went to her" Sana rolls her eyes and approaches your desk, leaning forwards to place her palms flat against the maple wood, straightening her arms as well. You look above your desktop, meeting her eyes for a split second before hearing alarms ringing distantly in the back of your mind.

You dart your eyes back to the paper you were working on then you gather up the thread of authority you have left to say "I can't imagine there would be anything you'd want from me, we work in completely different departments and.." You make eye contact for a moment "No disrespect but you're just an intern, so if you could please unlock the door and see your way out.." You say it so non chalantly, almost catching her confident demeanor shift at your passive aggressive tone.

Sana chews on her bottom lip for a bit "Oh don't be like that Mr. L/n..." She fake pouts, acting as if she's oh-so upset about your tone and in a way it was sexy. It's the way she drags out the words all slow in that sweet voice of hers, God it's killing  you. "I just noticed that Mrs. Kim's been extra bitchy this week... you know, at first I thought maybe she's on her period but then I noticed you two are barely talking to each other. Trouble in Paradise?" She asks, circling around your desk to stand beside you.

You look over with a fake polite grin on your face, making the grave mistake of rolling your chair back and turning it so you could face her. "That's really none of your business"

"Oh please, your open marriage is everybody's business" Sana chuckles for a moment and she leans down, holding herself up on the armrests of your chair. You mean to scoot the chair back as far as it can go, stand up and demand that she leave with your voice stern but instead you freeze. You fucking freeze, realizing how close she is and those ringing alarms from before? They turn into blaring sirens "So, why don't you tell me what happened? Whose fault is it? Yours or hers? She fuck someone she's not supposed to?"

It takes you a second to blink, then you swallow hard as you feel your body begin to burn, that nervous heat in your armpits. You catch a whiff of her perfume and it's fucking heavenly, some warm mix of vanilla and maybe cinnamon. Then her face, her beautiful face, one that could've only been hand sculpted by God himself. Her pink lipgloss only making her plump lips look all the more delectable and—fuck you're staring way too hard. "Listen, you're - you're way too close right now"

Sana leans down even closer and conveniently, if you were to look a few millimeters down, you'd be able to see her cleavage pouring out of her dress. "I'm just as close as I need to be, Sir" She says and there's that smirk again, that fucking smirk, the one that says 'I know i've got this mother fucker right where I want him' Now there's a thumping sound that begins filling your ears and it takes a second for you to realize it's your heart.

"I'm married, you should know this is very inappropriate and- "

A whimper escapes your lips the moment she makes a move to straddle your legs. "You're in an open relationship, so this..." She puts her hands on your shoulders "Is fine"

"We have certain boundaries, certain rules that aren't to be broken.. it's what makes us work"

She pokes her bottom lip out and looks at you through her lashes "Am I a boundary?"

"Of course you are! I know you and my wife aren't exactly the best of friends and to be frank, you're a stuck up, entitled brat who seriously needs a fucking reality check" You tell her and for the first time it actually sounds as if you have some sort of backbone but Sana doesn't flinch, make a face or get upset.

She just tilts her head "If i'm so bad, then why am I still on your lap?" She pauses, then looks down observing exactly how your body has betrayed you "And why are you hard?" She asks with a false-innocent tone, God you hated when she used that voice because she just sounded so stupidly sexy. She leans in closer to you, just by your ear "How about you give me a reality check" Her breath is warm as it brushes past your ear lobe.

Then you lose it, like actually lose it. Your hands find their way to her waist and you squeeze, hard enough that it elicits a sharp gasp from her. You pull her forwards and your bodies are now closer than ever, she leans down, arms wrapped loosely around your neck before your lips are pressed together. It's nothing like a rom-com, where the two main characters kiss and suddenly fireworks go off and it's magical and wholesome. No, this was pure raw lust, so strong that if it had a scent, the room would fucking reek of it.

Your lips move together so messily—sloppily as if you're genuinely trying to absolutely devour each other. Sana shoves her tongue into your mouth and you can taste her lipgloss, sweet strawberries, so intoxicating it all made your vision start to blur like a lucid dream. But this is no dream, this is real and the it's the sinful desire that makes it feel so good.

Now she's rocking her hips, whining and humming into your mouth as you suck each others lips swollen. She kisses your cheek and then deviates all the way down to your neck. You sigh a pleasureful breath "I shouldn't be doing this" You mutter, but make no effort to push her off.

She slides back then works on unbuttoning your shirt. "But you want to, I know you do" Her tongue darts out to wet her lips even more than they already were as she focused on getting your shirt off "God, how many fucking buttons.." She whispers to herself with a hot frustration.

This is wrong. You know it's wrong, hell your mind is yelling at you, sending an army of receptors to stimulate your brain to form a coherent rejection. Something mean enough that'll make this evil seductress leave the your office crying. It doesn't work in the slightest, you can't control the way you grip her waist or the way your head stirs from the feeling of being under her.

Sana finally finishes opening your button up "How'd I know you'd have a perfect body?" She mumbled, allowing her cute black nails to scrape against the hard surface of your chest and torso. Your hands drifted, eager to finally get a feel of those legs you've been leering at since day one. They were even softer than you imagined, you grabbed them softly, refraining from digging your fingernails into them. You just couldn't bring yourself to ruin such beautiful skin just yet.

"Sana" You say her name, low and deep, still not taking your eyes off of the way her thighs seem so tiny in your hands. With one hand still on her thigh, your dominant one slides up her dress and you pull her so called panties to the side. The material feels so thin and lacy, you couldn't even for sure call it underwear. "You're already dripping for me" You announce, sliding the pad of your middle finger up and down her slit, just slightly parting her lips so that it can graze against her clit ever so slightly when you reach the top. Her body jerks as you do, a tight gasp escaping her lips.

She's grinding on the pad of your fingers now and you're just watching—observing how she was so desperate, so needy for you. For you. She needed you to do something so badly but you wouldn't yet. It was frustrating her, of course but she just refused to open her mouth to say something so you do "Go ahead Sana, beg for it, tell me exactly what you want" You say it softly, slight rasp in your voice only adding to her burning arousal.

It takes her a moment before she can actually communicate words that didn't sound like pathetic whines. Still, moving her hips on your now stationary hand she mutters "I d-don't beg." She says it so weakly without even an ounce of conviction in her tone. What a fucking brat. You slip your hand from under her dress and they're on her waist again, then you pull her forwards and sit her directly over the rock hard bulge between your legs. She gasps, wet core directly on your clothed cock and when she moves to grind she realizes she can't because you are holding her still.

"You know, my lunch break will be over in a little under 20 minutes. Then people will be in and out of here like clock work and you?" You pause, taking a second to admire her beautiful face. From those pink pouty lips all the way to those dark and lustful eyes. "You'll be walking out of here un-touched and so wet that it's leaking down your thighs" You chuckle for a moment and shake your head "Is that what you want Sana?"

"mm-mm" She shakes her head, then looks deep into your eyes as if the thought of walking out of your office unsatisfied was the worst possible thing that could ever happen in life. "Please Sir, please - I need you inside of me please, please Sir"

You push her back a bit, then slide your dominant hand back under her dress. Your fingers come back into contact with her core and she's looking at you, her eyes begging-pleading for you to take her right here, right now in your office. Ever so slowly, you push your middle and ring fingers inside. She took them easy, a long whine escaping her lips when you curl your fingers "Fuck - thank you sir, thank you, thank you, thank you—" She's chanting in short breaths, her eyes screwing shut the moment you begin to pump in and out.

It's so wet, the sticky sound echoing throughout the otherwise empty office. Her walls hugged you tightly, only making your cock throb even more in your pants when you realized that you were going to be inside of her. Inside of this perfect fucking pussy. "So fucking tight, baby" You mutter as she mirrors your movements, grinding down on your fingers. She's moaning and whining so loud you think someone will hear, but you don't care anymore. Sana looks amazing like this, like she's made for this. To be on your fingers, rutting like a needy slut on top of you as she tries to get them much deeper than they could go.

"Oh - Fuck yes... just like that sir" She cuts herself off with a gasp "That feels so fucking good" You're allowing the pad of your fingers to press against her g-spot and you can tell its driving her crazy. By the way she's moving her hips and squeezing your arms for leverage, she's fucking loving this. Everything about Sana is just obscene. From the way she curses in that filthy tone to the way she's shamelessly

Now her breathing is erratic, like she's about to have a panic attack or faint, and you can feel her walls massaging you. "Are you gonna cum already?" You mutter almost in awe as you stare at her beautiful face. She was so pretty with her eyes closed and her head hung from the embarrassment of being so needy and horny. Then she was soaking, her arousal running down your fingers.

"I - fuck sir - please" She tries to respond, nodding frantically as she begins moaning unabashedly in your face. Her breath warm and shaky as it escapes her lips "Ah - Please make me cum sir, please make me fucking cum" Sana's begging now, pridefully without any kind of shame even though she was in a really shameful position. Riding her superior's fingers on his lap in his office where there's a big ass window in the door. If someone looked through at the right angle, she would've been caught and she knew that. Hell, she gets off on it.

The stirring in your pants gets more persistent, more impatient and it's fucking aching. So you slide your fingers out and for a moment, Sana's still whining and grinding, her fucked out brain still not registering the loss of touch yet. You grab her legs and stand up, then you place her on the desk, right next to your computer and you begin unzipping your pants. "Oh fuck yes daddy please give me your cock" She bites her bottom lip and gives you a look and it almost makes you growl.

Your pants are at your ankles along with your boxers and you're pulling her closer, her legs loosely wrapping around your waist. "You're a real fucking slut" You grab her face, squeezing her cheeks so her lips sort of smush together. In your grip, she nods the best she can, a hot 'mm-hmm' leaving her throat. There's a moment you take to just look into her eyes, the way her eyebrows were upturned, the look of pure fucking want in her eyes. God it was ruining you.

"I can be your personal slut if you'd like, sir" She says it like she's pleading after you let go of her face. Then you hike her dress up a bit more and you're finally lining yourself up. You press the fat tip against her entrance and she winces and looks down. She's holding onto your arms to brace herself "Fuck, it's so big - want you to fucking stretch me"

God she's so filthy, in the way she speaks, moves and stares at you it's unbelievable and you fucking love it. You know you should hate it, you should be disgusted with her. Practically throwing herself at a married man all to spite his wife, her boss at that. You should fucking hate her for the things she's said to Minji and the fact that she hates her. But you just can't get over her body, the way she walks, the way she talks, the way she does fucking anything with that pretty face of hers.

You slide your cock into of her entrance ever so slowly, immediately feeling the tight grip of her warm walls. "Holy shit" You groan and Sana's gone silent, her jaw slack as she looks up and directly into the white light in the ceiling with her eyebrows furrowed. "So - fucking - tight" Your teeth are clenched as you're grunting finally making it all the way to the hilt.

Then you stop for a moment, pulling her even closer "You're so fucking deep i - please fuck me sir, please" You do exactly as she says, pulling your hips back just to thrust all the way back in and she lets out a moan so guttural that it had to have been stuck the back of her throat. Then you're in more of a rhythm, fucking the tight, smooth hole that she's just letting you have. "That's right - fucking use me - oh God"

She's more than just enjoying herself and you're both moaning way louder than you should be. But everything's just too much, because you're a thousand degrees, sweaty and tousled. You can't smell it but you know the room reeks of that pungent aroma, one that could only be recognized for what it was—what it could only be. Sex.

You lean over, resting your head in the crook of her neck so that your lips can come into contact with the salty flesh. "You feel so fucking good - God" You mumble on her skin, licking, kissing, sucking all to make everything feel all the more overstimulating to her. It was something you never thought you'd ever say, but she felt the best out of almost any girl you've ever been with. There was something uniquely warm, tight and moist about her that you've never felt before.

"Yeah - Yeah - Yeah - please don't stop sir, please keep fucking me like that." You can't get enough of her, you wouldn't even stop if you wanted to. Then you're reaching your hand down, tongue still licking her neck as you press your fingers against her swollen clit. The poor thing was practically begging for attention before you got to it. You circled your fingers around it in a way which matched your thrusts.

Now Sana was really seeing stars, like actual stars, her vision even going black at some points. You knew you had her when you first felt her legs begin to shake, then the rhythmic pulsing inside. You lightly bite her ear "There you go baby, cum for me" You whisper so hotly that it's got her right on the edge.

"Yeah" She whispers, her voice shaking breathily and then she gets louder "G-Gonna - Fuck" It's erratic, the way she's moving so rigidly and the insane grip you have on her waist isn't doing any favors. "You're gonna make me cum, you're gonna make me fucking cum" Sana's nodding her head.

Then her back is arched, pushing her chest into yours and she's toppling over the edge. Her moans beautifully silent, caught in her throat as her body stutters and shakes erratically. "That's a Good girl, Sana" You encourage her, knowing that she'd love the praise.

Once she recovers, you don't slow down, in fact you're speeding up almost choking as you now recognize how pent up and sensitive you are. Like you could explode any fucking minute. You know it and Sana does from the way you're heaving and panting like a beat dog. The way your face is red, and then the serious concentration. She squeezes her legs tighter around your waist "Please cum in me sir - wanna feel you filling me up" She moans erotically.

You shiver at this, hearing the words come out of her mouth so fucking easily.. "I can't" Are the only words you can mutter without your voice breaking, it's almost humiliating. But she wants it, she wants it so bad.

"Yes you can" She wraps her arms around your neck and pulls you close, her mouth near your ear now. "Come on daddy, breed me. Mark your fucking territory" she eggs you on in that perfect voice of hers and you almost fucking malfunction. This girl is so dangerous. You mean to pull out, you really do but all of a sudden you can't make yourself stop when you begin shooting your load inside. Fucking it deep inside of her womb, like really deep and she's moaning so loud as if she's the one cumming. She's getting off on it.

The two of you stay like that for a bit, God knows how long with your heads empty and your bodies sweaty. When you finally pull out, your cock already soft. Sana giggles a bit, then pulls her panties back over her raw cunt and she slowly slides herself off of your desk. You're pulling your pants up, fixing your belt and then your button up as she tidy's up her dress. "I shouldn't have done that" You sigh, immediately feeling the regret hit you like a truck now that the lust has withered away.

"Come on, it's not like your marriage is exclusive"

You sit in your chair, leaning forwards as you bury your hands in your face, smelling Sana on them. "We have fucking rules Sana, and i broke them all" You're thinking about what you'll tell Minji, how badly this'll probably fucking hurt her. Way to go, you went ahead and fucked a load into the only girl your wife hates. The one you promised that she didn't have to worry about. Sana opens her mouth to say something else but you don't want to hear it "Please get out and... don't tell anybody about this"

"Okay" She says, but she says it sarcastically, like she doesn't take you seriously. You get up from your chair as she puts her hand on the door knob "I'm fucking serious, Sana. Nobody, not your friends, not our co-workers and certainly not-"

"Mrs. Kim?" She finishes your thought, tilting her head. "You're pathetic, let go of me" She scoffs then snatches her arm from your hands then continues to exit your office. You exhale deeply, and you punch the wall, not hard enough to leave a hole but hard enough to leave a bruise. So you immediately regret it, shaking the hand you used.  Sana was right, you were pathetic.

"This can't happen again" You tell yourself out loud as if it'll make your words true.

It doesn't.

[brbsoulnomming]

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 6

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

-----

Steve keeps dropping his heart.

Somewhere buried deep inside him there's an edge of terror that he's going to damage it even worse - but it also makes a muffled schloop sound every time it hits the ground that is, objectively, the funniest sound he's heard all night.

Robin thinks so too, because she keeps giggling every time it happens - first these tiny little snorts, then somewhat hysterical giggles, then a full on bark of laughter, and then he's dropping it again because he's laughing, too, and she's so cute, how is he supposed to not be a little in love with her?

Dustin and Erica don't seem to find it that funny, though.

"Oh my God, Steve, put your heart in your chest!" Dustin hisses at him the next time they have to slow down to wait for him to scoop it back up.

The very idea sends a chill through him, and he makes a face at Dustin.

"No!" he retorts.

"No? Are you serious? It took me weeks to get you comfortable taking it out around me and now you want to wave it around? No, that's not what I - stop that," Dustin scolds him.

Which is rude, considering Dustin is the one who told him to wave it around in the first place.

But maybe he also has a point, because Steve's grip on his heart slips on a downward wave and this time he doesn't so much drop it as toss it, sending it skittering over the floor.

"Oops," Steve says.

Robin bursts into a sharp bray of laughter.

He loves her so much.

Dustin's gone chasing after his heart, and he flinches when the kid picks it up, expecting it to hurt, to feel wrong the way it had when -

But no.

It feels nice.

"Huh," Steve says, watching Dustin bring it back over.

"Why is it all wrapped up?" Erica asks, wrinkling her nose at it.

"So it doesn't explode," Steve replies, then giggles when Robin nods solemnly and mimes an explosion with her hands.

Dustin rolls his eyes, trying to shove it at him. "Put it away!"

Steve twists away. "Nooo," he protests. "I can't breathe."

Dustin's expression goes from frustrated to concerned so quickly it gives Steve whiplash. "Your ribs? Did they break something? Shit, Erica, can you-"

Erica's already at Steve's side, tugging up his uniform shirt and squinting at his ribs. "What am I supposed to be looking for?"

"Can't breathe with my heart inside," Steve clarifies, even though he's actually pretty sure he does have a broken rib or two. It doesn't hurt, so it's a way lower priority. "I hate it, it feels like it's trapped and hollow and alone."

Dustin and Erica look at each other. Steve doesn't think they look irritated, but he can't really tell.

"Steve," Dustin says softly. "Since when?"

"Since always," Steve replies.

There's silence in response, and he worries briefly that he's said the wrong thing. But then Dustin sighs and pops open his chest, nudging his own heart aside so he can drop Steve's next to it. He closes it up again before Steve's even managed to get a fully formed thought, let alone words, and -

His heart gives a little stutter, and it's weird to feel the emotion that causes it without feeling the corresponding pounding against his own chest.

Dustin apparently feels it, though, because he squints at Steve. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Steve returns.

“You felt something!” Dustin retorts.

“Wait, you can feel what I'm feeling?” Steve demands.

“Of course I can,” Dustin scoffs, like it should be obvious. “I have your heart, don't I?”

He looks over at Robin, to see if she knew that, too, but she's too busy snickering at something the light is doing in the fountain, and -

Oh.

Wow.

Okay, that's much better.

He feels so much better, and even when he's handed his heart again after he and Robin are deposited in the movie theater -

The feeling lingers.

—

In a too bright bathroom that smells like bleach and vomit, Robin holds out her hands for his heart.

“Let me see,” she insists, and Steve doesn't think twice about handing it over.

She might as well have just put her own heart in his hands, after what she just shared with him.

Still, he feels trepidation when she unwraps it, even more when she blanches at the sight of it. But -

“Hey,” Steve says, leaning in to look more closely at it. “It looks better.”

“Better?” she demands. “This is better?”

“I guess I should put it back in my chest if it makes it better,” he says reluctantly.

Robin frowns. “But it hasn't been in your chest. Just Dustin's.”

Wait.

That's right.

“I learned about this!” Steve snaps his fingers, trying to place it. “Science class. People survive things they shouldn't if they give away their hearts?”

Robin, bless her, either remembers it better or has figured out what he's trying to say. “Your heart heals better if someone's keeping it safe for you?”

There's barely a second before she's opening her own chest, taking out her heart and putting his in instead.

“Here,” she says, handing her heart to him almost carelessly. “Watch this for me.”

The moment it's settled in his chest, though, he can feel - how scared she is, how terrifying this all seems. The edges of it are still dulled by the drugs in both their systems, but it's there.

“I'm sorry,” he tells her quietly, guilt twisting from him to his heart in her chest.

“I'm not,” she replies, sharp and stubborn.

And the thing is -

She isn't.

—

The paramedics don't insist on keeping him.

Steve thinks they might, if they could hear his own heart, but it's Robin's heart beating strong and steady in his chest, so they assume that no matter how bad he looks, he must not be in any danger.

He doesn't know what his heart sounds like, but judging by the look on the guy checking over Robin - it's not good.

But she's physically unharmed, so they must assume it's more emotional damage than anything else. He and Robin are two halves, right now, but put them together and they make a somewhat stable whole.

God, he loves her.

She must pick up the echo of his love, because she looks up, meeting his gaze. Her smile is a little sad, and he feels a rush of affection so strong that it almost takes his breath away, even if it's a little bittersweet.

"It's not like that," he tells her, as soon as she and him can huddle together away from the paramedics.

She frowns at him, a clear prompt to continue.

"I don't know if I know how to love someone this much, if it's not like that," he admits. "But I'm learning. I'm going to learn."

For Robin, he'll learn how to love someone so much he doesn't want to know what life is like without them, in a way that isn't romantic at all.

—

Robin comes home with him that night, their hearts still in each other's chests.

Steve almost can't bear the thought of taking his back at this point, and what he can pick up from Robin tells him she feels the same way.

There's a blinking light on the answering machine, and when he presses play, he smiles a little at hearing Eddie's voice.

“Hey, Steve, it's, uh, Eddie. Know I haven't stopped by in a while, but I saw the news tonight about the mall, and - can you just let me know you're okay? Okay. Yeah, okay, bye.”

He sounds a little like he's trying not to panic, and Steve feels himself go soft and fond.

“...huh,” Robin says, clearly getting an echo of what he's feeling. “Steve?”

Steve shrugs, a little helpless. “I don't know,” he admits.

She considers for a moment. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he asks.

“You don't have to know,” she tells him.

“Okay,” he agrees.

He calls Eddie back while she showers, propped up against the bathroom door with the cordless phone in his hand.

“Hey,” Steve says when Eddie picks up. “It's Steve. Sorry, I know it's late.”

“No!” Eddie rushes to say. “No, it's okay, I was up. I saw - are you okay?”

“I've been better,” Steve admits. “There was some explosions, some rubble from the building collapsing. I've got cracked ribs and a concussion.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mutters. “If you could stop getting beat up, it would really give my heart a break.”

Steve grins a little. “You worried about me? Thought it was my job to look out for you.”

He can't see him, but he's pretty sure Eddie's rolling his eyes. “Yeah, and who looks out for you, huh, asshole?”

Steve hums. “It's good to hear your voice. I missed you.”

Eddie's quiet for a moment. Then, “Do you want - do you need someone to come keep an eye on you, make sure you wake up every hour?”

He kind of wishes Eddie'd finished what he started to say, because yeah, he does want him, but that's not the question Eddie ended up asking.

“Robin's here,” Steve says. “She was caught in it, too, but she didn't get too injured. She's going to stay over tonight.”

There's a moment of silence.

“Right, of course,” Eddie mutters.

“Can you come over tomorrow?” Steve finds himself asking without really thinking about it. Eddie's never been over - he's technically never hung out with Eddie outside of school or work - but shit, he wants it. “I think the drugs'll be out of my system by then, so I won't be too annoying. You can meet Robin.”

“You do know I've met her, right?”

Steve makes a tsk noise. “You've met Robin from band, just like she's met Eddie from the lunch tables. But you don't really know each other, not like I-”

He cuts off, because he's not really sure he has the right to say that. Does he really know either of them like that?

Whatever. If he doesn't, he wants to.

“You do better as part of a trio, huh?” Eddie asks quietly.

“Well, yeah,” Steve agrees. “But this is different, this is better.”

Eddie snorts. “Sure, you're not the third wheel anymore.”

“It's not that,” Steve protests. It feels important for him to get this right, though he's not sure why. “I don’t care about being a third wheel, it never bothered me. But Tommy and Carol… there were always conditions, with their friendship. The older we got, the more there were. And I love Nancy and Jonathan-”

His heart spasms. He can't feel it, but he feels the emotions, and Robin's heartbeat in his own chest kicks up. He mutes the phone, for a moment, knocks on the bathroom door. “I’m okay!” he calls through it, feels a wave of relief coming from her, and lets himself feel simple, uncomplicated affection.

“But things are complicated with them,” he continues after he unmutes the phone. “I think they always will be.”

“And what, I'm uncomplicated?” Eddie asks, but he sounds more amused than anything else.

“You're something,” Steve agrees, not bothering to try not to sound warm and fond.

Eddie blows out a puff of air. “I have band practice tomorrow,” he says. “But I'll call you sometime later, okay?”

No, that doesn't sound okay.

“Is this one of those things where you're not really asking me if it's okay, you're just saying it so it sounds better?” Steve asks. “What would you do if I said it wasn't okay? If I said I really wanted you to come over?”

Eddie's quiet again. “Do you want me to come over?”

“Yes,” Steve replies immediately, because he's had it saved up since Eddie didn't finish asking him it in the first place.

If his heart were in his own chest, he's pretty sure it would be thumping in anticipation.

“Not tonight,” Eddie says finally. “But I do want to be friends with you, okay? I'll call you.”

He hangs up after that, and Steve stares at the phone until Robin comes out of the bathroom and finds him like that.

She doesn't have to ask what happened - probably because she felt what happened - she just sits next to him a while.

This is already written, and my plan is to post one part a day until it's all up here!

-----

Part 7

Taglist (always happy to add more to this if anyone wants): @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert @thewickedkat @ravenfrog @scarlet-malfoy @missmagillicuddy @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @ollyxar @cringe-culture-is-dead-99 @thedragonsaunt @makewavesandwar @cryptid-system @ajeff855 @mae-liz @the-fantastical-asexual @jettestar @warlordess @persnicketysquares @samsoble @my-love-of-books @mydysfunctionallife @dreamercec @holyangelstudentuniverse @breealtair @shunna @xtraordinarally

[alessabriel]

┆𝐎𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐫! 𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐗 𝐍𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ┆

Summary: Ellie and his wife in their daily lives, work, relationship, romance, love, love, and some jealousy of each other. Cw: Ellie Williams Officer x nurse wife, cursing, swearing, canon violence, Ellie very much in love with his wife (she's very much in love with you), blood, etc.

જ Ellie didn't really expect to become a police officer, truth be told in college she was even a dealer which still, to this day amuses his wife and they met in high school when she was just starting to have contact with a trusted supplier, and ended up being a couple when you hid his merchandise in your cosmetic bag, they got along better in college.

¦¦ Ellie really couldn't show herself like that to her friends Jesse or Dina, they were both extremely stressed out and not to be outdone a pregnancy in the home stretch of college was even worse, so she found herself in her van with cigarette smoke in the air and the stressful feeling under her skin, simmering, eating everything inside and rising through her veins. It was like being on fire and feeling wet, it was strange.

I was spiraling down.

“Do you want to get out of exposing your thesis to the jury by drowning yourself in pot smoke?” he hears the voice, your voice soft and sweet, a gentle mocking twist in the tone.

Ellie sighs, letting the smoke go before she rolls down the window with the door handle, and that's when she sees it, it really is a lot of fucking smoke. But he unlatches the doors letting her in.

“Something like that Do you think they'll give my certificate to Joel if I die?” she questions, taking a puff on the cigarette she had forged hours ago.

“Yeah, I don't think so and Joel would be able to bring you back from the dead by the hair by force.”

She can only laugh as she listens to him, it's a truth and she can imagine Joel doing it or trying to and with how stubborn he was, it might as well be a truth and she can only laugh, because if she thought any more she would cry.

“Yeah, that sounds very daddy” she says, trying to keep her voice from breaking but it's useless and when you're next to her, when she can smell the sweet, clean scent of your perfume that strips her naked, violates her in a way that should be illegal and maybe it's part of your chosen career, the one where you were always making seams in that strange latez but it doesn't feel right, it feels like it's going to break, that it's going to explode and the seams couldn't contain it ”Sometimes, s-sometimes you want to drop everything? “she asks, because that question is stuck in her throat with such force that she wants to vomit and the marijuana can barely relax her.

“Sometimes yes, but nursing really excites me even though sometimes I feel gross, and putrid after my internship where doctors talk to me like I'm stupid, but I like it”

“sounds like you like poison” she says, almost wanting to laugh but everything breaks down and she just hides her face in her hands, on the steering wheel ”I-I just can't, I can't anymore and it's stupid, I worked so hard for this shitty career and in the end I can't, I can't anymore, damn it I can't anymore and it's ridiculous because I like this damn career but, but fuck I can't complete it, submit the thesis, do the whole process…it terrifies me so much, I don't want this”

And that night, of smoke, tears, promises, kisses and hugs, Ellie didn't submit the thesis and entered police training school, having the courage to tell Joel. In the end communication was the key, who knew? ¦¦

જ The training at the police school was exhausting but he felt good and he found pleasure in the job, had perfect results and ended up in a permanent position. It was tiring, exhausting and he hated the uniform the first few days but now he got the hang of it and maybe because he wore it a good part of his days (not influenced by his wife who loved to see her in uniform, of course not).

જ If Joel and his friends still found it funny that it was official, well, he just laughed and played along. Because it was funny, in college he had so many felonies that he could end up in jail or some charges at least, but hey luck was on his side.

જ His shifts were grueling, yes and he encountered so many louts on his shifts, what he wanted to disfigure their faces with punches and once in a while he could do it only with certain terms in between, was it ethical? Not so much, he enjoyed it? Very much.

જ Her married life started when her girlfriend graduated from her major and she was still in police training school. He cried when he saw his girlfriend receive her degree? No one could prove it. And of course he tried his best to be able to take her to a fancy restaurant but his girlfriend, being his girlfriend would have none of it and they ended up having dinner at a fast food restaurant, degree papers on the table and his next schedule in mind with red knuckles from training.

¦¦ Ellie really wanted to take his girlfriend to a fancy restaurant, the kind where they put a napkin on her lap and the prices were not listed on the menu, but well he was really looking forward to it.

“I could take you to that expensive restaurant babe” he grumbles with a mouth full of fries, outside it's night and the folder with the university emblem on the table even next to the food trays ‘let yourself be pampered, don't be bad you finished your degree and a specialization, you deserve it’.

“well yes, but I want burgers and here was our first date, I decide where to eat on my graduation Els” she says with a sweet smile, holding the glass of lemon-lime soda, before stealing a kiss from Ellie leaving the taste of the soda ”but I thank you for going out of your way for it, I love you but eating a crushed sandwich on the sidewalk for me would be the ideal date”

“you're cheesy” replies Ellie, feeling her cheeks flush and rubs her nose nervously, seeing how her girlfriend even eating looks beautiful and should be illegal ”but you're my cheesy”

“exactly, officer Williams” she purrs kissing Ellie's cheek smiling ”with the uniform you sure will look beautiful.”

Ellie knew the dinner was the best of her life, with extra burgers and fries, a nursing degree with major on the table and the uniform in her truck. ¦¦

જ Officer Ellie Williams! Whose daily routine starts early, as she is an early riser and is the one who puts the coffee pot at home leaving his wife to sleep just a little longer, and starts her training in the designated room at home.

જ Officer Ellie Williams! That he has a hard time leaving his nurse wife at work in the morning, his arms around his beautiful wife's shoulders, almost with a pout on his lips, because it was legal to stop seeing his beautiful wife? It wasn't fair, but the job put food on their table, paid for services and kept them afloat, it was still illegal in his eyes.

¦¦ Ellie feels needy, he knew how to identify that feeling from the moment he woke up in the late morning and saw his wife come out of the bathroom, lavender towel over her body, covering soft, insinuating curves which lead towards restless fingers as she craves to kiss every inch of visible skin, but against his wishes he showered, dressed, ate breakfast and watched his wife put lunches together with that sweet voice humming a song he now has installed in his head.

She was a strong woman, both against the louts she was supposed to stop and against her own desires to leave her wife in bed.

Hence, with her uniform on, and her black punch bowl; a small dinosaur keychain hanging on the handles of it with several containers inside with her favorite foods and she had made the drinks in thermoses; hers was lilac and her wife's was army green. He loved his day to day life, the only thing he hated was being separated from his sweet, attractive wife, the woman of their lives and who could ask for his full paycheck and he would gladly give it to her if she would give him some of it. He wore the uniform, the belt on his hip with his gun holster and his arms around his wife, in the parking lot of the employee hospital and leaves butterfly kisses on her cheeks, her jaw, and a hundred, feeling the fabric of your nurse's uniform, tasting the warm skin and your fresh-scented, clean perfume. Hiding her face in the hollow of your neck, clinging to your body and feeling the softness of your body against her stiff, pressed uniform.

“honey” you tried, again convincing her to let go but you enjoy her slender, muscular arms wrapping around your shoulders, her face hidden in the hollow of your neck and shoulder, you almost hear her make disgruntled little noises and gently cradle her hips with your hands, she wears the belt of her uniform and you feel the holster of her gun against your side ‘I'll see you later my love, and I made you your favorite as your lunch’ you say, softly spoken, lovingly caressing her hips feeling her squeeze your shoulders.

“But I couldn't even eat you before, it's unfair you know and I have endless paperwork to do at the office, it's not my day babe” you grumble annoyed, paperwork days don't please your wife and you know it, you let out a giggle and feel her hand squeeze the side of your ribs gently ”Don't laugh, I'm in withdrawal from my wife, I'll die”

“You won't die Ellie, you're just being dramatic.”

“no, no, no my wife is my drug and I'm not on it, I'm dying”

Ellie hears his wife's laughter and how it reverberates against his ear, carrying validity inside his bones and relaxes his muscles.

It was not her day, but it was her life. ¦¦

જ Officer Ellie Williams! Who at her meal times, must keep Jesse from wanting to take away from her food and has to physically push him away from her lunch.

જ Officer Ellie Williams! She is lucky that her partner was Jesse, although she has complaints; of course she wouldn't tell HR, so she enjoyed her job.

¦¦ “Just a little bit Els!” exclaims Jesse trying to get closer to the food containers that Ellie keeps away from his hands and even feels the sole of his vita against his uniform “Hey Dina I washed that!”

“I wouldn't mess it up if you kept your sticky hands away from my food” warns Ellie pushing Jesse away from herself and eating with the kuromi cutlery that her wife gave her, and almost falls off the table when she pushed Jesse another and felt Jesse's tug on her leg ”That Dina's food doesn't fill you up?”

“Yes! But even Dina says your wife's food is tasty!” says Jesse trying to get closer to his best friend and fellow patrolman in the break room ”Give me some!”

“I'll rip you to pieces if you come near me sticky hands!”

“I'm not sticky hands!”

“Yes you are!"¦¦

જ Officer Ellie Williams! That her meals and break times are fun because of Jesse but she hates paperwork and that there are stupid men and women out there who think she's stupid, when she pushes them up against her patrol car when they get out of control it's a good payback.

જ Officer Ellie Williams! Who occasionally has to take some people to the hospital, and it's always where his wife works. Although she doesn't like to go if she's hurt, but in that chase she only took a dislocated shoulder but managed to catch the idiot and when she sees you down the halls, she almost wants to call you but you can't attend to her, you're Nurse Williams and she's not supposed to deal with people close to you. Bullshit. But she enjoys watching you work

✄— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

I don't know if this really does justice to the character of Ellie Williams and as an officer, damn it, I can't imagine her older and as an officer, in her uniform, well, my love for the character is stronger than that c:

Officer! Ellie williams X Nurse wife! reader moodboard

Ellie always coming into your hospital dropping off someone or something to a new case having to greet her beautiful wife! All the nurses jealous of you because i mean imagine her in that uniform omfg…you getting death stares when ellie brings you into a heated kiss and bidding her goodbyes. Ellie coming to see you on breaks and bringing you a lunch when working or not she does it cause she misses her sweet girl. You being the picture perfect couple, always working the same hours, understanding the exhaustion and both being their for one another. Her muscles. Those handcuffs def are used on you more than people think.

(ME NEXT)

[idkyetxoxo]

Daemon Targaryen - To Ruin or Reign

Summary - In a tense clash of vengeance and desire, she confronts Daemon, whom she blames for her cousin's death. As they struggle for power, the line between hate and attraction blurs, revealing dark truths and an undeniable connection.

Pairing - Daemon Targaryen x Royce reader

Warnings - Violence (threats)

Word count - 2415

Masterlist for Daemon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"You really ought to pay for your crimes," I whispered, my voice a deadly promise as I pressed the dagger harder against his throat. The sharp edge kissed his skin, just enough to remind him of how easily I could end him. 

My body was anchored over his, knees digging into his arms, holding him pinned beneath me.

Daemon's smirk never wavered, his dark eyes glittering with mischief despite the danger. 

"No crimes were committed," he said smoothly, but his expression told a different story as if daring me to prove him wrong.

"You murdered my cousin," I hissed, leaning closer until I could feel the heat of his breath on my face. 

The satisfaction of seeing a thin line of crimson bead on the tip of my blade sent a pulse of triumph through me.

"She fell off her house," he repeated, feigning innocence, though his eyes gleamed with something far more sinister.

I rolled my eyes, pushing the dagger just a hair deeper, drawing another drop of blood. 

The warmth of his blood against my fingers was intoxicating, a reminder of how thin the line was between life and death in this moment.

"You expect me to believe that?" I growled, lowering myself until my face was inches from his, knees pressing even harder into his arms.

He let out a small, exaggerated sigh. "I was quite saddened by it, truly. But," his voice dropped into something darker, "if it hadn't happened, we wouldn't be in such... a delightful position."

My stomach twisted at the heat in his gaze. I scoffed, disgusted at the thought that he could even think of something so base while teetering on the edge of death. 

"This position?" I asked mockingly, dragging the blade down his chest, leaving a neat, shallow cut in its wake. His muscles tensed under me as I brought the dagger back to his throat, daring him to keep talking.

His lips curved into a wider grin. "No," he whispered, voice thick with amusement. "This one."

Before I could react, his leg shot up, knocking me off balance. I barely had time to gasp as my back hit the cold ground with a thud. 

In an instant, Daemon was on top of me, his weight pinning me down, reversing our roles as he straddled my hips. 

My dagger, which had felt so powerful in my grip a moment ago, now hung loosely in my hand. With a deft movement, he snatched it away, holding it effortlessly at my throat.

"So pretty... so fiery," he murmured, his lips dangerously close to mine, his breath warm against my skin. His words sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. 

I squirmed beneath him, cursing myself for the traitorous heat rising in my cheeks.

"It's a shame, really," he continued, his voice soft, but laced with something darker. "You weren't offered to me instead. We could've had so much fun." 

His eyes flicked down to my lips, and for a moment, it felt as though time itself stilled.

I narrowed my eyes, refusing to give in to his games. "Rhea was a good woman," I spat, my voice venomous. "Better than you deserved."

Daemon's laugh was low and rich, rumbling from deep within his chest. 

"Perhaps. But that doesn't change the fact that you look far more intriguing," he countered smoothly, the edge of the blade tracing a slow, teasing line along my cheek. 

The cold metal was a stark contrast to the warmth that radiated from his body, pressed so intimately against mine.

I bit back a gasp as the blade's tip lingered under my chin, forcing my gaze up to meet his. His eyes were intense, flickering with something far too dangerous to name. 

It was maddening how he could toy with me like this, so close to death, and yet in complete control.

The tension between us crackled in the air, thick and suffocating, as if the line between hate and something else entirely was blurring with every passing second. 

Every fibre of my being screamed to resist him, but there was something undeniable in the way our bodies were entangled, something electric that neither of us could ignore.

"You may have me pinned," I whispered, my breath ragged, "but don't think for a second you've won."

His smile was wicked, his lips ghosting near mine. "Who says I want to win?" he purred, voice dripping with dark intent. "Maybe I just enjoy the fight."

Daemon's eyes flickered, that damned smirk playing at the corners of his lips as if he found my resistance amusing. 

The blade in his hand traced slow circles along my skin, daring me to challenge him, testing just how far I was willing to go.

"Maybe you like being on top," he mused, voice a dangerous purr, "but we both know you thrive on the fight. Admit it."

I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. 

My body ached beneath his weight, every nerve alert, and every muscle screaming to throw him off me, but he had me pinned too well. 

The heat of his breath ghosted over my lips, his proximity maddening.

He dipped his head closer, his voice dropping to a dark whisper, "It's intoxicating, isn't it? The way we burn when we fight."

His words sent a pulse of fury through me. My breath hitched, but I quickly masked it, glaring up at him with all the venom I could muster. "You don't know a damn thing about me."

Daemon's grin widened as if my anger only fueled him more. 

"Oh, but I do. You hate how much you enjoy this, don't you?" His tone dripped with arrogance, the tip of the dagger now lingering just beneath my collarbone, teasing the edge of my top.

I seized the moment, pushing up with every ounce of strength left in me. My hands shot up, grabbing at his wrists, using the element of surprise to roll us, our bodies a tangle of limbs as we struggled for dominance.

I ended up on top again, straddling his waist, my chest heaving with exertion. I snatched the dagger from his grip, pressing it against his throat as before. 

But this time, I leaned closer, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his chest beneath me. He was breathing hard, his smirk finally faltering.

"Who's in control now?" I whispered, my voice low and dangerous.

His lips parted slightly, a flash of something darker crossing his gaze, and for a moment, I thought I'd won.

But then his hands shot up, faster than I expected, gripping my wrists with bruising force. His eyes locked on mine, the intensity between us almost suffocating. 

With a sharp pull, he yanked me down, our faces inches apart, his breath hot against my lips.

"You think this means control?" he rasped, voice raw with challenge. "Control is in your head... and right now, you're losing it."

The air between us crackled, our bodies tangled in a game neither of us was willing to surrender. 

My pulse raced, not just from the physical exertion but from the maddening way his eyes held mine—dark, daring, pulling me into something I wasn't sure I could escape.

The dagger was still in my hand, pressed to his throat, but my grip faltered as the proximity of his lips, the heat of his body against mine, sent a traitorous thrill down my spine. 

Damn him. I wouldn't let him win. I couldn't.

But I hated how right he was. Control was slipping through my fingers, like sand I couldn't hold on to. 

The fury, the frustration—it was all blending with something more dangerous, something I didn't want to name.

"You want to know the truth?" Daemon's voice was a low rumble beneath me, his hands tightening on my wrists, keeping me anchored. "I could've killed your cousin. Easily. But I didn't."

I blinked, shock cutting through the haze of lust and fury. "Liar," I spat, pressing the dagger harder, just enough to make him flinch.

His lips twitched into that infuriating smirk again. "I didn't say I didn't want to. I said I didn't. Rhea's death was... unfortunate, but I don't take credit for it." 

His voice turned bitter, a shadow passing through his gaze.

I didn't know whether to believe him, but something in his tone gave me pause. I hated how much his words affected me. The uncertainty gnawed at my resolve.

"You expect me to just take your word for it?" I growled, frustration boiling over. "After everything you've done?"

His eyes darkened, the humour draining from his face.

"I've done a lot of things, and I'll pay for my sins. But not that one." He shifted beneath me, his body tense, and for the first time, I saw a crack in his perfect composure. 

"You think I'm the monster in this story, but you've barely scratched the surface."

I froze, my grip on the dagger loosening just a fraction, uncertainty creeping in. Was this just another one of his games? Another way to twist my emotions, to make me doubt everything?

He used that hesitation to his advantage, one swift movement and I was on my back again, the dagger flying out of my hand as he pinned me once more. 

But this time, there was no smirk, no teasing. His eyes were cold, hard, the playful façade gone.

"You're not the only one who's lost something," he said, voice tight with barely contained anger. "You think I enjoy this? You think I want to play these games with you? I'm doing what I have to do to survive."

I glared up at him, defiance blazing in my chest, even as my mind scrambled to understand the shift in his tone. "So, what? You're the victim now?"

His grip tightened on my wrists, and for a moment, I thought he might snap. But then his eyes softened, just a touch as if he were letting me glimpse something deeper beneath the surface.

"We're both victims," he whispered, leaning down until our noses nearly touched. "You just haven't figured that out yet."

The proximity of his lips, the weight of his body pressing into mine—it was maddening, and yet, in that moment, the line between hate and something darker blurred completely. 

My heart raced for reasons I refused to acknowledge, and every fibre of my being screamed at me to push him off, to fight him. But I couldn't. Not now.

Because for the first time, I saw the truth in his eyes.

It wasn't just a game anymore. And that terrified me.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Daemon released my wrists, his hands hovering above me as if he were daring me to make the next move.

"Go ahead," he murmured, his voice soft but dangerous. "Fight me. Or..." His gaze dropped to my lips, his voice thick with an emotion I couldn't name. "Kiss me."

The challenge in his eyes burned hotter than ever, and for the first time, I didn't know if I wanted to kill him or... something else entirely.

Breathing hard, I stared up at him, my mind a whirlwind of confusion, anger, and desire. 

I hated him. I hated everything he stood for.

But damn it, in this moment, I wasn't sure if I hated how much I wanted him even more.

His fingers brushed my jawline, barely a whisper of contact, but it sent a shiver through me that I couldn't suppress. 

He noticed. Of course, he did. His lips curved slightly, just enough to show he was still in control, despite the thin thread of tension holding us both on edge.

"I see it in your eyes," he murmured, his thumb tracing a slow line along my cheek like he was savouring every second of my reaction. "That fire, that fight..."

My breath hitched, every nerve screaming to push him away, but my body betrayed me. 

Instead of shoving him off, my hands gripped the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, as if the space between us was suffocating.

"I hate you," I growled through gritted teeth, my voice barely a whisper, but even to my own ears, it sounded hollow, a fragile protest against the tidal wave of emotions threatening to consume me.

His dark gaze never wavered, the intensity of it burning into me as if he could see every wall I'd tried to put up between us, every lie I'd told myself. 

"Then show me," he whispered, his voice a rough, dangerous challenge. "Hate me."

And before I could stop myself, my lips crashed into his, the force of the kiss fueled by every ounce of fury I had left. 

It was raw, a collision of teeth and lips, neither of us willing to give in, both fighting for control even in this.

Daemon responded in kind, his hands tangling in my hair as he deepened the kiss, rough and unyielding, as though he were trying to conquer me, and I, him. 

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet.

It was a battle, just like everything else between us—a war of tongues, a clash of wills.

I pushed against him, my hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, but he held firm, pressing me harder into the ground, his body radiating heat as our lips moved together in a fiery, relentless rhythm.

Every kiss felt like a fight, every touch a challenge, and yet beneath it all, the line between hate and desire blurred even further. 

It was maddening, consuming, and I hated that I craved more of it. More of him.

When we finally broke apart, gasping for breath, my chest heaving beneath him, Daemon's lips hovered just above mine, his smirk nowhere to be found this time. His voice, low and rough, brushed against my skin. 

"You may hate me now," he murmured, his fingers still gripping my hair, "but sooner or later, you'll realize—this is exactly what you've been wanting all along."

I glared up at him, my breath shaky, my heart racing in ways that scared me more than the blade ever could. 

"Don't flatter yourself," I bit back, but even I could hear the unsteadiness in my voice.

His smirk returned, but there was a glint of something darker in his eyes, something possessive. 

"I don't need to. You'll come to me," he whispered, his lips ghosting over mine once more, "whether you want to or not."

And with that, he pulled away, leaving me breathless and burning, my mind a chaotic swirl of anger and desire that I couldn't untangle. 

He was dangerous—more dangerous than I'd ever realized.

But the worst part?

I wasn't sure I could stop myself from wanting him anyway.

A/n - Enemies to lovers is just 🤌🏼will forever be my fav trope

[fruvittea]

what we didn’t say

💌﹒→﹒jay x reader (relationship au)﹒ ﹒ ♪

— genre: angst, slice of life

— word count: 1.3k

— warnings? arguing

The apartment felt colder than it should have, the winter chill seeping through the cracks despite the heat running on high. It wasn’t just the temperature, though—it was the weight in the air, heavy with words left unsaid and emotions neither of you dared to confront.

Jay sat at the dining table, his posture tense, one hand curled into a fist against the surface while the other rubbed at his temple. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, trying to hold yourself together. The silence stretched endlessly, punctuated only by the distant hum of the heater.

“Are we just going to ignore it?” he asked finally, his voice low but tight, like he was holding back a flood.

You bit your lip, your heart twisting. “Ignore what?”

Jay let out a sharp breath, looking at you like you’d just thrown gasoline on a simmering fire. “This,” he said, gesturing between the two of you. “The fact that we barely even talk anymore. The fact that everything feels so… off.”

You flinched at his words, not because they weren’t true, but because you didn’t know how to respond. How could you explain the gnawing ache in your chest, the constant fear that you were failing him?

“I didn’t think I needed to spell it out,” you said quietly, your tone defensive despite yourself.

“That’s the problem,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “You never spell it out. I feel like I’m always guessing with you, trying to figure out what you’re feeling, what you’re thinking. It’s exhausting.”

Your heart dropped, a sharp pang of guilt cutting through you. But instead of apologizing, instead of admitting how scared you were of burdening him, your defenses kicked in.

“Maybe if you weren’t so busy all the time, you’d know how I’m feeling,” you shot back, regretting the words the moment they left your mouth.

Jay’s expression faltered, hurt flashing across his face before he quickly masked it with anger. “That’s not fair,” he said, his voice low but trembling. “You know I’m doing all of this for us.”

“Are you?” you challenged, your voice breaking despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “Because it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like you’re always somewhere else, like I’m just… here, waiting for you to remember me.”

The crack in your voice sent a pang through Jay’s chest, but instead of softening, he felt frustration boil over. He hated how you always seemed to misinterpret his actions, how he couldn’t find the words to make you understand.

“I’m trying,” he said, his voice louder now, the frustration spilling out. “Do you think I want to be away from you? Do you think it doesn’t kill me when I see how unhappy you are?”

“Then say that,” you yelled, your tears threatening to spill. “Stop expecting me to just know what you’re thinking! Stop leaving me in the dark!”

“I could say the same to you!” he shouted back, his voice cracking. “You act like I’m supposed to read your mind, like I’m supposed to know exactly what you need without you ever telling me!”

The room fell silent, the echoes of your argument bouncing off the walls. You both stood there, breathing heavily, the weight of your words settling over you like a heavy blanket.

Inside, Jay’s thoughts were spiraling.

He hated this—hated the way his words came out wrong, hated the way you looked at him like he was a stranger. All he ever wanted was to make you feel loved, to give you everything you deserved. But somewhere along the way, he’d lost sight of how to show it.

Why couldn’t he just say it? Why couldn’t he admit that he felt like he was failing you, like nothing he did was ever enough?

On the other side of the room, you were lost in your own storm of emotions.

You didn’t want to fight. You never did. But every time you tried to express yourself, the words got tangled, and your fear of being misunderstood turned into anger instead. You wanted to tell Jay how much you loved him, how much you missed the version of you two that felt effortless.

But how could you, when you weren’t even sure he felt the same anymore?

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Jay said finally, his voice softer now, but heavy with emotion. “But I feel like that’s all I do lately.”

The vulnerability in his tone cracked something in you, but instead of reaching for him, you held yourself tighter. “I don’t think it’s just you,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I feel like I’m the problem too. Like… maybe I’m too much, or not enough, or—”

“Stop,” he interrupted, his eyes wide with something between shock and pain. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.”

“Why not?” you said, your voice breaking. “It’s how I feel, Jay. And I don’t know how to stop feeling it.”

Jay clenched his fists, his throat tightening as he tried to find the right words. But every time he opened his mouth, they slipped away, replaced by the overwhelming weight of his own inadequacy.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Neither do I,” you said, tears spilling over now.

The silence that followed was deafening, filled only with the sound of your quiet sobs and Jay’s uneven breathing.

Eventually, Jay stepped back, his movements hesitant, like he was afraid of breaking something fragile. “Maybe we need time,” he said, his voice strained. “Time to figure out what we really want, what we’re doing to each other.”

You froze, his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “You’re saying we should… break up?”

“I’m saying I don’t know what else to do,” he said, his voice breaking. “I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

The pain in his eyes mirrored your own, and for the first time, you realized just how much this was killing him too.

“Jay…”

“I love you,” he said, cutting you off. “I need you to know that. No matter what happens.”

You swallowed hard, your heart shattering as you nodded. “I love you too,” you said, your voice barely audible.

But sometimes, love wasn’t enough to hold two broken pieces together.

When Jay finally left, the silence in the apartment was unbearable. You sank onto the couch, wrapping your arms around yourself as the weight of the breakup settled over you.

Somewhere, deep down, you knew this wasn’t the end. But for now, all you could do was sit with the pain and hope that one day, you’d both learn how to say the things you couldn’t.

And maybe then, you’d find your way back to each other.

✴︎🪷𓈒͏ུུ̑̑. ཉ — by @fruvittea

[kkayyerr]

Struggling and cuddling.

Summary: Rafe and JJ trying to tolerate each other for the little!reader‘s sake, until one evening JJ suddenly regress for the first time in front of his „enemy”.

Pairing: Daddy!Rafe x little!reader x little!JJ.

Warnings: Age regression, slight swearing.

Rafe was used to JJ always being cranky, especially after the fights with his father. No matter how much they despised each other, they had to cooperate because you seemed to love them both equally. They got used to each other’s behaviors, not enjoying the company of one another, but at least learning to be more calm while spending time together. However, JJ’s mood today was hard to tolerate. He was going off on you, being extremely rude to Rafe, cursing him off right in front of you, which he usually would never do. Rafe wasn’t scared of fighting JJ; it wouldn’t be the first time that he would deal with the Pogue. However, his feelings about the whole situation were odd. Something was wrong with the boy, but Rafe just couldn’t find out what. 

Rafe approached you while you were sitting on the carpet, coloring pictures with your favorite crayons. He hated the thoughts of you being present in the serious and stressful conversation, so he crouched down in front of you, giving you a head pat to get your attention. 

 

„Baby, can you please go and play in our bedroom for a little while?”

 

You looked at him confused. He usually would tell you that when you had misbehaved. Why would he ask you that when you didn’t do anything wrong? 

 

„Why?”

 

Rafe sighed. He didn’t know how to exactly explain this. He obviously didn’t want your precious little mind to be filled with adult problems, so he knew that he had to just make something up quickly.

 

„Me and JJ want to make a little surprise for you, okay?”

 

Your demeanor quickly changed to a happy one, and you quickly got up from the floor, taking all the crayons and coloring books with you to the room. Rafe gave you a soft smile that quickly disappeared when you had closed the door behind you. 

He turned around and approached JJ, trying to control his temper, even though he was very intimidated right now. 

 

„What the fuck is wrong with you?”

 

The words sounded more curious than angry. Rafe actually wanted to know what was happening. Not because he cared about JJ, of course not. He just wanted to make sure that his personal problems wouldn’t affect you. 

JJ didn’t answer. He didn’t seem angry or pissed like earlier; his face expression was numb. It looks like he was struggling to understand his own emotions, and Rafe knew exactly how it feels, even though he wasn’t planning on admitting it. 

 

„Can you at least try to communicate like an adult?”

 

Rafe’s tone was a bit snarky, but deep down he was starting to get worried, not knowing why exactly he even cared. JJ didn’t answer this time either. Rafe was starting to feel a little bit frustrated when he saw a familiar scene. JJ was standing there, sucking on his thumb just as you used to do whenever you would regress. Rafe’s eyes widened for a moment, but then he relaxed, knowing that at least he knew what he was dealing with right now. 

He carefully put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and sighed with relief when he didn’t push it away. 

JJ felt a strange wave of comfort washing over him as Rafe’s hand touched his shoulder. Surprisingly, his touch was soft and gentle. JJ wouldn’t admit that, but it was exactly what he needed in the moment. 

 

“You can go home if you want. I’ll tell her something.”

 

Rafe didn’t have time for another sentence. JJ quickly turned around and hugged him, probably seeking comfort from at least someone. Rafe’s eyes widened; it was not what he was expecting at all. Though he didn’t push him away. He just awkwardly petted his back, not knowing how to react. 

 

„Alright, dude. I get it, you’re a little bit clingy right now, yeah?”

 

He wasn’t planning on teasing him, but he just couldn’t hold himself back right now. Who could’ve thought that he would have two pogues who trusted him enough to regress in front of him? 

JJ pulled away, looking a bit embarrassed by his behavior that he couldn’t control. He was way too hungry for affection right now to think about their previous fights. 

 

„Can you use your big boy words and tell me what do you need?”

 

JJ shyly pointed his finger at Rafe, trying to explain his needs non-verbally. Rafe understood perfectly what he had meant, but he wanted him to do as he was told at least once. 

He raised his brows, hinting that JJ might want to actually use his vocals, if he wanted to get something.

 

„You."

 

Rafe felt weird pleasure hearing those words. It was almost funny how easy it was to make you two fall for him, even though he wasn’t planning on using it against you, at least not yet. 

He chuckled a little bit, getting closer to JJ just to ruffle his hair. The boy’s face finally brightened up. 

 

„I’ll be sure to remind you of that moment every time you  behave like an arrogant asshole.”

 

JJ pouted, and Rafe pinched his cheeks just to make him smile again. Both of them were interrupted by the sounds of your little footsteps. They immediately turned they had in your direction, both smiling softly at the sight of your confused face expression.

 

„Daddies, what happen’?”

 

Your question was almost funny, and Rafe tried his best to hide his little smirk but eventually failed. He looked at the JJ once more, admiring his blushed cheeks. 

 

„It seems like we actually have a surprise for you, little one.”

Taglist: @tinylilacbun @rafecameronsloverrrrr @aew-regression-cove

[h3k3t]

Ok it's neither romantic nor spicy, but in my opinion it's worth listening to, okay?

Geta has anger issues, Caracalla also has the disease...they need a support sister and we need an angst scenario. (just to be clear again, it's PLATONIC, okay? Okay)

tw: caracalla and his madness, toxic way of showing affection towards family

Geta:

We all know that even though Geta shows off his coolness and chillness, he has a fragile psyche like Caracalla, you see it when he throws wine in his brother's face, or when he yells at Acacius, or the terror he feels when he sees Rome in revolt.

So I imagine him going to his sister, the only bastion of light in that darkness, in that chaos; You are in your rooms when you hear Geta shouting your name, then suddenly enters in the throes of a nervous breakdown. Dropping whatever you were doing, you advance towards him but not before miraculously dodging the crown that the young emperor threw after putting his hands in his ginger hair.

In the room only his angry voice could be heard, the servants had all disappeared while he was spewing out words about how he could not handle Caracalla, the senate and "And the people...they're ungrateful and demanding. It's like they expect me to fix everything for them without lifting a finger."

Of course it was always the people and not him you thought sarcastically, knowing the story very well by heart, but now it didn't matter, as much as you hated your brother's cruelty, you had always felt pity for him and Caracalla. And you simply sat on the bed, calling him in a calm voice to you, like a mother would do.

In an instant the emperor whom everyone feared was on his knees, clutching the fabric of your stole with possessive force, his face pressed against your thighs; a caress in your hair was enough to feel a shaky sigh and then a sniff, while Geta bit his tongue bloody so as not to cry in front of his dear sister, the only thing he truly cared about...

"Geta..." you tried to say, but he interrupted you. "No, don't talk, stay here, with me..." He didn't want to make a fuss, he needed silence and to feel your warmth, your closeness.

"...if I lost you too, sister..." he said taking your hand and kissing the back of it, hiding it under his face "...I would burn every inch of Rome and myself with it". Atrocious words, enough to make anyone shudder, yet in that sea of putrid hatred, there was something corrupt that in its own way was love... a desperate redemption, too late.

"Never abandon me, never leave my side..." he said after raising his head towards you, black makeup running under his lower eyelids "Swear to me" and with your heart torn between the guilt of a lie and a loving smile you said: "On my life, dear brother".

Caracalla:

It had all happened so quickly, a fight between two brothers and then Geta threw the wine in Caracalla's face, bitterly regretting it soon after. You ran after your brother, before Macrinus could catch up. The man was a complete stranger, an unnecessary addition to your pile of problems, he had no interest in the empire, just stick your three heads on a pike.

"Caracalla..." Your voice echoed through the room that seemed desolate, until you heard the high-pitched verses of the monkey Dondus. You sighed tiredly, mentally exhausted, your mind took a leap back in time, when life was easier and illness had not taken Caracalla away; The nurses had taught you a nursery rhyme, and you two always sang it when one of you lost his way...

"Five little ducks went out one day..." you hummed, but Caracalla didn't answer, however you saw the little monkey scurry away from under the table, you knew he was under there "...Over the hill and far away..."

You slowly approached the table, but still no response, until a shaky voice said, "Mother duck said, 'Quack, quack, quack, quack'..." and a small smile appeared on your face, before you crouched down and found your brother lying on his side under the table.

His blue eyes were filled with tears, his face looked like that of a lost child and not that of a young man in command, your heart tightened, and the anger for a moment was replaced with so much sadness.

"...But only four little ducks came back" you finished the song looking at him with eyes full of compassion, kneeling on the floor. "My sweet brother...come out, do you recognize me, yes?"

There was another moment of silence broken by a sob from Caracalla who crawled towards you, and curling up again towards your lap burst into tears again like a child.

Your heart tightened with anger and sadness, you hated him; you blamed him because he had always been weak, even before his illness, he spent his days with whores and various luxury, while the blood of conquered peoples stained the soldiers' blades, leaving only sand and ashes on barren lands to govern; You hated him because it was his and Geta's job to protect you, and instead it was you who picked up their pieces every time, or you could barely keep them away from vultures like Macrinus. You were tired, it wasn't fair, you hadn't done anything wrong, and yet...and yet, your mother had shaped you between blood and empathy, and even though you hated those two, you couldn't stop loving them.

"I'm gonna kill him" you woke up from your thoughts when you felt Caracalla tightening your clothes and gnashing his teeth "He thinks I'm weak, he wants to take everything away from me...even you, isn't that right?"

"What?" you asked, but before you could react, you found yourself lying on the ground, your brother's hands on your neck, an iron grip. "Caracal--!" you gasped, your nails digging into the pale flesh of his arms.

"I see you, you know? I see you hidden in the shadows, with those ears always ready to eavesdrop... do you think I can't hear you at night, walking aimlessly who knows where" Caracalla continued to accuse you, barking out his repressed anger from his lungs. It was the disease talking, but he still kept his sharp tongue "You went to his chambers, aren't you? To Geta! You're going to be a co-conspirator, you want to kill me, aren't you?! Traitors!"

"Caracalla--!" you shouted, giving him a desperate slap to the arm, which destabilized him for a moment "Break the spell!" that was the phrase that you and Geta used to bring him back to his senses "I'm your sister and I love you.. please, don't go where I can't reach you" you said bursting into tears scared and exhausted...exhausted of all this, exhausted of fighting.

Caracalla seemed to come to his senses and, opening his blue eyes wide, looked at his trembling palms, the same hands that were suffocating his sister... he had hurt his sister. "Sister...?" he fell to his knees in defeat "N-no, no no no! Forgive me...I'm sorry I'm sorry... I'm so sorry" he said before your arms wrapped around him in an almost suffocating embrace.

"I'm here..." you replied in a tired tone "Breathe, follow my heart, everything will be okay, brother..."

There was no lie in the world more cruel than this...

[isak-dot-gov]

Communication

Pairing: Rhea Ripley x Reader

Word count: 1281

My Masterlist :)

..................................................................................

The argument started over something trivial, something that shouldn’t have been as big as it now was, but with the pent-up tension between you and Rhea, it quickly escalated. You’d always been reserved, used to handling things alone, bottling up emotions because that’s what you’d known. Growing up, you’d always been the odd one out—the youngest by a lot, with siblings much older who never quite understood you or took the time to try. So you learned early on to keep things to yourself, never expecting others to help, never even thinking about opening up. But Rhea was different, and that difference was what you loved and what scared you the most.

As her voice grew louder, frustration clear in her eyes, you tried to hold back, to keep calm and prevent things from going any further. But your deflection only made it worse.

“Why won’t you just talk to me?” Rhea demanded, her hands clenched into fists. “I tell you everything about myself. You know all my issues, my history, the things that haunt me. I’ve trusted you with it all. But you… I feel like I know nothing about what’s going on with you.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Rhea.” You mumbled, hugging your arms to your chest. You looked down, feeling like a child again, misunderstood, alone, just waiting for the conversation to be over.

She sighed heavily. “I want you to open up, to let me in. I hate feeling like I’m the only one who’s here. This relationship is supposed to go both ways, you know? But every time I try to be there for you, it’s like… it’s like I hit a wall.”

You could see the pain in her eyes, but you didn’t know what to do. The words were trapped inside you. Rhea was right; you hadn’t opened up about your struggles or your past because, for you, that was just how you lived. It felt as though the world was only safe if you kept certain parts of yourself locked up.

“Look, I don’t need you to fix everything, but I need you to trust me enough to tell me what’s going on with you. I want to be someone you can lean on, not just… some girl you agree with until I stop asking.”

You swallowed, feeling a rush of guilt. That was exactly what you’d been doing. It wasn’t that you didn’t care—far from it. Rhea was the most important person in your life, someone who you wanted desperately to hold on to. But letting her in, truly letting her in, was so foreign, so terrifying.

“Yeah, okay, fine.” The words came out sharper than you intended. “You’re right.”

Her expression fell, replaced by a look of dismay and hurt. “Are you serious right now? You’re just… saying that because you want to end the conversation.”

You had no reply. It was true; agreeing with her was easier than actually engaging with the uncomfortable emotions stirring inside. The silence between you stretched, tense and heavy, until Rhea finally threw up her hands, her voice thick with disappointment.

“You know what? I’m done with this for now. I need space. I can’t… I can’t do this if you don’t want to let me in.”

She grabbed her jacket, her keys, and with one last, lingering look, she left, leaving you alone in the dim quiet of the room.

As the door closed, you felt that familiar pang of loneliness, a pain you knew too well. But this time, it was sharper, different. This was Rhea—someone who *wanted* to know you, who’d reached out to you over and over, only to be shut down. It hurt, knowing you’d made her feel like she didn’t matter to you, when the truth was the exact opposite. Rhea mattered more than anything. And now, she’d walked out because you couldn’t give her that vulnerability, couldn’t open up the way she needed.

You sat in the quiet, trying to ignore the ache in your chest, but it wouldn’t go away. It gnawed at you, until finally, you grabbed your phone. Your fingers hovered over the screen, unsure of what to say, but eventually, you managed to type: Can we talk? When you’re ready. I’ll try to explain. I don’t want to lose you.

The hours ticked by painfully slowly until, finally, a message pinged back: Okay. I’ll be back tonight. Just be honest with me, baby, please.

When Rhea walked back in, her eyes were rimmed with red, her expression softer but guarded. She sat down next to you on the couch, and the silence stretched on as you both grappled for the right words.

Finally, you took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I know I haven’t been fair to you. You deserve someone who… who can open up, who can talk about things.” You paused, unsure how to continue. “Growing up, I was the youngest by a lot. My siblings were so much older than me, and I was just… the kid in the background. It was like no one ever cared what I was going through, you know? They had their own lives, their own problems, and I was just… there.”

Rhea’s gaze softened as you spoke, listening intently, hanging on every word. You could tell that this was what she had wanted—an opening, a chance to understand you better.

“So, I guess… I got used to it,” you continued, your voice barely a whisper. “To not sharing, to not expecting people to care. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. But somewhere along the way, I stopped asking for help because I didn’t think anyone would really want to listen. I thought keeping things to myself was just… easier.”

Rhea reached over, taking your hand gently in hers, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. “But you’re not alone now,” she said, her voice full of warmth and a quiet strength that made your heart ache. “I’m here, and I want to be here for you. You don’t have to be that lonely kid anymore. But I need you to trust me, darling.”

You nodded, feeling a lump in your throat as the weight of her words settled over you. “I know. I want to try for you. I just… I don’t always know how to talk about what’s going on inside my head. It’s like there’s this barrier, and I don’t know how to break it.”

“Then let me help,” Rhea whispered, leaning closer, her hand tightening around yours. “I’m not asking you to change overnight, but I want you to try. Just… a little bit at a time. Let me be here for you, even if it’s messy or awkward. Let me in, and we’ll figure it out together.”

You looked up, meeting her gaze, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice cracking slightly. “For being so patient. I know I haven’t made it easy.”

Rhea shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Hey, you’re worth it. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe in us. Just… promise me that next time, instead of shutting down, you’ll at least try to tell me what’s going on.”

You nodded, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of loneliness that had shadowed you began to lift, replaced by something warmer, something new. And in that moment, with Rhea’s hand in yours, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you could learn to open up, one small step at a time. Because for her—for both of you—this love was worth the effort.

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[peachyscenes]

nine to five | office workers!enhypen x fem!reader

notes: SMUT!! so mdni and proceed with caution/at your own risk! porn with some plot. you 🫵, my dear reader are in fact the same person for the rest of this piece/mini-series (not sorry lol). enhypen are pervs! like freaky pervs! decelis corp is lowkey highkey a sex service company lol. you must really need this job but it's ok because same. not required, but i encourage you all to read part one to give it love 🫶🫶

a/n: i apologize for how short this might be, i've been busy with school and work, but i really wanted to get this part out. i'm happy with how it turned out, but if anyone has any suggestions, don't hesitate to reach out to me. happy first of the month!!

taglist!: @vixialuvs @chubbypeach2111 @jungwoosbaey

reblogs are appreciated!!

Welcome to Decelis Corporation! As the new member of the creative department, you're tasked with developing new ideas to help promote the company and bring in new investors! Though the creative department is not as big as the other departments, you and your seven teammates are just as capable and incredibly skilled! Though, no one told you just how skilled they were... And unfortunately you made the mistake of not reading the fine print when signing the contract...

All members are welcome to explore the services provided by Decelis! By signing this contract, you are consenting to every and all services at your own expense (refer to the employee handbook for the list of services)! Please note that services outside of office hours will not count as overtime unless a request has been submitted by the team leader!

Thank you for joining Decelis Corporation! We hope to have you for a while!

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII

Part II: Jay, Administrative Assistant

You're on your way to your lunch break when Jay calls you to his desk. Sunoo, who's ready to clock out with you for the hour, looks just as confused as you are. Not because this isn't the first time that you've been called to Jay's desk, but because he always sends someone else to have you at his desk.

"Your report is terrible."

You grimaced at his tone, your shoulders coming up to your ears at how blatantly annoyed he is at you.

It's no secret that Jay does not like you.

You have no idea why. You try not to bother anyone at the office, going to Heeseung for any and all questions. You also meet your deadlines, even going as far as submitting them early. As for your reports, they're almost always viewed by Heeseung before showing the higher-ups.

But Heeseung is out for the week, meaning that Jay was stepping in for him.

"I'll review it after my break, Jay-"

"Jongseong."

"Right, sorry."

You internally cringe at forgetting the most important thing. He absolutely hates when you call him Jay. He made sure to tell you on your first meeting.

You were excited about working at Decelis. After multiple applications and what felt like hundreds of interviews with no results, you finally got a call back, and after a quick 10 minute interview, you were hired on the spot. You had came into the office the following day, dressed to impress and ready to take on anything that came your way.

You didn't expect to quite literally crash into him. His coffee had spilled all over his clothes and the files he was holding.

Jongseong had never been so pissed and while you were busy apologizing profusely, he made sure to tell you exactly what was up.

"If you want to keep your job, I suggest you take your head out of the clouds."

"I really am sorry... I'll pay for your dry cleaning," you look at his I.D. card. "Jay-"

"It's Jongseong to you."

Heeseung had to step in, apologizing to you on his colleague's behalf before immediately taking you away from the man.

You take back your report from his desk, avoiding eye contact as you hurriedly make your way back to Sunoo. He offers you a small awkward smile. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes tell you that he wants to know what happened.

"I just don't get it Sunny. I don't really bother him, y'know?"

You pick at your food, appetite lost after your interaction with Jay. Sunoo can only offer you a squeeze of his hand for comfort.

"I wish I could help you, but he kind of scares me when he's mad." You let out a huff, already dreading to go back to the office. And right you were. You expected Jay to be snappy with you, but you didn't expect him to be harsher than usual.

"I need that report by 5pm today."

"Can you please work more silently?"

"Stop congregating and get back to your desk."

"It's still terrible, revise it again."

Over and over, Jay would bark at you. Whether it's about your report or because you got up to fill your water bottle, he was on you. Your last straw was when you had tripped over his foot. Jake had given you some documents to scan in the printing room. Jay saw you when you were making your way, you didn't pay any mind to it until it happened. You scuffed a bit of his dress shoe, but it could be easily cleaned. Apparently, Jay didn't think so.

"You're such a klutz. You should watch where you're going-"

"You stuck your foot out on purpose." You cut him off. You've had it with him. "You saw me coming and stuck your foot out. If you wanted to pick a fight or get at me for the tiniest shit, then at least admit it instead of doing petty shit like this."

"Watch your tone. I didn't-"

"Stop with your bullshit Jay." You raised your voice at him. "I can't wait until Heeseung comes back." You angrily stomp out of the office to the printing room. As you were scanning through the sheets. You hear the door open. You expected it to be anyone else. You didn't expect Jay to follow you into the printing room.

"You've got some nerve talking to me like that in front of everyone."

You roll your eyes at him and return your attention back to the scanner. You're about to insert another sheet when he harshly takes the stack from your hands.

"What the hell is your problem-!"

What you also didn't expect, was for Jay to kiss you. His grip on your hips was harsh, likely enough to leave a bruise, but the juxtaposition between that and his lips made you dizzy. They were soft, tender on your own. You felt your breath being taken. He kisses you as if he needs you. His pace is slow enough for you to keep up. He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth and nibbles on it.

Jay kisses you differently than Heeseung, and admittedly you like kissing Jay more between the two.

He pulls away after what feels like forever. You finally catch your breath. It's shaky, and your hands have a tight grip on his dress shirt. Your lips are swollen, but you feel good. There's a buzz throughout your body, and Jay is there to soothe you as his hands massage your hips.

"You're such a brat, Baby. I know what you and Heeseung did."

Your breath hitches. You try to get away from Jay to avoid the embarrassment but he keeps you in place, between him and the scanner. He smirks down at you before leaning in.

"I don't appreciate your behavior from earlier. How about I teach you a lesson on respect, hm?"

Jay spins you around and starts to grope your ass. You moan lowly, liking the way he handles you body.

"Heeseung said you were a good girl, but you're so bad with me. Why is that?" His hands begin to ghost over the hem of your pencil skirt, groping your outer thighs. "I'm harsh on you because I want you to do better. You're always slacking off Sweetheart."

"Sometimes you're too mean..." you close your eyes, his hands are so warm. You find yourself relaxing and giving into his touches. "You tripped me on purpose earlier-!" You gasp when he smacks your ass. Your skirt stood between his hand and your skin, but you felt it. Your ass burns at his hit, and it's in that moment that you realize just how strong Jay is. You've seen him move things around the office on his own, and you grow wet thinking of how he'd maneuver you.

"I wanted to see if you'd pay attention. Now stay still and take your punishment like a good girl."

He lifts your skirt up and bunches it up around your waist. His hands skim over your pantyhose clad legs and ass and pulls at the material.

"These fucking tights. They make your legs look so sexy baby, but they're kinda in the way right now." You hear a rip, and gasp when his fingers trace your pussy lips from outside your panties. "So wet, do I make you this wet?"

You meekly nod, hissing out when he moves your panties to the side and immediately inserts two fingers into your sopping cunt. You grip onto the edge of the scanner, ignoring its little melody that signals to you that it's done scanning the document. Jay's fingers are thick, while not as long as Heeseung's, they fill your pussy up good. You mewl out when you feel his thumb tease your other hole. You feel a glob of spit land before he takes it and uses it as lube, teasing the tight ring of your ass before pushing it in. You tense up at the intrusion, but Jay shushes you and places a hand on your back to calm you. He pushes his fingers inside of your two holes in and out, double stimulating you.

"Jongseong! Fuck, your fingers feel so good." You feel yourself begin to move your hips in tune with his fingers, helping him reach deeper into you.

Your moans grow higher in pitch, not caring about where you are right now. Besides, you took the time to finally read the employee handbook after your encounter with Heeseung.

"F-faster Jongseong! Please! Wanna come!"

"You wanna come on my fingers baby? But I thought you said you couldn't wait until Heeseung got here." He fakes a pout as he rests his head on your shoulder.

"N-no! You! Want you to make me come." You throw your head back onto his own shoulder, tongue almost out from how good his fingers were.

"Who's better at filling up your cunt, me or Heeseung?"

You let out a whine, too embarrassed to answer because both men make you feel so good. Jay sees your hesitation as your mushed brain tries to come up with an answer. His free hand rounds your body to push past the band on your pantyhose and underwear, reaching your clit and pinching it harshly. You let out a cry at his ministrations.

"Answer me Baby. Or... is it something else?"

You nod, hoping he'd understand you, but Jay once again pinched your clit hard.

"Words, Sweetheart. Use your big girl words."

You grip his forearm, before finally breaking. Tears run down your face, you're not sure if it's from pleasure or embarrassment.

"B-both! You both fill up my pussy so good!" You turn your head towards Jay, and your eyes widen at how predatory he looks. He smirks at you, before moving is fingers at a faster pace. You moan out, head hanging as you feel the buildup of your orgasm.

"Gonna come! I'm gonna come Jongseong!"

And before you could, he stops his fingers and removes them from your holes, ripping you away from your orgasm. You let out a whine.

"No! I was gonna come!"

Instead, Jongseong gently pulls your skirt down back into place, turning you around to face him before placing a kiss on your forehead.

"Brats don't get to come until they apologize."

You stare at him, dumbfounded. He simply winks at you as he turns to leave, throwing a message behind him as he walks toward the door.

"I like when you call me Jongseong, especially when you're moaning."

You look away, feeling too shy to look at him. And just as he's about to leave, he leaves you with a final message.

"I'll be sure to inform Heeseung of your little... confession." You look up, confused by his words, when you see it. On his phone, a voice recording of everything that went down.

You feel yourself getting wet at the implications of Jongseong's words.

[bbrattywise]

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 uncut footage: my personal diary documenting my life with the loa

01 dec 2024: cw: general negativity, talk of being demotivation (& potential eating problems stuff)

lately, i’ve been struggling in terms with persistence & balancing my 3D. Idk how to explain it but it feels like i lost my “flow” with the imagination?? 2 weeks prior, it felt like i lived sm freely in the imagination, unphased with the 3D & finding it sm funner to live & affirm from end.

But life really has hit me with a brick lately. From uni applications to tests after tests to just feeling hopeless, i feel like i’ve lost my power in the imagination almost?? Like it feels like almost a chore, hard work even to be present in my imagination when i know that sm things is happening at once & i simply cannot ignore the 3D circumstances.

I’ve been eating sm junk & processed food, been on meds, not excercising as regularly & its js makes me feel like shit. Home environment has been tough aswell so it js feels so annoying whenever i affirm in my head “i am in my dr” and not feel like the 3D is gonna change. Ik ik, its the imagination prior but sometimes i just need my external environment changing just as much as my internal environment.

Sometimes i feel like something is “wrong with me” in terms of persiting & manifesting. It feels like everyone else is finding it easy to persist in the imagination & be unphased by 3D circumstances, but for some reason i find myself “coming back to the old story” again and again and i just want to break that loop. I dont want manifestation or shifting to feel like a chore, i just want it to feel like something i can effortlessly do. I’ve been beating myself up for finding myself thinking about 3D circumstances when i already have it in my inagination; it just makes me feel so overstimulated, so confused, so anxious of the “what ifs” & so frustrated.

I hate seeking validation from the 3D. It feels like going back to square one all over again. I remember manifesting that i smelt like cocoa butter & it showed up in my 3D. The second it did, i started getting overly anxious of the “what ifs” & i hate that i felt that way & wanted to go back to the imagination so badly. Stress free. Only me getting to control it.

Also i catch myself affirming to get in the 3D which leads me to constantly check the 3D, feeling like an “imposter” whenever i read shifting storytimes & feeling so lost. I’ve been on this journey for nearly 4yrs now and i’ve been experiencing sm slumps, rocky roads, etc that i dont even blame myself for questioning my abilities even though i know for sure shifting is real.

EPILOGUE: Now that i’ve let this all out imma start imaginating to feel better in my head. No expectations. No “what ifs. Just knowing no matter what, my imagination is the only validation i need & inevitably shapes the world around me. My imagination is present and my 3D is the result of past assumptions. Im never blund to a paticular mindset (e.g. feeling like i will always fall back into the “i cant manifest” pit). I will make a list of beliefs i want to change & affirm against them. I will have fun & be content in my imagination 💗

[trueangel420]

Purging ㅤ♡

mentions of religion—pre existing relationship, kit walker x reader, !! you are his nurse and a nun so yay ㅤ♡ (updated cus i posted the wrong version LOLL)

You had been working at Briarcliff for years. It wasn't so much a choice as a necessity—you had nowhere else to go, and they happened to be hiring. Over time, you became familiar with Kit Walker. Close enough, in fact, to know he was a good man—a damn good man. Yet, Sister Jude seemed determined to break him. She made it her mission to turn his life into a living hell, relishing every opportunity to punish him. Perhaps she believed it would cleanse her of her own sins. But some people, Kit included, could see straight through her self-righteous facade.

It was another day of Kit saying his Hail Marys. Whatever he had done this time had pushed Sister Jude to the edge, and she had him confined to that room for what felt like an eternity. Days passed, and Kit seemed fine—on the surface. He moved through the lounge with a quiet grace, talking with Grace and the others, his steps steady and composed. But you couldn't help noticing something was missing. The light in his eyes wasn't the same, and his smiles felt more like shadows of what they used to be.

You found yourself frowning when you saw him with Grace, though you couldn't explain why. It wasn't jealousy, not exactly. Something about him seemed off, like he was carrying a weight no one else could see. Every time you walked by, his gaze would lock onto you, his eyes following you as if drawn by some unseen force. He tensed up whenever you caught him staring, quickly looking away, but the tension lingered. Kit didn't know how to explain it—what he felt, or why it was happening. But it consumed him. Around you, his chest felt tight, his breath shallow, and his cheeks flushed in a way he'd never experienced before. He hated how his thoughts betrayed him. When he cooked with Grace, he imagined it was you beside him instead. Every little thing reminded him of you, leaving him restless and overwhelmed.

Not even the crack of Sister Jude's cane against his bare skin during punishments could drag his mind away. Each strike was supposed to cleanse him, to focus him on repentance, but it only left him more haunted by the thought of you. 

You began to notice the way Kit avoided you. When you brought him food or greeted him, he'd shift away as if you carried some kind of sickness. It stung, and no matter how much you tried to rationalize it, you couldn't understand what you'd done wrong.

Eventually, the frustration became too much. Without giving it a second thought, you marched to his room, barely taking a moment to prepare yourself before pushing the door open.

He didn't look startled. In fact, he looked like he'd been expecting this, his eyes slightly glazed as he watched you shuffle inside. "Kit?" you began, your voice shaky with a mixture of anger and hurt. "You're avoiding me. You're avoiding me and treating me like I'm some sort of... stranger." Your voice cracked at the last word, and with it, all the emotions you'd been holding back spilled out. The betrayal, the confusion, the ache of watching someone you cared for pull away—it all rushed to the surface, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

"I want you," he repeated, softer this time, but no less resolute. The way he said it wasn't a question or a plea—it was a declaration, raw and unfiltered.

The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy and inescapable. You let out a small gasp, your body reacting before your mind could catch up, stepping back toward the door. Your lips parted as if to respond, but no sound came out.

"I want you," he repeated, softer this time, but no less resolute. The way he said it wasn't a question or a plea—it was a declaration, raw and unfiltered. “I confessed,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter but no less intense. You froze, your back nearly pressed against the door as his words settled in. There was something raw in his tone, something that made your chest tighten. “Confessed?” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling. His dark eyes stayed on yours, unblinking. “To the priest. To God.” He swallowed hard, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “About everything. About you.”

The room seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with the weight of his confession. You didn’t know whether to run or to stay, but his gaze held you captive, as if daring you to do either.

The door shut behind you with a soft click, leaving Kit inside as you leaned against the cold stone wall, your apron still wrinkled where he had tugged it. Your mind raced, trying to process what had just happened—the way he spoke, the eerie calm in his voice, the sudden vitality in his appearance. Something about it all felt... wrong.

Minutes passed before Sister Jude arrived, flanked by a priest. The heavy thud of their footsteps echoed down the hall, snapping you out of your thoughts. Jude's gaze immediately fell on you, sharp and suspicious.

"What are you still doing here?" she asked curtly, adjusting the rosary draped around her wrist.

"I was just—" you started, but her glare silenced you.

"The priest and I will handle this now," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. She glanced at the closed door, her expression unreadable, before turning back to you. "Go about your duties."

You nodded stiffly and stepped aside, lingering just far enough away to watch. Jude unlocked the door and ushered the priest inside, closing it firmly behind her. For a moment, you stood frozen, straining to hear anything from within. The hallway was silent, save for the faintest murmur of voices. You couldn't shake the unease that coiled in your chest, a gnawing feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong.

You didn’t know what they were doing to him. Hours passed, and the anxiety gnawed at you as you chewed on your bottom lip, pacing back and forth. They had shooed you off to some other part of the asylum, but the pit in your stomach told you that whatever was happening to Kit wasn’t right.

Grace would glance at you occasionally, her wide eyes gleaming with that unsettling smile she always wore. It wasn’t comforting—it never was. It sent a shiver up your spine every time, like she knew something you didn’t. Something you might not want to know. Still, you couldn’t stop the thought that whatever was happening behind those locked doors was cruel and unjust, and the helplessness of it all made your chest tighten.

Suddenly, the lights began to flicker, casting eerie, uneven shadows across the walls. You froze, your breath catching in your throat as a faint scream echoed through the asylum. It was distant yet piercing, the kind of sound that clawed its way into your chest.

It sounded like… no.

Your heart pounded as you looked around, your body moving on instinct. You scrambled to your feet, urgency in every step as your legs carried you back toward the rooms. Your eyes darted down the dimly lit hallways, searching for any sign of him.

Then the lights went out entirely, plunging the building into total darkness. You stumbled, disoriented, the silence punctuated only by the faint, deafening scream that refused to stop. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

The air felt heavy, oppressive, as if the entire asylum was holding its breath. You reached out blindly, trying to feel your way toward his door, but it was as if the halls had shifted, confusing and endless.And then, just as suddenly as it began, everything went silent. Not a scream, not a flicker, not even the faint hum of the building’s electricity. The stillness was absolute, and it left you standing there, paralyzed with dread.

Twice a day, you went in—cleaning his wounds, bringing his food, checking on him. But today, something was different. His skin was unnaturally pale, glistening with sweat, and his fists clenched and unclenched as if trying to fight off some invisible torment. His eyes stayed shut tight, his jaw locked.

You wrinkled your nose as a foul odor hit you, sharp and sour, like something had died. The stench clung to the air, heavy and oppressive, despite your certainty that the room had been cleaned—you had cleaned it. "Kit?" you murmured softly, pressing a cold rag to his forehead. He sniffled faintly, turning his head away from your touch. The small movement felt like both a rejection and a plea for help, and your chest tightened with worry.

Concern gnawed at you until it became unbearable. Storming into Sister Jude's office, you demanded answers—or at least intervention. But she only glared at you, her expression cold and dismissive. "It's his sins," she said sharply, waving you off. "The Lord is purging him of his actions." Her words were cruel, an absolution of her own inaction. For two more agonizing days, Kit remained the same. His health worsened, and his fever lingered, making every labored breath sound like a struggle. You fed him, cleaned him, tended to him as best you could. If you didn't know better, you'd swear he was on his deathbed. You suspected the flu—or worse, a dangerous infection. Desperation pushed you to seek help from the bald doctor, the only one who could intervene. But he refused to see Kit, brushing you off with an infuriating air of detachment. "I have more important matters," he said, leaving you to care for Kit alone.

You paused outside his door, leaning against the wall to catch your breath. As usual, you carried a pack of cigarettes, stolen medicine from the doctor, food, and water. But something felt different this time—worse. The air coming from his room was icy and unnaturally still, heavy enough to make your skin crawl. You could swear you'd hear a pin drop inside.

Slowly, you pushed the door open, peeking in cautiously. He was awake, sitting up with a startling intensity in his eyes. His gaze locked onto yours, so sharp it made your heart skip. The room was freezing; you could see your breath clouding in front of you.

"Darlin'," he rasped, his voice low and soft, cutting through the eerie silence like a knife. He sat up on the floorboards, his movements smooth and untroubled. The sickly pallor of his skin was gone, replaced with a warm, healthy glow. His brown hair fell messily across his forehead, a single curl resting just above his brow. He looked... angelic. Serene. As if the past few days of suffering had never happened.

Tilting his head slightly, he ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it with an easy grace. His gaze softened, and he beckoned you closer.

"Come here," he said, his voice calm yet commanding.

He reached out, his hand gripping the front of your apron and tugging you closer. You stiffened, your breath hitching as his dark eyes locked on yours. "Mr. Walker, I—" you started, but before you could finish, his hand dipped into your pocket and pulled out the pack of cigarettes.

You'd never been this close to him before, and the proximity made your heart race. "You're nervous," he said softly, his voice almost teasing. "But you've been taking care of me for days. You cleaned me." It was as if he had read your thoughts, and the heat rose to your cheeks. He fiddled with the pack, pulling out a cigarette before reaching under his pillow to retrieve an old lighter. Placing the cigarette between his lips, he struck the lighter with ease. The flame briefly illuminated his features, sharp and intense, as his dark eyes roamed over you. The scrutiny made you feel bare, as though he could see straight through you.

"Purging me of my sins," he said suddenly, exhaling a puff of smoke.

The words jolted you, and for a moment, you stood there, confused. Then Sister Jude's earlier remark came flooding back. "How did you hear that?" you asked, your voice quiet but urgent.

He leaned his head back, the cigarette still perched between his lips as he smiled faintly. "I don't know," he murmured. "Everything's been a bit foggy." His tone was calm, almost detached, as though he was piecing together fragments of a dream. "Oh, Kit..." you murmured, biting the inside of your cheek as you watched him. His sudden change still felt surreal, but at least he looked like himself again. "At least you look better. Do you feel better?" He nodded slowly, his expression softening as he looked at you. His nose wrinkled slightly, as if trying to shake off a lingering thought. "Yeah... I feel better," he said, his voice low but steady. "Thank you, darlin'. You're the only one who came to see me. I didn't know what was going on."

The way he said it, his gratitude so raw and sincere, made your chest ache. He looked at you like you were his lifeline, and for a moment, you didn't know what to say.

"I didn't know you felt... things for me... like that," you said abruptly, your words tumbling out before you could stop them. Your eyes darted away from his, avoiding the intensity of his gaze. Was this immoral? Wrong? It should have been. But being this close to him felt unnervingly natural, like something inevitable.

His expression didn't waver, steady and unreadable. "You didn't?" he asked, his voice soft but edged with something you couldn't quite place.

The weight of his words hung between you, pulling your gaze back to him despite yourself. The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered—"You didnt tell me what happened either... with sister jude" you coughed out awkwardly

"You didn't tell me what happened either... with Sister Jude," you coughed out awkwardly, your voice breaking the tense silence.

Kit tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes never leaving yours. There was a flicker of something in his expression—pain, hesitation, maybe both—but he didn't answer right away.

"I didn't think you wanted to know," he finally said, his voice low, almost cautious. He leaned back slightly, running a hand through his messy hair, the movement slow and deliberate. "It's... better if you don't."

His words hung heavy in the air, and you couldn't tell if he was trying to protect you or himself. Either way, the avoidance only made you want to push further, though the weight in his tone made your stomach twist.

[bradleysass]

Fight - word count: 621 - Jegulus

The Gryffindor common room was unusually quiet, the golden light of the fireplace casting flickering shadows on the walls. James Potter stood near the window, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Across from him, Regulus Black was pacing, his usual calm veneer cracked wide open, leaving behind a storm of anger and hurt.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Regulus snapped, his voice low but venomous. “You don’t understand what it’s like to have an entire family looking at you like you’re the only thing holding their legacy together. Like you have to be perfect, or you’re nothing.”

“I get that it’s hard,” James shot back, his voice tight, though his hazel eyes shone with emotion. “But you don’t have to carry all of that alone, Reg! You have me now—why can’t you just let me help you?”

Regulus froze mid-step, his hands trembling as he turned to face James. “Because you don’t know what it’s like to be me! To have people expect so much and give you so little! You grew up loved, James. Your parents adore you. Your friends would follow you into the mouth of hell itself. You’ve never had to wonder if the people in your life would abandon you if you stepped out of line.”

James flinched, Regulus’s words cutting deeper than he expected. “That’s not fair,” he said quietly, his voice breaking just a little. “I know my life’s different, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. I love you, Reg. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Regulus laughed bitterly, though there was no humor in it. “Love doesn’t fix everything, James. You can’t just throw it at me like a lifeline and expect me to be fine. I’m drowning in all of this—my family, the war, the choices I’ve made—and you think your love is enough to make it all disappear?”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” James’s voice rose, frustration overtaking him. “I just... I just want you to trust me enough to let me in. To let me carry some of that weight for you.”

Regulus’s lips parted as if he wanted to argue, but no words came out. Instead, he shook his head, his jaw tight. “You don’t understand, James. You’ll never understand. And I can’t... I can’t keep doing this.”

The finality in his tone sent a cold shiver down James’s spine. “What are you saying?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m saying I need space,” Regulus said, turning away as his voice wavered. “I need to figure things out, and I can’t do that with you hovering over me, pretending everything’s going to be okay when it’s not.”

James felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him. “So, what? You’re just leaving?” His voice cracked, and he hated himself for how desperate he sounded.

Regulus didn’t turn back. “Yes,” he said, his voice cold and distant. “I am.”

And then he was gone, slipping out of the common room and down the corridor, his footsteps echoing in the silence.

James stood frozen, staring at the spot where Regulus had been, his chest aching like someone had cast a Blasting Curse straight through it. His vision blurred, and he realized, with a pang of humiliation, that tears were sliding down his cheeks. He swiped at them angrily, but it was no use. He sank to the floor, his head in his hands, the weight of the argument crashing over him in waves.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, the quiet of the room pressing in on him. All he knew was that Regulus was gone, and for the first time in his life, James Potter didn’t know how to fix it.

[hexlenx]

A/N: I've been reading Harry Potter x reader these past few days and it's making me wanna make a short fic about him. Note that my Harry James Potter face claims will always be Reiky De Valk because that's what I imagine him as, no hate to Daniel Radcliffe though!

A POTTER LOVES HARD — harry james potter.

note: I do not own harry potter in whatever ways! Face claim for my version of Harry Potter will always be Reiky De Valk here in my account, feel free to imagine as someone else though!

warnings!: mentions of death, obsession and some more parts filled with a yandere-ish(?) harry potter. I just love Dark!Harry aus!

__________________

The thing about Potters is that when they love, they love hard.

You see, Charles Potter fell in love with a Black, Dorea Black to be exact. Their love was something no one had expected for both sacred families. It is far from pure but it is so good that both families had no choice but to accept it. A love built from obsession. An obsession that goes both ways, perhaps that's why they couldn't break them from each other. Because like the Potters, when a Black loves, they will do anything to keep their significant other, hence the obsession.

Black Madness is what they call them. Though unlike the other Black's, who used that madness for the belief of saving purebloods through inbreeding, Dorea used that madness for her love. Her soulmate. An example that Andromeda Tonks neé Black used when she married her muggleborn husband, Ted Tonks.

Then came in Fleamont Potter, the son of the famed Potter-Black couple. When he loved, he loved like the hardness of the stone Obsidian. He was stubborn and reckless but when he loved, he made sure to get it in the end no matter how long. That is when Fleamont and Euphemia came together. Their love was made from stubbornness, the opposite of his parent's.

Although there was the obsession that his parents had for each other, that fueled the stubbornness in Fleamont. Both had that trait and you know what they say, having a match is made in heaven. That was what it felt like for them. Both had so many similarities that were used in a different way, yet it was perfect for the both of them and that was how their love goes beyond. Just like Charles and Dorea.

Next came James Potter, the son of the dedicated couple. He was a young man who loved from afar, but it was just as hard as the previous Potters. James had his father's stubbornness as well as his grandfather's obsessive trait. He was obsessed with Lily Evans, a ginger haired young woman who was kind and sweet as well as smart and dedicated to her passions.

He chose to show that obsession with his stubbornness to have the young woman in his arms by publicly courting her. His love was made from infatuation. He was infatuated with everything he saw on Lily the moment he laid his eyes on her. It was a dangerous trait, especially when it is mixed with the type of love the previous Potters had. What he didn't know before was that Lily Evans was the same.

She would never admit it but she was just as infatuated to him just as he was to her. This showed when her eyes constantly moved towards his figure whenever he came in the room, how she always kept his letter underneath her bed in a small box. It showed when she smiles when she sees him so happy whenever he had done something he wanted and accomplished and it also showed whenever he had done something for her without her asking for it. The flush of her cheeks said so.

Then came Harry James Potter. Oh how dangerous his love was.

The way he loved was dangerous. The Black Madness never skips the members of the family, that's why whenever a Potter loves, it's hard and dangerous. It was just never showed much in the surface, but boy oh boy did it show when Harry loved.

Harry loved in a twisted way, it was dark and intense but somehow it was pure, in some sense.

It was pure because Harry grew up never knowing what love was, he never knew the meaning of it, never knew what the feeling of it was, until he met you.

You were like a field filled with different types of flowers, breeze flowing through his hair like you were caressing it, air so fresh he thought he was tainting it, the warmth you oozed was something he never felt before and for that his love for you was pure.

But for others, it is not.

But it's not like any of you cared, now is it?

Just like his, you loved him hard. It was maddening on how you would keep giving him a new reason to love you and keep you forever in his arms away from everyone else because you love him.

Sickening.

But it takes one wicked to love another.

When a Potter loves, they love hard, but that does not mean it does not go both ways.

This was something Minerva "Minnie" McGonagall has noticed throughout her years in Hogwarts. Everytime a Potter fell in love, the love in question would reciprocate that feeling with the same intensity albeit different in ways.

Just like when she was peers with Charles and Dorea Potter. She noticed they type of love the male Potter had towards the female Potter, it was filled with obsession towards one another and she saw that Dorea reciprocated that obsession through getting every thing that reminded her of Charles Potter, while said Potter showed that obsession through taking every bit of her presence through moving pictures as well as buying things that she liked. He was obsessed with her whole being as she is to him.

She noticed a different type of love when she became a professor with Fleamont Potter, the son of the obsessive couple she was peers with. Fleamont's love towards Euphemia was stubborn. The type of love that he showed towards the young lady through the excessive courting to which the young lady reciprocated. Euphemia was competitive, so she courted the male Potter with same stubbornness. That was their love.

The next was the couple's son, James Potter. She saw the love was fueled with infatuation. James used his father's and grandfather's techniques to courting Lily Evans. While she rejected him multiple times before sixth year, she showed that reciprocation subtly but just as hard to James. Differences aside, Minerva saw that whenever a Potter loves hard, the significant other always loves just as hard. It was like a blessing disguised as a curse or was it the other way?

So when she saw how Harry loved you, she knew that no matter how hard people will try to separate you both, it'll only make you both yearn for each other more. That is not what she wanted, as she had seen what separation does to the Potters and their significant other.

She almost saw murder right before her eyes.

That's why when a Potter loves, they love hard.

And it was true as Harry Potter stood over a bloodied limp body on the ground with his fists tightened in a clench. Panting heavily as rage waved over his shoulder. He was pissed off, feral even.

Minerva observed the scene with wide eyes as disbelief was visible in her posture. When she said she almost saw murder when a Potter was separated from their love, she didn't mean this. Because when Charles was separated from Dorea by the Blacks, he went feral, he planned a massacre but it was not executed, thankfully. But Harry Potter, oh this powerful male.

He had just committed something the previous Potters didn't do due to their love stopping them, but this time Harry was not stopped. Why? Because his love was in the Hospital Ward of Hogwarts, bloodied and wounded deep because of the person who was now beneath Harry Potter, limp and lifeless.

The Boy-who-lived just committed murder in front of everyone in the Hallway.

It was sickening.

Because when a Potter loves, they love hard.

And Harry's love was dangerous.

[wordsofelie]

Chapter 1

🎋The footprints he etched on the earth

Bokuto x f!reader

Part I : 🌌The stars he left in the sky (can be read as a standalone)

Summary : The stars he left in the sky are nothing compared to the footprints he etched on the earth.

or when you meet bokuto koutarou and wonder if you’ve ever truly known beauty before him.

Context warning: time skip setting, ex!oikawa, alcohol consumption, swearing, a lot of french words sorry

Words count: 3.1k

You’re grateful for the life you’ve been given. You’re healthy, you have a loving family with supportive parents and a funny little brother. You’ve worked hard to become a pâtissière and had great opportunities in Europe. But right now, as your boss argues that a Tatin tart and a Normande tart are essentially the same thing, you can’t help but think the gods are conspiring against you.

“Huh? What’s the problem? They both have apples in them,” he dares insisting.

You’ve studied in Paris. Paris, France. Alongside the best chefs in the world. And yet, here you are, being contradicted by a fifty-something man on something so basic. You’re not just being told you’re wrong, but in front of colleagues and even a few customers.

So, yes, you’re grateful for your life. But you’d be even more grateful if you could punch that man in the face. Of course, you won’t. You can’t. You need this job to pay your bills, your rent (because Tokyo is expensive), and to save for building the pâtisserie you’ve dreamed of for years. You know exactly what it’ll look like—where the counter will be, what colour the walls will be. Everything is planned, except for one detail: how and where you’ll actually get the place.

You force out an apology. It’s painfully obvious that it isn’t sincere, but you bow anyway, hoping it hides your annoyed expression. Then, you retreat to the back room because the croissants are ready and even though you hate your boss, you hate letting food burn in the oven more.

Days have felt repetitive since you arrived in Tokyo six months ago. Your routine begins at 4 a.m., with a quick breakfast. Most mornings, your roommate, Umi, is still awake, surrounded by her mountain of medical textbooks. You don’t know how she manages to decipher the words in her books because the light from her desk is dim (well, that might be the reason why she’s using glasses now).

“I’ll be back around five,” you say, even though she knows your schedule by heart.

“Got it. Have a good day!”

“And have a good night,” you reply with a smile.

The walk to the bakery is usually pleasant. You love seeing the sunrise over Tokyo—except now it’s May, and the weather is horrible. Still, you’ve never regretted moving here. You remember your professor in Paris warning you about how tough and unfair the culinary world can be, especially for women. It didn’t deter you. You’ve never wanted fame; you just want to open a pâtisserie and make people happy with your creations. For now, though, gaining more experience is your priority, so you work at a well-known bakery in Shibuya.

It’s only temporary, it’s only temporary, you often need to remind yourself—especially on tough days like today.

You don’t think you’re gaining a lot of practical skills but at least, you’ve learned a bit of humility here (no matter how forced and unfair it feels).

When you return home that evening, you’re not expecting much. When Umi comes home later, she often brings groceries or takeout. For someone who bakes, you’re surprisingly terrible at cooking savoury dishes. Umi discovered this shortly after you moved in, watching you struggle to roast vegetables or boil an egg.

Weeks of your culinary disasters led her to casually take over dinner duties. Ever since then, she’s been the one in charge and seems satisfied with it. You don’t mind—it’s a fair trade, especially since she’s a great cook.

“My dad was awful in the kitchen, so I had to take over cooking for me and my siblings,” she once explained. “I also had two neighbours who played sports. I made bentos for them all the time. I mean, I used to help their mother make them, she’s the one who taught me everything about cooking. One of the twins would help, but the other was a total ungrateful bastard who just ate everything.”

In return, you sneak pastries home from your workplace (a small rebellion against your boss) and make pancakes on the weekends.

Tonight, you’ve just stepped out of the shower when Umi bursts through the door.

“Hiii!” she exclaims brightly. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” you reply, keeping it short.

You’re usually good at hiding negative emotions—your teachers in Paris were brutally harsh at times, and showing weakness only invited more criticism (maybe even exclusion) . But with Umi, it’s different. She has an uncanny ability to read people’s feelings and make you feel comfortable with those feelings.

“I grew up with two younger siblings, an introverted best friend, and childhood friends who were all boys,” she told you. “I’ve basically seen every version of emotional repression there is.”

So, it doesn’t take her long to figure out you’re upset.

“Bad day?” she asks. “Wanna talk about it?”

“It’s just… my boss,” you mutter.

“What did that old geezer do this time?”

You sigh. “He was wrong about something, I tried to explain that he made a mistake but he just looked down on me. But I’m not surprised, he would rather die than admit that a girl like me is right… But honestly, it’s not just him. It’s the industry. It’s always like this.”

“Yeah, but it’s weird how everyone just accepts it and nothing changes.” She lets out a dramatic groan. “You know what the problem is? Men.”

You chuckle at that, it’s her usual response to every issue (not that you would deny it though).

You slump into the chair and press your face against the palm of your hand, when she suddenly pulls out a bottle of red wine from her bag.

You raise an eyebrow.

“You know I’m not that desperate to the point where I need to drink to deal with a bad day, right?”

“This isn’t about your bad day,” she grins. “It’s about celebrating.”

“Celebrating what? My shitty boss?”

“Let me explain!” she says, rushing to the kitchen to grab glasses. “You know my childhood friend, the one with the restaurant in Osaka?”

“The twin who isn’t an ungrateful bastard?”

“Yes, but his name is Osamu, I already told you. Anyway, a shop next to his restaurant just closed, and the landlady is looking to sell. Osamu knows her and I mentioned you’re looking for a place to open your bakery.”

You open your mouth to correct her (it’s a pâtisserie not a bakery!) but decide to you let her finish instead.

“He said he could arrange a meeting for you. Interested?”

Osaka. You’ve never been there, but the idea intrigues you. People from Kansai are known for their warmth and humour—so different from the quiet of your hometown in Miyagi. Change might be good, you find yourself thinking.

“Sure, I’d be interested,” you say cautiously (in case it doesn't work, don't get your hopes up).

“Great! Osaka is the best, and I know people there who can help you settle in. I’d recommend looking at apartments in—”

“Umi, I haven’t even seen the place yet.”

“Don’t worry,” she says confidently. “Just make them try your strawberry and cream tart. No one can say no to that!”

You laugh. “You mean the fraisier?”

“Gods, yes. Just use that sexy French accent of yours, and they’ll agree in no time.”

“Whatever you say,” you can’t help but laugh a little. “The wine is French, huh?”

She pours a generous amount into your glass, “of course. Last time I brought Californian you almost killed me.”

You take a look at the bottle to check if she’s telling the truth. You nod proudly and she smiles back.

“To your bakery!” She raises her glass and so do you.

A few days later, after pretending to be bedridden by a sudden and debilitating cold to take a fews days off from work (to which your boss complains), you find yourself standing at the station ready to leave for Osaka.

Umi had given you everything you needed: Miya Osamu's number, his address, and an enthusiastic list of typical Kansai expressions.

When you arrive there, you immediately search for “Onigiri Miya” on your phone. When you check it you are nothing but impressed by the 5 stars behind the name and the hundred and hundred of good comments.

Will you also get that someday?

Will your pâtisserie gather many people and be a place of happiness?

You try not to think too much about it, because with the flicker of hope comes fear, and you don’t have time to be negative. You have to move forward and put on a brave face, that’s what you’ve been taught.

As you step off the train and start to look for the right bus, a voice calls out behind you.

“Yer Umi’s roommate, right?”

You turn around to see a man with short brown hair. There’s a relaxed air about him that makes you feel comfortable.

“Miya-san?” you assume.

“The good one, yeah,” he replies with a boyish smile. You think his Kansai accent adds an easy charm to his voice.

“I wasn’t expecting you to come. I could have taken the bus, I don’t want to be a bother.”

“Nah, yer not. Follow me.”

He offers to carry your bag and leads you to his car, parked just outside the station.

The ride is mostly food-related, he tells you about his business. How he started as the employee of an old man who had a ramen restaurant, which eventually became his. How he transformed it into an onigiri restaurant before opening a second shop recently in Tokyo.

“Why onigiri?” you ask, genuinely curious.

He thinks for a moment. “I guess… it reminds me of home. My Ma’ used to make ’em all the time when we were kids. And I love makin’ ’em myself. Like, physically usin’ my hands. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” you say with a small smile. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about your mother’s cooking.”

“It’s the best,” he says, and his tone turns soft. “Though, she didn’t really teach me much about baking. That’s why I’m impressed by what ya do.”

His compliment takes you by surprise, you restrain yourself from smiling with all your teeth.

You meet the landlady the minute you step out of the car. She listens to you carefully and even though you try not to overthink it, she seems more than happy at the idea of opening a French pâtisserie in the neighbourhood.

Osamu mentions after the meeting how you definitely “won her over with how detailed and motivated ya were.”

You don’t tell him that it only makes sense because you’ve dreamed of owning a place for years. You’ve imagined everything, thought about it during sleepless nights and overworked days. It is the lighthouse that guided you through heartbreaks and homesickness. So when the opportunity presents itself, there’s no way you wouldn’t give your all.

“I hope she’ll accept my project,” you simply answer.

“D’ya want onigiri?” The man offers.

You obviously accept (Umi dragged about how delicious they were, you need to find out whether that is true or not) and thank him again. He brushes it off with a “Umi’s friends are my friends and I’m always happy to feed people.”

His shop is warm and welcoming, and his food is delightful. You might yourself add a five-star review on Google.

“I never thought a rice ball could be that good,” you say with a mouth full of food.

“Rice balls? Ya don’t know how much time it took me to master that.”

Right, you don’t know, but you can only imagine. The culinary world isn’t only competitive and cruel. It’s sweat and tears, years of making to perfect a simple recipe. It’s giving your entire being into your crafts only to hear people say “well, that mustn’t be too difficult to make.”

But it’s also pride and art. Not a day goes by when you aren’t excited to try a new combination: replace wheat flour with almond flour for the brioches, add a spoonful of orange blossom to your cream puffs, and the list is long. And if you make someone happy, if they ask to have a second piece of your cake, that’s when you know the sweat and the tears aren’t that important.

You crave to build your pâtisserie, the same way Osamu built his restaurant (with warmth and love), and taste what it’s like to pour your heart into something tangible and undeniably yours.

Things move faster than you’d anticipated. The landlady approves your proposal, the bank grants your loan, and within the span of a week, you exchange your resignation letter with a lease and a pair of keys.

You’re sad to leave Umi, she is too.

“I’ll come whenever I can.” She says with a sad smile.

“I’ll sneak pastries for you,” you wink in return and when you hug, she congratulates you and tells you (for the tenth time) that you deserve it. You think a tear escapes your eyes.

Your newfound property is empty and cold. And when you open the door for the first time you realise that it might require a lot of work.

But Osamu is there every step of the way. He kindly offers advice and helps you with renovations. You’re a bit embarrassed by how much he’s done so far and at the same time, you know you have to take everything there is to make that place great. So it becomes a routine for him to cross the road from his shop to yours at the end of his shift to give you a hand.

“Yer makin’ the right choice,” he says one evening as you both sit outside Onigiri Miya, sharing a quick meal after a day of painting walls and changing seals. “That place is gonna bring in plenty of tourists and locals.”

You glance at him, there are nerves swirling in your chest. “I hope so.”

“Ya are. Trust me. Yer gonna have queues and queues of people.”

You hide your nerves with sarcasm, “And if they’re tired of waiting, I’ll tell them that there's a not-too-bad onigiri restaurant in front of my shop. Just so you know, time passes faster.”

He sneers at that, “’Not too bad’, ya sound like my brother.”

“Don’t know the guy but that didn’t seem to be a compliment.”

“That wasn’t.”

You roll your eyes and he laughs in return.

The hardest part of the renovation happens to be the most important one: the kitchen. You’re knee-deep in setting up the oven when you realise that maybe, you might need more people to assemble to equipment.

“I can find two or three more biceps to help,” Osamu tells you when he finds you trying to lift the 250-pound fridge by yourself.

“Yeah, I guess that would be useful,” you say breathlessly.

The next morning, you arrive early. Not as early as Osamu it seems since you see him standing outside your shop, hands in his pockets and wearing a sports suit (the clothes are unusual on him, you think). The closer you get, the blonder his hair looks. The sun has barely rise, and you blame the light for it.

You immediately call out, “Miya-san?”

He turns around, “Oh, hey!”

“You could have come later, you know. I was planning on cleaning a little bit before you arrived.”

“Don’t worry," he shakes his head, “’Samu would have killed me if I had been late.”

“Samu?”

And then, just as quickly, Osamu (the real one) shows up and for a second, you’re confused.

“Good morning,” he says before pointing to the other man, “seems like ya just met my brother.”

“I’m Atsumu.” The blond guy extends his hand to you and your knitted brows probably gives away your confusion. “Don’t tell me ya thought I was ‘Samu?”

Of course that’s his brother, you idiot. You curse yourself.

“Sorry. You guys look similar,” you say, but it’s not quite an excuse for your mistake.

They both share a glance before laughing and you think you just sounded stupid because obviously, they look alike, they’re fucking twins. You reason yourself by thinking that it’s very much early and that you’re not fully awake.

“We’re very different. I mean, our bodies aren’t built the same since I’m a professional athlete and ‘Samu’s not. I’ve always been the smartest one too.” He crosses his arms to his chest.

Osamu rolls his eyes. “Don’t listen to him. You’ll learn the difference soon enough. I’m the serious one.” He gestures to his brother. “He’s the disaster.”

Atsumu shrugs dramatically. “Hey, the world needs a little chaos, ya shithead!”

You can’t help but laugh despite the tension between them.

“Where’s the fridge?”

“I think we should wait for him; it will be easier if we’re four,” Osamu tells his brother. You didn’t know another person would come, you want to ask about them but Atsumu interferes before you can open your mouth.

“I’m pretty sure I can manage on my own, I’m a-”

“Professional athlete. I think we got it ‘Tsumu so can ya shut the fuck up now?”

You fear Atsumu will jump his brother if you don’t stop them.

“What sport?” You ask hurriedly before he can take a step towards Osamu.

“Volleyball. I’m the starting setter of the National Team.”

“Thought Tobio-kun was.”

The older twin glowers at the younger one.

“I’m impressed Atsumu-san, I actually know a professional setter.”

“Who?” The man’s eyes widen, and you decipher not only curiosity but competition on his face (typical man behaviour).

“He’s not in Japan though. But maybe you’ve heard of him, his name is Oika-”

“My bad Sam-sam, I walked past that place.”

A man enters the room. He is a bit sweaty and his hair, grey and raven, is falling on his forehead. 

“Did ya run to come here?” Osamu raises an eyebrow at him.

He grins and scratches the back of his neck nervously, “I took the wrong street.”

“But it’s the same as Onigiri Miya.”

“But it’s always Omi-Omi who guides us here. I never came on my own,” he pouts.

“Thank you for coming,” you hear yourself say and that’s when he finally sees you. His pout immediately disappears.

You think he is handsome. He and his golden eyes. But it’s only a sample of his beauty because when he replies “of course,” with his smile all bright and warm, you’re mesmerised.

It’s almost instinctive, the way you can’t look away. It’s like an effortless intake of air. Like your eyes seem to be glued to his features, and soon enough, to his arms and the way the muscles contract slightly when he offers his hand for you to shake it.

“I'm Bokuto,” he grins. “Nice to meet you.”

“Bokkun, yer hands are all dirty. She’s a lady.”

“Oops, Tsum-Tsum is right. Where can I wash them?” He asks you and hides his hands behind his back.

You open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out. The room is filled with silence for a very long minute before Osamu finally decides to show him the way.

Why are you disappointed? Why did you want so badly to shake his hand?

Perhaps because it’s too early for your mind to function properly.

Your brain tries to go for that answer (your beating heart whispers something else).

“Should we start workin’”? Atsumu proposes and you nod.

Well, it seems like you’re stuck with two bickering brothers and this god-like man named Bokuto.

(This is going to be a good day, you think discretely).

author notes: okay so this was supposed to be a one-shot but it will be a 3 or 4 chapters story haha

(writing this made me very hungry btw)

[xtinyslip]

"OH, I WILL BECAUSE YOU DON'T SEE IT. HOW COULD YOU? I'M SURE YOU'RE NOT PRIVY TO A LOT OF WHAT HAPPENS OUTSIDE OF HERE. ARE YOU? IF SHE'S NOT LIKE MY SIDE OF THAT FAMILY. HOW DO YOU EXPLAIN HOW SHE'S IN CAHOOTS WITH MY FATHER? HM?" the two of them and their secret family meetings. she was just like them. it was strange how when she said them, she wasn't talking about herself ; not that she was letting herself be fully aware of that yet. "you said it yourself, yes? no one lasts that long around me. what makes you so different. hm?" her head tilting. yes, she fully expected him to answer. cee was very prepared to snap over him, to tell him it wasn't possible. that she would never have trusted anyone with that information. that required a level of opening up to someone that she had never reached but… he knew. how could he possibly know any of that? no one knew. no one cared enough to know. "that's --" she wanted to tell him it was a good guess or -- ANYTHING, other than to face whatever this meant for her but… it couldn't have been a guess. for him to say that, to know exactly how her father made her feel. he knew about the room? "what is this? what i am not seeing? how -- is this a test?" was this her father's work? because as far as she was concerned, there was only one other person who knew what he had just said and that was her father. no, she told herself it couldn't be. "do you really think i'm that insecure? i would attempt to murder a CHILD? because you wished to spend time with them? you must be aware of how that sounds?" she wasn't going to claim she understood it, she didn't know what a normal parent/child relationship was like. "it doesn't look like i have a choice but to trust you." would she leave it all behind? the strange thing was it genuinely hadn't occurred to her once, until he had mentioned it. once he had, it was like that thought had already developed lasting roots inside of her. like it had always been there. "… i don't get to leave." would her father ever let her? and disgrace the family name by disowning it? him? it was like she knew how bad it could get, even though in her memories it had never happened. she sensed it. "YOU SAY YOU CAN HANDLE ME BUT YOU CAN'T EVEN HANDLE ME LOOKING AT YOU? WHAT ARE YOU SO WORRIED ABOUT?" why couldn't she look away? it was simple. she talked herself through it in her head, and when it came to tearing her eyes away from him. it was like she was refused. "I EXPECT TO STILL HAVE THAT CAKE. i want the satisfaction of putting it in the bin when i get to my apartment." would she? well, she couldn't just admit now that she wanted to eat it. she shouldn't be smiling over it but right now she couldn't help but grin back against his mouth. it annoyed her that his grin was catching or at least, she wanted to be annoyed but all of that was fading away. the closer they got, the harder it got to deny that somehow… she knew him. she knew how he felt, she knew how he tasted, she knew… everything and at the same time, it was out of her reach still, like she didn't know anything at all BUT SHE DID. "you were not foolish enough to turn that into a competition. were you? you know i will win. i hate you THAT much." her one hand twisted tightly into his hair, suddenly she was starting to wonder how the hell she had been able to ever breath without him? her lips crashing back against his, pressing her back against the side of the elevator as she tried to pull him as tightly to her as she could. @fcdcdmcmories

"DON'T, OKAY? SHE'S... SHE'S NOTHING LIKE THAT. SHE'S NOT A PEDERSON IN ANYTHING BUT THE NAME. SHE WASN'T RAISED ONE. SHE'S DIFFERENT AND.. KINDER. she loves our kid. i've seen it. she's nothing like the other side of your family." shaking his head, as he found himself scoffing again. was she in this much denial because she was well aware that he was RIGHT? because she knew that he had seen right through her defences? or.. had he? "i did. i did last long enough to see all of it. or.. i think that i did. maybe it was all a lie too. MAYBE I ONLY SAW WHAT YOU WANTED ME TO SEE." he stopped for a second, unable to.. well, fight her on that. no, it wasn't a subject that he would ever use against her. not when - no matter what had happened after that, no matter what she was and no matter what she had done - he knew how much it had taken for her to tell him that in the first place. "i know.. i know what he's capable of. YOU TOLD ME ALL OF IT. what he did to you.. after your mother died. the room. how he'd keep you there sometimes, for.. weeks at a time, without.. anything to eat. ABOUT EVERYTHING ELSE. YOU ALWAYS SAID THAT.. YOU FELT LIKE YOU COULDN'T BREATH WHEN YOU WERE AROUND HIM. that you were suffocating. that the only time that you felt like you could breath was when you were with.. me." his words did something strange. for a second there, it was as if something flashed right before his eyes - the sight of a coffin and the sight of dirt where.. something - or someone - had been buried. AND DREAD. A WHOLE LOT OF DREAD, THERE AND THEN. fuck? what the hell was that? he shook his head, trying to shake the thought away. "i didn't.. i.. it... if not you, then.. no, it doesn't make sense. it had to be you. you didn't want my attention anywhere else. you already hurt gabriela once. i-- it makes sense." did it? because.. if he wasn't so caught up in the situation, maybe he would have seen that he was just repeating the words that elaine had told him back then. wasn't he? when she placed her hand over his mouth, he froze-- startled by.. the proximity. "i.. i wouldn't tell anyone. it's funny - you.. you never said that until here, but.. I KNEW IT EVEN BEFORE. I KNOW YOU'D LEAVE THAT NAME BEHIND IF YOU COULD. him." she hadn't needed to tell him anything - he had known. hadn't he? yes. it had all been there and as clear as day to him. perhaps it still was. he knew that. "well, then.. i.. i... look away! i don't know -- just.. STOP THAT! STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE YOU USED TO!" because it was making him feel like he used to and that was dangerous. with what she had done? yes, it was. it was. "oh, i'm sorry - i'm not the one that lost her shit over a damned cake, am i? WHICH - FOR THE RECORD - I KNOW IS YOUR FAVOURITE. NO NEED TO LIE. not when i've baked one for you a lot of other times before. i know. i know you." he hated it. hated the way that he found himself grinning against her mouth, hated the way that he pulled her closer on instinct and how it felt like he could finally breath. it wasn't mean to be like that - he was meant to HATE HER. "NO WAY. I HATE YOU WAY MORE. YOU'RE THE ACTUAL FUCKING BANE OF MY EXISTENCE." he meant the actual opposite and perhaps, the way that he moved forward again to crash his lips against hers desperately showed that much. / @xtinyslip