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murderofravens · 1 day ago

Text

BLACKEST DAY

pairing: cho sangwoo x fem reader

summary: old feelings are rekindled when you encounter your father's old friend at the games.

warnings: age gap (reader is 20, sangwoo is 46) badly written smut, face slapping, slightly toxic dynamics, a smidge of some age-gap kink. lots of angst. body worship. this is a oneshot.

word count: around 5k

[feedback and reblogs are a writer's biggest motivation.]

MASTERLIST

life has a funny way of reuniting people.

when you woke up in the hall, surrounded by strangers wearing those ugly green clothes much like yourself, your first thought was— 'i should have brought someone with me.'

you were always rather wary of doing things by yourself. things seem much easier when you have a helping hand to give you advice, or to make bad decisions together.

your first shock came upon the mention of his name, taken by one of the guards.

player 218, cho sangwoo.

your eyes snapped up to the screen where you could see a clip of him getting slapped after repeatedly losing the game.

"former supervisor of team two at joy investments, embezzled money from his clients, invested it in derivatives and figures and failed. current loss, 650 million won."

you looked around frantically before you caught sight of him— handsome as ever, although visibly distraught. his shocked eyes were looking at the guards with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

you had known sangwoo since you were rather young. idolized him at one point, even. he and your father used to be some sort of business partners— which you can guess was another word for friends who gambled and hung out occasionally. most of your years went by with him acknowledging you politely, getting you chocolate everytime he came to visit, and patting your head with a proud smile whenever your parents told him about one of your achievements at school. you wanted to be like him— smart, ambitious and a hard worker.

you'd moved off for college when you were of age, and according to his mother, he had moved to the US for business purposes.

which, as you can see, didn't work out.

you don't really try to make conversation with him, don't even look at his side of the room. mainly because you're embarrassed. there are two reasons— the first being that you don't want to see the man you idolized at a place like this. and the second is personal. your last memory of him isn't something you're fond of. it still fills you with resentment and a sense of sadness— you had asked to meet up with him before you were going off to college, hoping to express your feelings. you'd developed a childish crush on him when you were growing up, and it had expanded into genuine feelings over time.

but he never showed up, and you were left sitting in the expensive restaurant all by yourself. you never revealed that to anyone, deciding to take that moment of humiliation to the grave.

the first game was terrifying, to say the least. while you could tell there was something inherently shady about the whole organization, what left you in genuine shock was the first shot that rang out through the field, killing the person who moved. you were careful about your steps then, walking forward rather meticulously, ensuring you were not a victim in whatever hellhole you've found yourself in.

splatters of blood covered your face as you almost reached the line, hiding behind another taller man. there were a mere 10 seconds left. your heart was quite literally trying to beat out of your chest, and sweat dripped down your forehead. and that's when you first made eye contact with him.

sangwoo, who was bent in half, was panting as he looked at the finish line. his gaze rose, and connected with yours— eyes immediately widening with recognition. you were frozen as you looked at him, jaw clenched and panic stricken. he looked at the timer, and the doll turned away. you quickly began running, and you saw him straighten up as the timer began nearing zero. you jumped across the finish line, and his hand grabbed you to help. you stumbled into him and the both of you fell onto the dusty ground— a mess of sweaty limbs.

you don't say a word to him as the guards guide you back to the hall. he is just as silent behind you, and you wonder if it's because he's embarrassed about being there, or if he remembered what he did to you and is reluctant to acknowledge you after.

"i didn't expect to see you here." he remarks quietly, voice grim. his head is lowered, and there's an almost disappointed look in his eyes.

the audacity.

"i could say the same about you," you shoot back dryly, sitting cross legged on the floor. he looks at you then, and your gaze challenged his.

"you've grown since i last saw you." he adds, and you scoff in response. so what? you were still bitter.

"it's just two years."

he clenches his jaw and looks away, his ears feeling hot. you've always had a problem with keeping your mouth shut, and apparently it still applies. you look up at him, eyes accusatory.

"i thought you went to the states." there's a taunting edge to your voice— rather shallow and childish on your end, but you can't help yourself. you're playing with life and death, but still you're angrier about your history with him than anything else.

"all those degrees just to scam people? i'd expect more from someone like you, mr. sangwoo—"

"you don't know what you're talking about," he shuts your words down quickly, voice firm. he's quick to change the topic, visibly agitated. "i thought you went to college. what happened to your—"

"father?" you interrupt, sitting straighter. "he got scammed."

you look at him pointedly as you say the last word, and his eye twitches.

"he gambled away his money on some non existent race. i dont live with him anymore and i need money to continue college and pay rent. my mom doesn't know and i don't wanna worry her." you take a sharp breath, voice getting lower, "my landlady threw me out before i found the ddakji guy."

his face softens with every sentence, an expression close to pity taking over. you hate pity, so you shut it down with a glare.

"don't give me that look," you sigh with exhaustion, running a hand down your face.

"i'm sorry to hear that," he says quietly, avoiding your eyes. he blinks a few times, adjusts his glasses. he doesn't know what else to say, and he's almost glad for the interruption when the staff walks in and announces the results of the first game.

it's so sudden how people begin to beg for their lives— kneeling before the guards, pleading to be spared. it makes you feel sorry and disgusted at the same time— you can understand why they'd do so, but you can't imagine kneeling before an organisation like this in any way. you value your dignity.

when the gunshot rings out to silence the begging crowd, the guard announces the second clause of the contract: a player who refuses to play will be terminated.

your head snaps up at the sound of sangwoo's confident voice.

"clause three of the consent form—" he steps forward, "the games may be terminated upon a majority vote."

the guard nods, "that is correct."

"then," he looks around, and his eyes fall on you. he looks away, and cocks his head to the side, "let us take a vote."

you almost feel that sense of admiration for him once again— he was always smart, that you can admit. more attentive than others, better at remembering little details. he's stepping forward to directly challenge these guards while people are begging for their lives. he's brave, like he's always been.

you fall in line beside him, and he looks down at you. you give him a slight nod, before your attention is diverted to the next announcement. the staff then show the money accumulated by the deaths of the previous player— 100 million won for each. as the massive piggy bank hanging from the ceiling glows, you can feel him stiffen at the mere sight of the money.

and the voting starts. your number comes soon enough— player 420.

you don't hesitate.

this money is not more important than your life. you need to consider all your options— you're not confident that you would make it till the end. and you don't want to fucking die yet.

you press the cross, and fall into the crowd.

sangwoo's number comes a while after— and you watch him like a hawk. you know he's a smart guy who knows better than to put himself in a compromising situation. you hope he'll help you go home.

until he presses the 'O.'

you feel utterly betrayed once again and he goes to his side of the crowd, not looking at you even once. you scoff to yourself, baffled by his audacity, before redirecting your focus to the voting counter. you start hoping your side wins purely out of spite.

player 001 presses X. your side erupts into cheers and you let out a breath of relief, glancing at sangwoo who stands frozen with his head lowered.

you don't remember much after.

the car ride feels suffocating— everything is dark. there's shuffling before you feel yourself being shoved, and you let out a yelp as your bare skin hits the gravel. "ouch— fuck!"

you hear your name— and recognise the voice.

"mister sangwoo?" you gasp, and hear a pained 'yes'. you can feel a cloth wrapped around your eyes, and your hands and legs are tied. you groan, shifting and writhing on the ground, impatiently trying to free yourself. you feel teeth on the front of your wrists before your hands are released.

you sit up quickly and snatch the cloth off your eyes. you turn to sangwoo then, and quickly untie his wrists. he grunts before sitting up, and the two of you untie your legs.

"shit, it's cold—" you hiss, quickly standing up. those bastards had only left you in a plain white sports bra and underwear. he was naked as well save for a pair of white boxers. the sight makes your skin feel hot, and you take a greedy but discreet glance at his chest before rushing towards your jeans and hoodie that are tossed to the side of the road, quickly getting dressed.

you clear your throat and turn around, only to see him quickly looking away from you, his clothes still in his hands. your eyes narrow knowingly and he wordlessly gets dressed, buttoning up his white shirt.

"are we still in seoul?" you ask, and he clears his throat, adjusting his glasses before looking up towards the buildings. he nods, and you shiver slightly.

he turns to you and hesitates before moving forward to put his grey blazer over you. you raise your eyebrows in question, and he doesn't respond before checking his pockets.

"are you hungry?" he asks, and almost comically in that same moment your stomach growls. he holds back a smile, and you wrap his blazer tighter around yourself.

you rest your head against the table while you wait. you can feel it pounding, but the smell of hot ramen tempts you to raise it. he takes a seat beside you and places the steaming bowl in front of you.

"do you have the money for this?" you cant help but ask.

"dont worry about it," he says with a wave of his hand, bringing out his chopsticks to eat. you decide to leave the job of worrying to him and get to eating.

you're a rather slow eater, and he doesn't complain. he steps out of the store, and you can see his back as he takes out a cigarette. you slurp up the rest of your food and follow him out.

"i don't feel that cold anymore," you hand him his blazer, and he turns to look at you. you're thankful about your self control, because he is a sight. so devilishly handsome even after witnessing such horrors— his cigarette teasingly hanging off his lips, the smoke wafting up and making his eyes squint just a little. his glasses make him look so much more sophisticated, or perhaps you have a thing for nerdy looking men. you're not a smoker, but he makes it look so good. if you were a weaker woman, you would've gasped. no wonder half of your childhood went by with that barely disguised crush on him— no wonder no guy your age back in college seemed good enough.

you clear your throat, bring yourself back to earth and continue. "you can have it. thank you."

he takes the blazer with a nod and puts it on. takes another puff of the cigarette, and watches you look around.

"i thought you'd come back with an american wife." you almost cringe at your own words. but conversation is conversation, you don't know how else to start. it's a discreet way to find out his relationship status, if any.

"marriage is the last thing on my mind." he responds quietly, taking a puff. you look at the side of his face, and his eyes stare at the road in front of him— thoughtful. you wonder what he's thinking about.

"where will you go?" he asks without looking at you.

you shrug, "i don't know."

"do you have any money?"

you pause, suddenly feeling a sense of dread. you have no money, and what little you got from the ddakji guy, you spent on your rent. which got you thrown out anyway.

your silence speaks volumes. he tosses the cigarette to the floor and stomps on it. you sigh.

"i don't have any money."

"come with me," he looks at you, gaze intense and serious. "i have enough for the both of us. atleast for a few days till we can figure things out."

"why?" you cross your arms over your chest almost defensively, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

he grits his teeth as he glares at you, mouth twitching. he looks away then, tonguing the inside of his cheek before returning your gaze. "you have nowhere else to go. it wouldn't be responsible to leave you alone like this."

you almost scoff— the words on the tip of your tongue. but you were okay with leaving me alone back then? but you don't say it, not yet, because you could use his financial help right now. you sigh, before nodding, and gesturing forward.

"fine, lead the way."

the motel he takes you to looks respectable enough. you look around, eyeing the plain decor. the man behind the counter looks at the two of you, and then gives sangwoo a toothy grin, which immediately alerts you.

"only one room available."

sangwoo doesn't protest. he doesn't have the finances to get two separate rooms either. he opens the room and you go in first, looking around. there's a single bed and some flashy lights, and it makes you roll your eyes. you turn around to settle him with a pointed look.

"it's better than i thought," he grunts, taking his blazer off as he takes in the scene. he steps forward and drags a finger down the side table, examines the dust it leaves on his skin with mild disgust.

you bite your lower lip as you watch him— his shirt stretching across his chest, his hair falling messily across his forehead. his glasses resting delicately on the bridge of his nose.

fucking nerd.

his gaze snaps up to you and that's when you realize you'd said that out loud. you wince, looking away and he straightens up, blinking innocently.

"you're still upset with me."

you cross your arms over your chest as you sit on the bed. you quirk an eyebrow, and he cocks his head to the side, eyeing you from a respectable distance.

you decide to play dumb.

"about what?"

he's not amused. he stares at you, expression serious and intense, "i didn't plan to stand you up that day."

so we're going straight to it, you think.

"then why did you?" you snap, unable to hold back the hurt from your voice, "i waited for an hour. you never came. i wanted to talk to you."

"i know." he nods. he walks up to you then, stands at the foot of the bed. "i know what you wanted to talk to me about. i was scared."

you freeze, looking at him cautiously, your heartbeat rising. "scared?"

"i knew you had feelings for me." he sighs, sitting down beside you. his voice is hushed, making the moment feel more intimate than you'd like. "i could tell that's what you wanted to talk to me about. it terrified me."

your breath feels like it's knocked out of your lungs. you swallow the lump in your throat, holding back the tears pricking in the corner of your eyes. "did anyone ever tell you that you're an asshole?"

he grunts, takes out another cigarette. he lights it up and takes a long drag— taking his time to respond.

"many people," he says, blowing some smoke through his nostrils. the sight almost makes your mouth water, but you ignore it.

"you're a dick," you shoot back dryly.

"what i am—" he points his cigarette at you, "— is too old for you. surely you didn't think it was a good idea?"

"you could've rejected me instead," you chuckle bitterly, "but you decided to leave me there to look stupid."

"you were too young." his voice is low, and his response almost makes you want to strangle him. he dusts some ash off his cigarette, adjusts his glasses, and looks at you with an intensity that makes your skin feel hot. "i couldn't keep you happy even if i wanted to."

you frown, gritting your teeth. he looks away.

"you looked at me like i hung the moon and the stars." he continues, looking ahead at the wall, gaze distant. "i couldn't maintain those expectations. we were in two completely different stages. you were meant to go to college, study well, get a good job, a boy your age—"

"stop talking like you're my father," you snap before he can finish, standing up. there's heat behind your glare and you almost laugh at his expression, "i had no expectations from you. so stop with your- your little— excuses. what's done is done, right? you've stood me up once, no need to reject me by wording it smartly. i don't wanna be with you anymore anyway."

that was a lie. you just hoped he couldn't see through your act. you're riled up because you're still affected by him, and his polite behaviour is driving you insane— you want to tear away at his walls, expose the passion he hides behind his smart guy facade. you know it because you've seen it in the way his eyes light up when he talks about his ambitions— how willing he is to cross any line to achieve what he wants. you want to butcher his self control and unleash the animal underneath, the one he's so desperate to hide. it's what made you fall for him in the first place.

he merely looks at you boredly, taking another drag of his cigarette. you snatch it off him, bring it to your own lips. he looks at you with mild shock as you take a drag, and you blow the smoke out on his face.

it all goes smoothly until you cough, and he's snatching the cigarette away again, watching you almost amusedly.

"you can't even handle a cigarette," he remarks dryly, putting it out on the bedframe. and that one line finally ticks you off. almost as if on instinct, your hand pulls back and delivers a sharp slap to his face— making it turn to the side. he snorts, adjusts his glasses again before he looks at you, unimpressed.

"you've been waiting to do that, haven't you?" he asks. your nostrils flare with anger. you can't hurt him physically— but your tongue is sharp. you'll use it.

"you're one to talk about different stages in life," you add, leaning towards him. a smirk curls upon your face, "look at you. all that ambition and experience only to end up scamming people."

out of the need to provoke him, your hand shoots out, jabbing a finger to his chest.

"how would your mother feel if she found out?"

it's a low blow, and you would be ashamed if it hadn't worked. it does its work to finally get to him. he grabs your wrist, and harshly pulls you down towards him, knocking your breath out. he shoves you on the bed and hovers over you, panting slightly. you chuckle.

"my life is hard enough," he hisses sharply, body trembling with concealed rage. his gaze drifts down to your lips before settling upon your eyes again. "do you really want to keep testing me?"

you can't help but smile smugly as you stare at him. there he is— almost on the verge of losing his composure. a few more quips and you're sure he'll crumble. it makes your skin feel tingly. your face leans up slightly, your hungry gaze drifting down to his lips. your hand reaches up, pries his glasses off his face. and then you flick his nose.

"fuck you."

the way his mouth comes crashing onto yours is animalistic. he desperately kisses you with the passion of a madman— his tongue entering your mouth and messily colliding with your own. as if to tease him, you bite his bottom lip sharply and he pulls back, eyes widening as a small trickle of blood falls down the corner of his mouth. his hand pulls back and strikes you across the face, and you can't help but laugh. your cheek stings and feels like it's burning— and you're addicted. you hope he'll do it again. you look back at him with an almost crazed look in your eyes, and you can see it finally dawn upon him that he's finally giving you exactly what you wanted.

"you're enjoying this too much, you little minx—" he hisses, grabbing your neck and kissing you again. your hands immediately reach up to his shirt, fumbling with the buttons as you try to keep up with his pace. he pulls away and tosses his shirt to the side, and you take that opportunity to use all your strength to flip the two of you around so he's the one on his back. it makes him gasp, and you look down at him with darkened eyes— a finger teasingly running down his chest, making him let out a shudder.

he's the object of all your desires for as long as you've ever known. the man of your dreams, the man that you kept comparing every single one of your college boys to. no wonder they never seemed good enough. how could they? they were no match for this beautiful man laying under you.

with a newfound vigour your head drops to his neck, licking and kissing every inch of his skin. your hungry mouth trails down his chest, breathing in the smell of him, leaving greedy bites in its wake. the sounds your actions evoke out of him are downright pornographic— soft, breathless groans that make you want to consume him entirely. his hand comes down to your head, holding you in place as you worship his body— and you moan when his fingers dig into your scalp.

your lips leave a wet trail and cherry red bites down his torso, until you reach the waistband of his pants. teasingly, you mouth at his bulge, making him hiss in return. his hips buck up slightly and you place a soft kiss to the material before leaning up to his face. his hands wrap around your waist and he flips the two of you over again, desperately tearing away at your clothes.

"i shouldn't be doing this," he mutters under his breath, talking more so to himself than you. you raise your hips and he pulls your jeans down, a throaty groan escaping him at the sight of your panties. they're almost transparent from how wet you are. he frees himself from the confines of his underwear and you watch with fascination as he holds you down with a hand on your stomach. you're panting when he's pushing them to the side and entering you immediately— making you scream from the stretch.

he clenches his jaw, squeezes his eyes shut as he buries himself to the hilt with a grunt. you choke on a pained sob, your fingers digging into his back as he grabs the side of your face.

"it hurts—" you hiss through gritted teeth, a tear running down your cheek. it burns, and he waits a second before wordlessly pulling back and thrusting again. the pain morphs into pleasure soon enough, and you whine as he falls into an easy rhythm, wrapping your legs around his waist. you whine in return, and he gives your cheek a light slap, prompting you to open your eyes. your breath hitches as he looks at you intensely— his own eyes glassy.

"not that young now am i?" you grit out with a glare, crying out as he retaliates with a harsh, pointed thrust. "y-you're my first—"

"fuck," he moans, his head dropping down to your chest. his thrusts get quicker, voice raspy and low, "don't— don't say that—"

"i always wanted you to take my virginity," you moan, throwing your head back, dragging your nails down his back. it makes him hiss, "ever since i was a—"

he slams his hand on your mouth, refusing to allow you to finish your sentence. "shut the fuck up."

he doesn't want to be reminded of the age difference between you two, even though you can tell it gets him hot. the moment his hand clasps over your mouth, you cum with a loud moan. your body trembles but he keeps going— not allowing you a moment to breathe. his eyes are full of rage as he bares his teeth in anger. you chuckle breathlessly against his hand, your eyes fluttering. he looks like an angry cat— you want to kiss him all over his face. his thrusts eventually get sloppy— he's close.

you lock your legs tightly around his waist, and he smacks you again. it surprises you this time, and he takes that opportunity to pull out, jerking himself off quickly.

"i can't afford taking risks," he grunts, clenching his jaw. you whine in response, pouting slightly, and he gives you an exasperated glare before he's cumming all over your stomach with a shaky groan.

you pant heavily as you come down from your high, and almost as if on fire— he quickly dresses himself. he pulls out a handkerchief from his blazer pocket, gently wipes off the fluids on your stomach. he just watches you on the bed— his eyes examining his handiwork. you notice his gaze lingers on your cheek. after a few minutes, he wordlessly gets up and goes to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. you roll your eyes as you pull up your jeans too. a few moments pass, and you breathe a puff of air through your nostrils.

"are we going to talk about this?" you call out. there's no answer. you get up and rush to the bathroom door, except he's locked it. you can hear light splashing of water. you scoff in disbelief, going back to the bed. you lay on your side and grab a pillow, your lips wobbling as you go over everything that happened.

this was not how it was supposed to go. he was not supposed to seem this detached. you'd expected atleast a cuddle after sex.

you don't realize when you fall asleep. it's morning when you wake up— sunlight streaming in through the window and directly onto your face, making you wince. you stretch, look over your shoulder.

sangwoo isn't there.

you immediately go to the bathroom. it's empty, though the tub is full. you frown in confusion before turning back to the bed. there, a note on the side table has you stopping.

'i'm sorry,' it said, in his handwriting. placed along with it were a few won bills.

you sniffle as you stare at the note— the writing on it almost mocking you. you crumple it up, your fist shaking as you resist the urge to cry. suddenly, there's a knock on the door, and it makes your entire body stiffen.

a card slides from the little space under the door. the same one you remember the ddakji guy giving you. the shapes on it just look sinister now. the number on it is different this time.

your breathing gets heavy as you stare at it— your head beginning to hurt. you're sure you can hear your ears ringing.

you're alone. you wonder if leaving in the first place was a mistake. your feelings are conflicted— and worst of all, you feel used and betrayed. you're not sure if you should go back to the games. you're not sure if you could survive without any money.

sangwoo had left. you don't know where he is and you have nowhere else to go. no home, and you don't know how you would face your mother. you don't know how long the money he left you could go on.

you don't want to die. but you can't keep living like this either. you bite your bottom lip as you contemplate your options, the hurt from sangwoo's departure still lingering in your chest like a stab wound.

you pick up the card and place the call.

tags: @movienerd3000 @testdrivethv @leebyunghunswifey @nerdybarbariancupcake @neganhore @k1ra-park3r @vivdolls @wab-i @stantwicr @creativerambling @yasmim-1007 @makethemgirlsgoloco @jamiewritesfanfiction-blog @captaincarmel416 @warlabels @ferrarifinnick @smlbch @izzyyann @meheheasasa @poooopy @endlessfl4mes @selfishlittlebeing @pillowtalk6 @antiromanticbaby @sky-forts-and-burning-citadels @flow33didontsmoke

#cho sangwoo #cho sangwoo x reader #park haesoo #squid game x reader smut #squid game fanfic #salesman x reader #frontman x reader #squid game x you #player 218 x reader #raven writes

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itheunknown · 24 hours ago

Text

odi et amo - (02) none for me

negelected! meta! reader x platonic! batfam

masterlist / prev / next

(TW) : emotional neglect, self-destructive behaviour, self-harm, suicide, depression, unhealthy coping mechanisms, underage smoking, underage drinking, alcohol abuse, depression, bpd, depictions of mental illness, violence, trauma, ...

alfred fears he's failed you.

you always were a quiet child, swallowing all the hurt you felt and buried it within your soul. he fears the hurt has consumed you.

he can't confidently say that he's done all he could for you, trying to manage the manor along with the other dysfunctional residents amd their nightly activities, which rendered him unable in giving you his undivided attention.

if he could to back, he would change it all in a heartbeat.

he vividly remembers the day commissioner gordon had phoned him about you, and was briefed about your background and the “accident” through the call, feeling a sense of relief that you had a somewhat normal background. when he saw you, he took that back. the chair you were on looked too big for your malnourished frame, the bandages swallowing your entire body and a couple bruises here and there. but what struck him were your eyes. they were so distant, bags heavy, with no light in them. the eyes that wordlessly show the hidden horrors you’ve been through.

you reminded him of bruce.

you were understandably skittish, settling into a completely new environment and seeing unfamiliar faces that you just had to accept were your now family. he assumed that with time you'd be able to overcome it after mourning the loss of your aunt, along with the help of everyone welcoming you with open arms and getting you accustomed to your new life as part of their family.

yet, that never happened.

he sees them dismiss you.

he’s seen you stand politely outside bruce’s office until he’s done with his tasks before requesting something (the bare necessities), all because previously, the first time (and only time) you had mistakenly interrupted his meeting in order to hand him the papers that alfred had asked you to, bruce had raised his voice at you for being a nuisance.

he’s seen the way you stare at dick when he interacts with the other members, showering them in brotherly love, yet walking past you like you were a piece of furniture, not noticing you.

he’s seen the way you had recommended jason books based on what he had read, only for him to scoff into your face and undermine your intellect, purposely limiting his interactions with you.

he’s seen the way you curiously looked through tim’s door that was left ajar, only for him to give you a scornful look and slamming it in your face, calling you annoying.

he’s seen the way you had agreed to every one of damian’s snide and hateful comments about how you were never good enough for the last name you do not hold, just because he was the only person who paid you any mind.

he's seen the way cassandra could easily read people, but never seemed to think you were worthy enough to give you the time of day, even while your eyes would try to find hers.

he's seen how easy it was for you to cry yet you never allowed yourself to do so, you'd curl your hands into tight fists until it pales and bleeds.

he’s seen the emptiness in your gaze when they’re locked on everyone during dinner, talking and engrossed in each other’s conversation, taking part of each other's lives while leaving you in the sidelines, standing at the doorway before you'd leave to your room, never joining them.

do they not see you?

a few months after you'd settled in, you had requested alfred that he would only really need to come clean your room once a week if at all, claiming that cleaning gives you a sense of control and there's a particular way it needed to be done. you rarely asked anything of him, you were self-sufficient to a fault, never allowing yourself to rely on anyone but yourself. he had offered to learn how you liked the cleaning to be done, but you remained unconvinced. so as to not overstep, he obliged.

he wished he didn’t. he sees you retreat further into yourself. he sees you spiral. he sees it all, yet was unable to stop it. he sees, but does nothing.

alfred cared. but that didn’t mean he could save you.

the weather was gloomy, the grey sky stretched on above you as you watched the soft puffs of smoke escaped from your lips floated up to join the clouds. the familiar comfort that a cigarette brings you feels like a blessing these days. smoking helps lift the weight that weighs heavy on your skull, you try to soothe it even more by pressing harshly against your eye with your other hand void of the burning cigarette. you know it's a bad habit that you should ideally kick, especially worse if you were caught by anyone, but do you actually care?

“thought i'd find you here.”

you don't even need to turn around, recognizing the voice too well.

“what is it this time?”

another voice chippers, the peaceful atmosphere you were surrounded in was interrupted. you sigh and put out the cigarette, waving your hand around to fan the smoke away from your only two friends. they both giggle and extend their arms towards you to pull you up.

“you know, with the amount you've smoked lately, alfred might find out. like, i can smell you before i see you.” they tut at you half-heartedly, watching you brush the dirt off your uniform.

it has become a routine for you, to linger behind after school ends at the more secluded areas, where you hide your bike inside the overgrown bushes (in fear of it being stolen yet again) and smoke away your troubles before making your way back. it's not a habit you started recently, you first smoked when you were working that shitty job to keep you and your aunt afloat, and having mental breakdowns behind the restaurant during break on every shift started to become too much of a nuisance, which was when a coworker had offered you theirs; but you can tell your friends could see that you've been turning to it more often.

with the chatter following behind, you start walking your bicycle towards the main gates of the school, ready to take your usual route home. occasionally joining in their conversations, you're about to bid your friends goodbye until you catch the weird looks the other students throw at you while trying to increase their distance. your hands tighten around the handlebars, trying to remain unfazed as you stood there.

you couldn't even consider yourself a complete social reject, you had tried to remain on everyone's good side to ensure a smooth educational experience: you were helpful and nice, you had good grades and were consistently the top 5 students in your year, and taking parts in various clubs and after school activities. however, no amount of effort could erase the somewhat unsettled look your classmates throw your way and the worried look you teachers would cast at you.

for once, you hoped to not be seen.

does the disdain come from how they never saw your family show up to anything that involved you? or was it because you were a tryhard? it's not like you did it to prove yourself to your family or classmates, but it was a good distraction from the numbness that's eating you whole. you don’t understand what you’ve done. you were clearly not lacking in terms of academic achievements and extracurriculars, so it only left your social life to be judged. your social circle, which only really included your 2 friends, are the sweetest and most supporting characters you’ve known despite being constantly ignored by others, so you come to conclude that you must be the problem. the duo gave you a worried glance, patting your shoulder as you stood there. “hey, don't mind them, you can't please everyone you know.” “yeah, you can't control everything! just let it go.” your other friend chimes in, pushing the back of your bike, prompting you all to walk again.

you smiled, your friends have always been your source of comfort, it was a bond you’ve built on trust and wordless understanding, they had been so compassionate about what you’ve been through even if you rarely opened up - they might be the only people keeping you sane. they understood you more than you did yourself.

you compose yourself and hop on your bicycle, turning back to wave at them. with a sigh, you pushed off, their silhouette fades into into the distance as the wind caresses your face while you pedal. you try not dread having to go back to the manor, enjoying the few short moments you feel at peace within your daily routine, you cycle on the familiar path you've taken countless times before - it's just another day to return to the house that was not your home.

damian was rummaging through your room. mostly out of boredom from roaming the countless empty halls within the manor absent-mindedly, walking past countless doors before he noticed yours. he really didn't have any malicious intentions, despite his distaste of your existence, he was not one to seek you out to make your life harder, he was above that - at least, that's what he believes.

there's not much to see in your room, a couple band posters peeling at the edges, books scattered next to the table lamp on the carpet, bed tidy but not neatly, opened notebooks on your desk. it fills him with contempt. you are less than: no prophecy to fulfil, no legacy to uphold - but also, no trauma to drag you down, your past a clean slate. sharing the same father, but not cut from the same cloth.

unlike him, you were ridiculously normal. unlike him, you were free.

maybe he resents you more than he initially thought.

his eyes lands on a small shirt hung on the wall, it might as well be baby attire.

it was a ragged looking thing, really. the colours worn off, the edges a little frayed but not from use, but rather the quality. curiously, he steps on your bed reaching for it to investigate further.

"what are you doing."

embarrassingly, damian did not care enough to get caught being nosy in your room in the first place. so when you opened your door that was oddly left ajar to see damian standing on your bed with his shoes on after a long day of school, he feels compromised. before he stumbles off your bed, his hand manages to snag the edge of the shirt, pulling it off the walls. your eyes finally catches on to what he was reaching for and your heart rate quickens.

despite how increasingly difficult it was for you to remain calm, you try to smile, "please give that back, damian" you're so nervous your hands almost shake trying to urge him to return it. damian feels humiliated being forced to confront the person whose room he was snooping through, so he fists the article tighter in his hand and snarls at you. seeing as he is not intending to return it, you take a cautious step forward, raising both of your arms.

like a threatened dog, he pushes you harshly with his entire body weight to make way for the door. you stumble back in shock, but grab onto his shoulder before he manages to leave your room. "damian, please, that's very important to me" you plead, trying to pry his fingers off it.

in damian's mind, this was no longer about what's yours, this was his power being questioned.

"you don't even need this rag anymore" he slaps your hand away. your patience wearing thin, frustration bubbling to the surface of your composure, you start forcefully trying to snatch it back. soon, you both were fighting for it, pulling back and forth. you were obviously at a disadvantage, but in your desperation, it didn't matter. you scream at him to let go.

and damian? he's starting to get entertained, having never seen you this emotional before. this was like a game to him, it's too easy to overpower you, so he drags the fight on despite you landing a few hits on him yourself - he's mocking you. the brawl continues, until the sound of fabric ripping stills you.

in your hand was nearly half of your shirt, the other half still firmly held in damian's grasp.

colour leaves your face, you stare in horror at the torn up shirt, not being able to utter a sound.

meanwhile, the fun was over for damian, so he saw no purpose in remaining in your room as he wordlessly let go of the fabric and walked out, stepping on it on the way as if for good measure.

you grabbed him by the shirt, eyes holding back tears. "that was the only thing left from my mother."

the revelation stills him, he feels bad, and he hates that he feels anything for you besides hatred.

"so? that's not my problem. it's not my fault your peasant of a mother couldn't afford anything else to leave you with" he taunts, "in fact, she couldn't even afford to raise you, so now you're here leeching off while haunting the manor with your unnecessary presence."

"what do you know about my mom" damian's eyes widen, taken aback by the seriousness in your tone, contrasting all the times defaulted into being a pushover when with him. you're so upset, your grip on his shirt tightens as you glare through the tears streaming down your face, "i didn't even get to know my mom!"

it's no surprise that with the ruckus that you both caused, it wouldn't have gone unheard. so when alfred came to check and inquire what all the noise was about, he witnessed you yell and push damian to the floor harshly. before you could even register alfred's presence, a force had struck you - your head snapped to the side while the sting starts to burn on your cheek.

alfred had slapped you. alfred. slapped. you.

you and damian stare at him in shock, alfred himself is in disbelief. what had he done? he tries to justify his actions to you, trying to make himself believe he did the right thing.

"damian is younger than you, as the older child you must understand. this is, in no way, an acceptable display as the older sibling."

surely you understand, you always do! he just feared things would have spiraled out of control. right? you're almost catatonic, eyes wide staring at him in disbelief, not believing your ears.

"you must understand."

he stares into your eyes, almost pleading that you'd forgive him. but all that was reflected in your gaze was a look filled with horror and betrayal.

you pushed through both of them, the call of your name falling on deaf ears, storming into the bathroom and slamming the door, locking it.

alfred cared, but not enough.

heyyyyyyyyyy 👋☺️... i uh.. may or may not have used actual events that happened to me in here #projecting am i right :heh: thank you for all your lovely comments 🫶 you're all so skibbidi it really helped motivate me (not to abandon my writing)! as always interactions are very appreciated ⊹ �� ˖ (TAGLIST) lmk if you'd like to be added to the taglist :yowaimo: @confused-they @hoeinthehouse @strwberryglass @heartjwonie @glitchmshade @bat1212 @buddee @eyeless-kun @thereeallink @icantcryicantstopcrying @bunbunboysworld @gh0str00m @wizzerreblogs @lazy-kari202 @dotomuses @gwyneveire @gh6st24 @roseapov @kore-of-the-underworld @kingshitonly @plsfckmedxddy @unknownloner1345 @moon-2232 @lilithquillete @v3vina @froggy-voidd @angrybuttooshorttofightyou @sami0169 @m3vlOvesu @pix-stuff @bunbunbread @agent-nobody-knows @cxcilla @horror-lover-69 @redkarmakai @mariadvorak @shirp-collector-of-fixations @batboygirlie @diejager @noclue-0 @sick2mystmch @novs9011 @kitkatkitmeow @crazycaoticsimp @majonla @hebaoffside

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theetherealbloom · 2 days ago

Text

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.4

Chapter Four: Everybody Wonders What It Would Be Like To Love You

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck, Bullying, Physicological Bullying, Mean Girls,

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: Heads up, there’s a bully in this chapter but dw, you got Pedro on your side hehe. Again, this is all fictional. To any Cecilia’s out there in irl, no hate to you girl, I don’t even know you LOL.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: gold rush by Taylor Swift

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist |Main Masterlist|

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — MORNING

The hum of set life surrounded you like a familiar melody—the rhythmic chatter of crew members, the distant clatter of equipment being adjusted, the occasional burst of laughter from someone off-camera. You moved through it all with ease, exchanging quick words with a fellow PA as you double-checked the last-minute details before call time.

You didn’t notice him watching you.

Pedro sat in the makeup chair, already in costume, his eyes drifting away from the mirror as Coco worked her hands through his hair. His body was still, but his mind was somewhere else. Or rather—on someone else.

It was the way you tilted your head as someone from production rattled off instructions, your brows furrowing slightly in concentration. The way you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, nodding once before offering a soft, assured smile. You weren’t just hearing what they were saying—you were listening, absorbing every detail like you belonged here. Like you had always belonged.

He felt something tighten in his chest.

God, you made him feel strange.

It was the words that stuck in his throat when you were near, the way his pulse stuttered for no damn reason. The way his thoughts—usually so steady, so controlled—felt unruly around you. It was dizzying. Unsettling.

It had been a long time since he’d felt like this. Since he’d been caught so completely off guard by someone.

And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from looking for you.

In the crowd. In the moments between takes. In the quiet spaces where he thought maybe—just maybe—you were looking for him, too.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON

Lunch break rolled around, bringing a much-needed lull in the day’s chaos. The crew scattered—some retreating to their trailers, others grabbing quick bites from catering, the energy shifting into something looser, more relaxed.

Your phone buzzed just as you were sitting down at one of the outdoor tables, the screen lighting up with a message.

Pedro: Wanna grab a bite later?

You smiled to yourself, thumbs already moving across the screen.

You: I do, but I kinda wanna hang with my friends for a bit too.

His response came almost immediately.

Pedro: Oh yeah, of course. Mind if I tag along?

You hesitated for half a second. Not because you didn’t want him there—but because you weren’t sure if he really wanted to be there.

You: Are you sure?

Pedro: Obviously.

So that’s how Pedro Pascal ended up at lunch with you and your friends, settling into the group like he had always belonged there.

He was easy to talk to, of course. He charmed his way through introductions, seamlessly jumping into conversations, laughing in all the right places, making everyone feel like they were the most interesting person in the room. But his attention always had a way of drifting back to you.

The way you scrunched your nose as you tried to pick apart a joke someone had made. The way your eyes lit up as you talked about some old inside story with your friends. The way you were currently demolishing a cookie like it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.

Pedro noticed.

He didn’t say anything, but he noticed.

His lips twitched as you took another enthusiastic bite, completely unaware of his amusement.

There were other things, too—subtle things. The brush of his knee against yours under the table, lingering just a second longer than necessary. The way his fingers would graze your wrist when he leaned in to say something, as if testing the waters. The way his eyes would flick to your lips when you spoke before quickly darting away, as if he hadn’t meant to.

And then, of course, there was the teasing.

"Did you even taste that cookie, or did you just inhale it?" Pedro mused, finally breaking his silence, amusement lacing his voice.

You swallowed the last bite, leveling him with a mock glare. "It’s really good."

He smirked. "Clearly."

"Don’t judge me."

"Never." The word came softer than expected, a little too sincere for just teasing. His gaze held yours for a beat longer than necessary, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

Your heart stuttered.

He looked away first, but not before you caught the slightest hint of pink creeping up the tips of his ears. It was such a small thing—barely there, really—but you noticed. And it made something warm unfurl in your chest.

The conversation around the table carried on, your friends swapping stories and teasing each other between bites of food. Pedro chimed in here and there, laughing along, but every now and then, you felt his gaze flick back to you.

You were hyper-aware of him now. The way his arm rested casually on the back of your chair, not quite touching but close enough that you could feel his warmth. The way his fingers absentmindedly drummed against the table, his other hand occasionally brushing against yours as he reached for his drink.

Then, he sighed, pulling his phone from his pocket, frowning slightly at the screen.

"Ugh, my phone’s about to die."

Without hesitation, you reached into your bag, pulling out your power bank and a charging cord. "Oh, no worries, here—use this."

Pedro blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

You handed it over without a second thought, already turning back to your food. But he didn’t move to plug his phone in right away. Instead, he just looked at you, something unreadable in his expression.

His fingers brushed against yours as he took the charger, his touch lingering just a fraction longer than necessary.

“You just carry this around with you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, something softer beneath the teasing edge.

You shrugged, popping another bite of food into your mouth. “Yeah, of course. Never know when you might need it.”

His lips quirked, but he didn’t say anything right away.

Instead, he plugged in his phone, then glanced back at you, shaking his head slightly like he couldn’t quite believe you.

"What?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Pedro exhaled a small laugh, tucking the power bank into his lap like it was something precious. "Nothing. You’re just—" He paused, searching for the right word, before finally settling on, "—thoughtful."

Something about the way he said it made your stomach flip.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his gaze. "It’s just a charger, Pedro."

"Yeah," he murmured, still watching you. "I know."

But his expression said something else entirely.

You weren’t sure what to do with that look—the quiet weight of his gaze, the way he seemed to be memorizing you like you were something worth studying. So, instead of dwelling on it, you reached into your bag and pulled out your notepad and pen.

Doodling had always been second nature to you. Something to keep your hands busy while your mind wandered. While your friends continued chatting, their voices washing over you in waves, you let your pen glide over the paper in absentminded strokes.

Pedro, however, wasn’t nearly as distracted.

From the corner of his eye, he watched, his attention flicking between you and the small spirals and shapes forming beneath your fingers. It was mesmerizing in a way he didn’t expect. The way your brow furrowed ever so slightly when you concentrated. The way your pen tapped softly against the pad before committing to a new line.

He shifted in his seat, subtly angling himself so he could get a better look.

It wasn’t just mindless scribbles.

You were sketching. Really sketching.

A rough outline of the restaurant table, the glasses, the crumpled napkins. And just beside that, the faint beginnings of a face—strong jaw, slightly furrowed brows, lips curved at the edges as if they were on the verge of a smirk.

His lips.

Pedro’s throat tightened.

"That me?" he asked, voice pitched just low enough for only you to hear.

Your pen paused mid-stroke, and you glanced up at him, caught. He wasn’t teasing, not really. If anything, there was something almost—fond—about the way he was looking at you.

You shrugged, offering a sheepish smile. "Maybe."

Pedro huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "I didn’t know you could draw."

"It’s just something I do when I’m listening," you admitted, flipping the page like it was nothing.

But he didn’t think it was nothing.

He wanted to say something else, something lighthearted to keep you from looking so shy about it, but before he could, one of your friends called your name, pulling your attention away.

Pedro exhaled, leaning back in his seat, but his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer.

Thoughtful. Talented.

Yeah. He was absolutely in trouble.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON

The shift in the air was subtle at first, almost imperceptible.

But you felt it.

It was the way certain conversations would quiet just as you approached. The way people who had once been warm and welcoming now exchanged knowing glances when they thought you weren’t looking. The way whispers followed in your wake, hushed giggles that felt anything but good-natured.

And at the center of it all was Cecilia.

She was the kind of woman people noticed when she walked into a room—stunning, sharp-witted, and utterly ruthless when it came to getting what she wanted.

And for whatever reason, she had decided that you were a problem.

At first, it was small things. A pointed look. A lingering smirk. A brush of her shoulder against yours as she passed by.

But then, it escalated.

"Did you hear?" one of her friends whispered just loud enough as you walked by. "She totally forced her way onto this project. Some kind of nepotism thing, I bet."

"Ugh, so cringe," another voice giggled. "She acts all sweet, but like, we know the truth."

You gritted your teeth, kept your head down, and moved along.

You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what this was. Psychological warfare disguised as petty gossip. You’d seen it before, and you'd see it again.

The worst part?

You refused to let it get to you.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Pedro noticed.

It started with the way you brushed things off too quickly, like you were trying not to care. The way your usual smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes. The way your laugh—one of his new favorite sounds—had dulled just a fraction, too forced, too polite.

And Pedro wasn’t an idiot.

He saw the way Cecilia and her group slinked around set like vipers, the way their eyes always seemed to flick toward you before whispering behind manicured hands.

It pissed him off.

But when he asked about it, you just waved it away.

“Nothing’s wrong.” You shrugged, reaching for a prop clipboard. “Just tired. Long day.”

Pedro arched a brow. “Really? That’s it?”

“Yep.”

He studied you for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. “You’re a terrible liar.”

That made you scoff. “I am fine.”

“Uh-huh.” He crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly. “So, you’re totally cool with the whole… weird vibe around here lately?”

You hesitated. Just for a second.

It was enough.

“Pedro,” you sighed, shaking your head. “It’s not a big deal. I don’t care what they think, okay? It’s just… you know how some people are. They get bored.”

“They get mean,” he corrected.

You frowned, looking away.

He softened, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t suck.”

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the clipboard.

“It doesn’t suck,” you insisted. “Because I don’t care.”

Pedro’s stare was unwavering, but you held your ground.

Because if you admitted it did hurt—if you let yourself feel it—you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop.

And you weren’t going to let them win.

Pedro sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Fine. You don’t care," he murmured. "But if you ever do care… you’ll tell me, right?"

Something in your chest tightened at that.

You forced a small, teasing smile. “Wow, Pedro. That almost sounded like a serious conversation.”

He rolled his eyes but smirked. "Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it."

And just like that, the tension cracked, relief flickering behind his gaze.

For now, he’d let you pretend you were fine.

But he’d also be watching.

TWO DAYS BEFORE THE WEEKEND…

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — MORNING

The next two days were a slow, grating kind of miserable.

It started with small things—so small that if you weren’t paying attention, you might have convinced yourself they were nothing. The way conversations would quiet just as you walked past, the barely-concealed laughter from across the room, the occasional, suspiciously misplaced item that had definitely been right where you left it.

It was the kind of thing that chipped away at you in small, insidious ways.

Like the way Cecilia and her friends would conveniently stand right where you needed to go, their backs turned but their voices just loud enough.

“I swear, some people just don’t belong here.”

You’d walk past without reacting, even as the words burrowed under your skin.

Or the way your neatly organized stack of call sheets had been mysteriously scattered all over the breakroom counter when you came back from a coffee run. No one claimed responsibility, but Cecilia had walked by, tossing you a slow, syrupy-sweet, “Oops, was that important?” before sauntering off.

You clenched your jaw. Breathed through it.

Not worth it.

But then there were the more deliberate moments.

Like the wardrobe rack incident.

You had been helping move costumes between trailers when Cecilia and one of her friends conveniently brushed past, sending a precariously hung dress tumbling to the ground.

“Oh no,” Cecilia pouted, pressing a hand to her chest with mock concern. “You should really be more careful.”

You bent to pick it up, biting back the sharp retort on the tip of your tongue. The last thing you needed was to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

Still, your fingers trembled slightly as you smoothed out the fabric and rehung it.

Then, there was lunch.

You had been balancing a plate of food in one hand, your phone in the other, when one of Cecilia’s friends accidentally knocked your elbow in passing.

It was a tiny movement. Just enough to send your fork clattering to the floor, just enough to make you hesitate—because was it intentional? Or were you just being paranoid?

“Careful,” the girl sing-songed over her shoulder, giggling as she caught up with Cecilia.

You let out a slow breath. Swallowed back the lump in your throat.

Not worth it.

So you kept your head up, kept moving, kept going. You told yourself that if you didn’t acknowledge it, if you pretended it didn’t exist, then it couldn’t touch you.

Right?

But it did.

Because by the time you got back to your trailer that night, you had to sit on the edge of your bed and press the heels of your hands into your eyes, breathing slow, measured breaths to keep yourself from crying.

Because it was working.

Because no matter how much you told yourself you were fine, no matter how much you smiled and laughed and acted unbothered, the cracks were starting to show.

You barely had a moment to yourself.

Between running last-minute errands for production, keeping up with the crew’s rapid-fire instructions, and dodging the subtle but constant hostility radiating from Cecilia and her group, you were stretched thin.

The exhaustion was creeping in—settling in the space between your ribs, behind your eyes, in the way your shoulders sat just a little tighter than usual.

But you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

So you pushed through, past the carefully calculated inconveniences. The way they always seemed to cut in front of you when you were in a hurry, the stolen side-eyes and smirks exchanged whenever you spoke in a group, the way your things somehow always ended up in different places than you’d left them.

You pretended not to notice when Cecilia’s voice turned just a little too loud whenever she spoke to someone near you.

"Oh my god, you know what I hate? When people think just anyone can belong in this industry. Like… babe, you’re only here because they needed extra hands. It’s cute, though."

You told yourself not to react.

Even when Daisy—who had been standing beside you, her grip tightening on her clipboard—made a noise that sounded a lot like she was about to launch herself across the room.

“It’s whatever,” you had muttered, tugging her back before she could make a scene.

Daisy had narrowed her eyes. “It’s not whatever. She’s being a bitch.”

You had only sighed. “I know.”

Omar wasn’t as easily convinced.

The next morning, when you found him loitering near Cecilia’s usual coffee spot, arms crossed and expression unreadable, you had to physically drag him away before he did something stupid.

“Do not get yourself in trouble over this.”

“She’s messing with you,” he seethed. “I hate people like her.”

“She’s not worth it,” you said, but even to your own ears, your voice sounded too thin, too tight.

Omar wasn’t buying it. “Okay, but are you okay?”

You hesitated. The truth was, you weren’t sure anymore.

The worst part wasn’t the pettiness or the whispered insults—it was the fact that it was working. That somehow, in all the noise and nonsense, they had managed to make you feel small.

But admitting that felt too much like defeat.

So you forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

Omar gave you a long, knowing look before muttering something under his breath and stalking off.

That afternoon, as you sat on a bench outside the studio, your notebook balanced on your lap, you felt a shadow fall over you.

“Hey,” Pedro’s voice was soft.

You glanced up, startled. “Oh. Hey.”

His brows knit together. “You okay?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You’ve been… different.” His voice was measured, careful. “Quieter.”

You tried to play it off, shaking your head with a small laugh. “I’m just tired. Long shoot days, you know how it is.”

Pedro didn’t look convinced.

For a moment, he just stood there, watching you with that steady, unreadable gaze of his. Like he was sifting through the words you weren’t saying, trying to make sense of them.

Then, without another word, he sat down beside you.

Close enough that his arm brushed against yours.

You tensed, just slightly, before exhaling.

Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Then—

“Can I see?” he asked, nodding toward your notebook.

You hesitated.

It was just mindless doodles—tiny flowers curling around the corners of the pages, half-finished sketches of set pieces, a rough outline of something that might have been Pedro’s profile if you hadn’t abandoned it halfway through.

You felt a little embarrassed, but you handed it to him anyway.

Pedro flipped through the pages, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “These are really good.”

You rolled your eyes. “They’re just sketches.”

“Still,” he murmured, fingers skimming over the paper. “They’re yours.”

There was something about the way he said it—soft, sincere—that made your stomach tighten.

For the first time in two days, something in you eased.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

And when Pedro leaned in, just slightly, warmth radiating from his shoulder where it rested against yours, you didn’t move away.

Pedro was still flipping through your sketches when a sharp, saccharine voice cut through the air.

“Oh wow, there you are, Pedro. I was wondering when you’d finally come up for air.”

Cecilia.

You felt your whole body go rigid.

Pedro barely glanced up, his fingers still tracing one of your sketches absentmindedly. “Hey.” His voice was flat, distracted.

She took a step closer, her presence invasive in a way that made your skin prickle. “I was just telling the others how dedicated you are to your work. You know, always finding ways to get into character.” Her gaze flicked toward you, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Even off set.”

You swallowed hard.

Your chest felt tight, exhaustion pressing against your ribs, making it harder to keep your expression neutral. You were already hanging by a thread, stretched too thin over the last two days, and Cecilia knew it.

Pedro, still looking down at your notebook, gave a vague hum of acknowledgment, barely engaging. It wasn’t the reaction Cecilia had been hoping for, and you could see it. The way her expression twitched for half a second before smoothing over again.

She tilted her head, the corners of her mouth curling. “It’s sweet, though. That you take the time to entertain people. I mean, it’s not like everyone gets that kind of attention from you.” She let out a light, airy laugh that made your stomach turn. “Guess it pays to be in the right place at the right time, huh?”

The implication was clear.

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself not to react.

But then—

“Cecilia,” Pedro’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it now. His fingers tapped against the notebook, his expression unreadable. “What are you doing?”

Cecilia blinked, all faux innocence. “What do you mean?”

Pedro finally lifted his head, and when he met her gaze, something in his expression shifted—something sharp, something distinctly unimpressed.

“I mean, what are you doing?” His voice was just as smooth as before, but there was weight behind it now. “Because if you’re here to talk about the shoot, you should probably be talking to the crew.”

Cecilia’s smile faltered.

It was subtle, but you caught it.

She opened her mouth, probably to smooth things over, but Pedro was already looking back at you, tilting the notebook toward you slightly, as if she weren’t even standing there.

“You should finish this one,” he murmured, tapping his finger against the half-finished sketch of his profile. “It’s really good.”

You could feel Cecilia’s eyes burning into you, but Pedro wasn’t giving her anything to work with.

Her lips parted, like she might try again, but then she seemed to think better of it. Instead, she let out a small, sharp exhale through her nose, rolling her eyes as she turned on her heel and stalked off.

The moment she was gone, you let out a slow, shaky breath, your hands gripping your notebook a little tighter.

Pedro glanced over, brow furrowed. “You okay?”

You nodded, even though your throat was tight. “I just…” A deep inhale. “I think I need a break.”

Pedro studied you for a long moment. Then, without a word, he reached out, resting his hand over yours where it lay against the bench.

Warm. Steady.

Grounding.

“Let’s take one, then,” he murmured.

And for the first time in days, you let yourself lean into it.

The evening air was crisp, carrying the lingering scent of rain on the pavement as the last of the crew wrapped up for the day. You were exhausted, your body aching from hours on set, but when Pedro leaned in—voice low and warm—you felt something in you unwind.

“Wanna grab dinner before heading back?”

You blinked up at him, a little caught off guard. “Like… out-out?”

His lips quirked into a small smile, hands slipping into the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah. Out-out.”

You hesitated, glancing around as crew members bustled past, some already heading toward the shuttle van waiting to take everyone back to the hotel. “But, like… what if people see me with you?”

Pedro gave you a look. “So?”

“So… you’re you,” you gestured vaguely at him, “and I’m just—”

He cut you off with a quiet scoff, shaking his head. “Nope. We’re not doing that again. You’re you. And I wanna have dinner with you. End of discussion.”

The finality in his tone made your stomach flip.

You bit your lip, then nodded. “…Okay.”

Pedro’s face softened, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he bumped your shoulder lightly. “Good.”

By the time you both made it to the shuttle van, most of the cast and crew were already piling in.

Vanessa was the first to notice. She raised an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across her face. “Ohhh, where are you two off to?”

Before you could answer, Joseph leaned forward from his seat. “Are we witnessing a secret rendezvous?”

Ebon chuckled, shaking his head. “A little late-night dinner date?”

Coco, already buckled in, smirked knowingly. “Have funnnn,” she teased, dragging out the last syllable.

You rolled your eyes, heat creeping up your neck. Pedro, for his part, was completely unfazed, flashing them an easy smile as he opened the door for you. “Don’t wait up,” he called, earning a chorus of laughter and whistles from the others as he shut it behind you.

The restaurant wasn’t far—a quiet little spot tucked away from the main streets. The walk there was peaceful, the city buzzing around you but never pressing in too close.

Pedro, dressed down in a hoodie, jeans, a baseball cap, and his glasses, was trying his best to blend in. But even like this, effortlessly casual, he still had a presence. He still walked like he took up space, like the world had to move around him.

The height difference was almost comical. You felt it every time he turned his head down to look at you, every time his arm brushed against yours.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

You glanced up at him, caught off guard. “What?”

Pedro gave you a look, one that made it clear he wasn’t buying whatever act you thought you were pulling. “Cecilia.”

Your stomach twisted.

You exhaled slowly, shaking your head. “It’s not a big deal.”

Pedro stopped walking.

You took two more steps before realizing, turning back to find him standing there, arms crossed, brows drawn together in frustration.

He looked at you, really looked at you. “Of course, it’s a big deal,” he said, voice quieter now but firm. “If it’s hurting you, it’s a big deal.”

You swallowed.

The weight of his concern settled over you, warm and heavy. No one had ever really said that before. That what you were feeling mattered. That you weren’t just overreacting.

Something in your chest cracked open, just a little.

“…I just don’t want to make a thing out of it,” you admitted, voice small.

Pedro’s features softened. He stepped closer, dipping his head slightly to meet your eyes. “You don’t have to,” he murmured. “But you don’t have to pretend it doesn’t bother you, either.”

A lump formed in your throat.

And then, just as easily as he had turned serious, he pulled back, tilting his head toward the restaurant. “C’mon. Food first, then we plot Cecilia’s demise.”

A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it.

Pedro grinned, pleased with himself, before nudging your shoulder with his own.

And as you walked the rest of the way, some of the weight on your chest didn’t feel quite so heavy anymore.

The restaurant was dimly lit, warm and intimate in a way that made the rest of the world feel far away. Soft jazz hummed through the air, mixing with the quiet murmur of conversation and the occasional clinking of glasses. The hostess greeted you both with a polite smile, barely sparing a glance at Pedro—either because she didn’t recognize him or, more likely, was being professional about it.

Pedro let you choose the table, and you picked one near the window, a cozy little booth that felt tucked away from the rest of the diners. As you slid into your seat, Pedro pulled off his cap, running a hand through his messy curls before setting it down on the table.

He looked… comfortable. Relaxed. And yet, there was still something unreadable in his expression as he watched you settle in.

“You know,” he started, leaning forward on his elbows, “I’m kind of mad at you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What? Why?”

“Because,” he huffed, “I’ve been trying to get you alone for days, and the first time it actually happens, it’s because some Mean Girls knockoff has been making your life miserable.”

You snorted. “So dramatic.”

“I am dramatic,” he agreed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “But seriously. I don’t like that it took this for me to get to steal you away.”

There was something in the way he said it—lighthearted, sure, but laced with something else. Something quieter. More honest.

Your stomach flipped.

Before you could figure out how to respond, the waiter appeared, handing over menus. Pedro thanked him with a charming smile before glancing back at you. “What are you in the mood for?”

You shrugged, scanning the options. “Something warm.”

Pedro hummed. “Soup?”

“Maybe.”

“Or,” he wiggled his eyebrows, “we get a huge plate of pasta and reenact Lady and the Tramp.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Absolutely not.”

Pedro placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Wow. That was a little too fast. Like you’ve thought about rejecting me before.”

You bit your lip, trying to fight the smile threatening to break free. He made it so easy to forget the exhaustion pressing down on you, the weight of the last few days.

The waiter came back, and you both placed your orders—him getting some kind of hearty stew, you settling on a creamy pasta dish. The conversation flowed as effortlessly as ever, touching on everything and nothing all at once.

At some point, Pedro leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out beneath the table. His knee brushed against yours, but he didn’t move away. Neither did you.

“So.” His voice was softer now, less teasing. “Cecilia.”

You sighed, slumping slightly. “Can we not?”

“We can,” Pedro allowed. “But I still hate it.”

You fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, tracing the fabric between your fingers. “It’s not like she’s saying anything outright cruel. Just little things. Looks. Comments. Stuff that doesn’t sound like much but still…”

Pedro’s jaw ticked. His fingers drummed absently against the table. “That’s how people like her work. They know how to make you feel like you’re imagining it.”

You swallowed, looking down. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence stretched between you. Then—

“Do you want me to talk to her?”

Your head snapped up. “What? No.”

Pedro tilted his head, eyeing you. “Why not?”

“Because,” you exhaled sharply, “I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

His gaze softened, a flicker of something fond in his eyes. “I know you don’t. But I also know that you’re tired. And I hate seeing you like this.”

Something in you wavered.

Pedro sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I just—God, I don’t get it. How could anyone not adore you?”

Your breath hitched.

The words were so sincere, so effortless, like he wasn’t even trying to be charming—just saying what was in his heart.

Heat crept up your neck. You looked away, focusing on the flickering candle in the middle of the table. “You’re biased.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Pedro grinned. “And yet, here you are. Having dinner with me.”

“Unfortunately.”

He clutched his chest in mock agony. “You wound me.”

The waiter arrived with your food, and Pedro’s dramatic antics were temporarily forgotten as the delicious aroma filled the air. As you picked up your fork, he reached across the table, his fingers brushing against the back of your hand—just for a second, just long enough to send a small shiver up your spine.

“Hey,” he murmured.

You glanced up, and for the first time all day, you felt seen.

“Don’t let her get to you,” Pedro said, voice gentle but firm. “You’re worth so much more than whatever bullshit she’s trying to pull.”

Something tightened in your chest.

You swallowed, nodding. “Okay.”

Pedro studied you for a moment, then smiled. “Good.”

The weight on your shoulders didn’t disappear entirely, but it softened, melted into something manageable under the glow of candlelight and Pedro’s unwavering attention. You let yourself relax, let yourself exist in this small, intimate moment where it was just the two of you, where the laughter was easy and the warmth between you was something real, something steady.

Pedro caught your gaze mid-conversation, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned in just slightly. “There she is.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “What?”

“That smile,” he said simply. “Haven’t seen it in a while.”

Heat bloomed in your chest, warm and unfamiliar, something delicate but deep. You rolled your eyes, but it lacked any real bite. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” Pedro teased, mirroring your words from earlier, “here you are.”

You shook your head, lips twitching. “Unfortunate, really.”

Pedro pressed a dramatic hand to his chest. “Wow. First, I get turned down for Lady and the Tramp, and now this? My ego is in shambles.”

You laughed, a real, unguarded sound, and he grinned like that was exactly what he was hoping for.

The conversation stretched long into the night, ebbing and flowing between playful teasing and quiet sincerity. The kind of talk that felt effortless, that felt safe.

Somewhere between the last bites of food and the soft hum of the restaurant around you, Pedro reached across the table, his fingers skimming yours. The touch was featherlight, a quiet question rather than a demand. You could have pulled away.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you let your fingers curl around his, grounding, steady.

Pedro didn’t say anything—he just squeezed your hand, a silent promise, and you squeezed back.

Outside, the night air was crisp, carrying the distant sounds of the city with it. The restaurant door shut softly behind you, leaving you and Pedro standing beneath the glow of streetlights, his cap pulled low, his glasses perched on his nose.

It should have felt different—stepping back into reality after the small bubble of warmth inside the restaurant. But somehow, it didn’t.

Pedro rocked back on his heels, hands tucked into his pockets. “Still okay?”

You exhaled, watching as your breath curled into the night air. “Yeah,” you admitted, surprising yourself. “I think I am.”

Pedro studied you for a beat, then nodded, satisfied.

It turns out Vanessa, Coco, Joseph and Ebon got dinner somewhere else in town away from the two of you and they were waiting already in the shuttle and as soon as you both stepped inside, the teasing started. “Ohhh, look who finally decided to show up,” Vanessa sang, kicking her feet up on the seat in front of her, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Joseph smirked from his spot by the window, arms crossed over his chest. “How romantic was it, really? Scale of one to ten?”

Coco grinned. “I’m betting solid eight.” Ebon scoffed. “Nah, Pedro’s smooth—at least a nine.” Pedro sighed dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You guys seriously have nothing better to do?” Vanessa waved a hand. “Nope. Now spill.” You rolled your eyes, buckling your seatbelt as the van pulled away from the curb. “We ate dinner. Like normal people. And then we walked outside. Like normal people.” Coco squinted. “That’s exactly what someone who did kiss would say.” Pedro groaned, leaning his head back against the seat, while you fought the smile tugging at your lips. Joseph held out his hands. “Okay, okay, let’s be serious for a second. Was it cute at least?” You blinked at him. “Was what cute?” “The date—” “It wasn’t a date,” you and Pedro said at the same time. A pause.

Then Vanessa gasped, clutching her chest. “You’re already finishing each other’s sentences?” “Oh my God,” Pedro mumbled under his breath. The laughter rolled through the van, easy and infectious, and despite the relentless teasing, despite the way your face burned under their knowing looks, you couldn’t help but feel… good.

The knot in your chest—the one that had been coiled so tight these past few days—had loosened. Maybe not completely, but enough that breathing didn’t feel so hard. Pedro shifted beside you, turning his head so only you could hear him. “They’re never gonna let this go.” You sighed. “Yeah. I figured.” His shoulder brushed yours, a quiet reassurance, and when he spoke again, there was something soft in his voice. “You sure you’re okay?” You hesitated. Because truthfully, the weight of the past few days still sat heavy on your shoulders. Cecilia had made sure of that. The quiet digs, the passive-aggressive comments, the knowing smirks—it was a kind of exhaustion that seeped into your bones. But right now, in the warmth of this moment, with Pedro looking at you like he actually cared about the answer, you found yourself saying— “I think I will be.” Pedro studied you for a beat, then nodded, satisfied. It was a small thing—just a simple gesture, barely more than a shift of his head. But somehow, it carried more weight than it should have, like he was silently saying I see you. I hear you. You swallowed. It was nice to have a friend. But then—was that all this was? You glanced at him again, at the way he was sat with you so easily, like he’d always been meant to be there. At the way he felt beside you, like a quiet anchor in the storm of the last few days.

End Notes:

I told you there would be drama O_O

Again, no hate to any girlie named Cecilia, everyone calm.

Don’t worry girlies… it will turn out fine, mostly… I think… ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

YA'LL SEEN THE TEASER TRAILER!?!?!? IM UNWELL AND DYING AND SO EXCITED AND I WANT TO MELT AND DIE VANESSA KIRBY YOU LUCKY WOMAN I WANNA KISS HIM TOO T^T

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @klajmekk @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fan fiction #pedro pascal gifs #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x reader masterlist #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x ofc #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x plus size reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal x fem!reader #pedro pascal series masterlist

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suksatoru · 1 day ago

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rin itoshi has a very special skill, one where he can predict when you're about to spew absolute nonsense. he says he has a sixth sense reserved just for your antics, and he also swears you're going to be the reason he has a full head of gray hair before he turns twenty.

"rinnie," you try again—pouting when rin exhales sharply from his nose, refusing to meet your gaze. rin sits on the ground at the end of his bed, and you sit perched on top of his blankets—hanging your head upside down to stare at him like the cheshire cat.

"no." he replies, short and curt as you drape yourself over his shoulder with a sigh. he shifts the slightest bit so you can comfortably curl your head against his form. you nose at his throat before speaking up again, quieter this time.

"pretty please? it's really all i want, rinnie. it would make my day—no, my life! please?"

rin thought you were the idiot in this relationship, but he knows he's the real lovesick fool. it wasn't impossible to say no, he says it to other people all the time. but your eyes are hopeful and round. and truthfully, the sight of your frown was truly his undoing.

rin lets out a dramatic sigh, loud and annoyed—and you know he accepts his defeat when he hands you his hair brush with a grumble. you roll off of the bed, sitting criss cross on the ground across him in an instant as you grab the nearby rubber bands laying on the floor with a dopey grin

"you just relax while i work rinnie! i promise, you won't even know i'm here!"

rin's deadpan expression only makes you laugh quietly, and you lean forward to place a gentle peck onto his lips. you hover over his mouth after pulling away an inch, taking a moment to admire his face before grinning

"grumpy," you muse as you gently brush your nose against his. rin mumbles something about you knowing nothing about personal space as he tugs you onto his lap

"if i'm bald by the end of this—"

"oooh rinnie your hair's so soft! i'm stealing your shampoo later," you interrupt with a giggle, pressing soft kisses onto the crown of his head as his shoulders slump. his broody expression is far too adorable to not kiss, and after peppering enough kisses onto his cheeks to leave them tinted pink—you get to work.

rin doesn't know why you want to style his hair. he regards your sparkly pink hair clips with an eye roll. but your fingers are gentle and soothing as they work to brush and style his hair, and he can feel the exhaustion slowly dispersing from his muscles as he leans into your touch.

"it feels...nice. thank you," he murmurs softly, gently rubbing your thigh as you hum in response. he moves to take a glance at you, and his heart skips a beat when he sees your tongue poked out in concentration as you work on tying his hair. cute.

it takes another fifteen minutes for you to finish your assault on his head. rin's practically putty beneath your fingers now, and there's a barely visible furrow between his brows when you pull your touch away from him.

"you look like a prince... you should totally let me style your hair more often, rinnie!" you gush, smiling softly as you admire your work on him.

"i'll be the judge of that," he mutters with a small smile, reaching onto his bed to grab your phone. he bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling when he sees your wallpaper being his back and jersey number, but the smile is wiped off his face in an instant as he lets out a startled yelp—staring at his reflection in the camera app.

"yeah. not happening, you cheeky brat." he scoffs, pointing at his head with a scowl

"y/n, tell me where you got five hundred charms of hello kitty clips... what damned store did you rob? and why are there pink extensions in my hair? are they—is that fucking glitter in them?"

rin eventually fell victim to a photoshoot, though he shouldn't be surprised. did he really think he'd escape you that easily? he's not very amused by your new wallpaper of him afterwards, but he can't even try and stop the amusement glimmering in his emerald eyes.

"not a soul will see those pictures. or i swear, i'll stick you in a gold fish tank y/n." rin mutters later that night as you two lay in bed, pressing feather soft kisses onto your shoulder blades as he silently admires the way your lips jut out in an adorable pout. his threat isn't very scary when he holds you like you're the most precious thing in his life, but you nod anyway.

"okay," you sigh in defeat. rin's eyes narrow suspiciously as he wraps his arms around your waist, settling in for the night as he turns off his bedside lamp.

"night, y/n." he whispers gently, his lashes brushing against your cheek as he kisses you softly. your hand gently brushes his bangs away from his eyes, and his face softens at your giggles

"night, rinnie. tomorrow you can style my hair! and then, we can be twins..." you affirm quietly. it's dark in the room, the night outside blanketing you two. there's a sliver of moonlight pouring through the window, and it's the only reason you're able to see the gentle smile on rin's face before you fall asleep.

blue lock masterlist :P

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astrocafecoffee · 3 days ago

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Placements I like the most ~

Venus in Capricorn: Venus in Capricorn is known for taking life seriously, but they also have a fantastic ability to laugh at life's minor failures, particularly their own. If something goes wrong, their reaction is often more, “Well, that was expected,” followed by a chuckle. It’s like they’ve already calculated the odds of success and know that it’s okay to laugh off the imperfections.

Libra moon : When arguments or tension happen, a Libra Moon might not react immediately. They prefer to process their emotions and figure out what everyone else thinks first. By the time they express their thoughts, the conflict might already be over, and they’ll come in with, “Okay, so here’s my analysis of everything… and I think we should compromise.” Their late-but-thoughtful take is often both hilarious and surprisingly insightful.

Virgo sun:Virgo Suns can be surprisingly adventurous with food, even though they come off as practical and "healthy" eaters. They love trying out new food trends.they love recommending obscure restaurants or dishes no one else has heard of. You might not expect a Virgo Sun to be a connoisseur of anything, but food? They know their stuff.

Mercury in 10th house/mercury in Capricorn: They often have a knack for inspiring others, usually in a low-key, almost accidental way. It could be something as simple as giving you the perfect pep talk when you're stressed at work. They’ll calmly explain, “It’s all about managing expectations and breaking down the project into bite-sized pieces.” And suddenly, you feel like you can conquer the world. They don’t try to be a motivational speaker, but their logical, practical advice often has this surprising, uplifting quality. It’s kind of funny how they can turn a simple conversation into a full-on career inspiration session without even realizing they’re doing it.

Uranus in 12th house: They can heal in ways that feel totally unexpected and even a bit unusual. Whether it’s through sudden insights or unconventional methods, Uranus in the 12th house people have the power to help others break free from old patterns or traumas. They may not even realize they’re doing this at first, but they have an innate ability to help others shift their perspective in profound ways,sometimes without ever saying a word. They might just show up with an idea or suggestion that completely changes someone’s outlook on life.

Cancer moon : Cancer Moons are incredibly intuitive about people’s emotional states, but they tend to pick up on subtle, less obvious cues. They might be able to sense if someone’s having a bad day just by the tone of their voice or the way they hold themselves. However, the funny part is that they might not always verbalize their empathy. They might just quietly offer a cup of tea, a hug, or a homemade treat as their way of saying, "I get it." It’s their way of giving comfort without making a big deal out of it.

Aquarius rising/Sun : While Aquarius risings are known to be social, they do it on their own terms. You might catch them hanging out in a crowd of people but also deeply absorbed in a conversation with just one person about an entirely random topic . They can be surprisingly selective about who they connect with, preferring people who stimulate their intellect or share their unconventional interests. They might be socially active but with their own peculiar style, sometimes standing apart from the crowd but still very much part of the scene.

#astro community #astrology #astro observations #astro notes #astro placements #astrocafecoffee #vedic astro observations #vedic astro notes #vedic chart #vedic astrology #astrology chart #astro content #astro chart #astrology community #natal chart #astrology birth chart #birth chart

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formerplumi · 15 hours ago

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(concept: redstart) batfamily x reforming criminal reader.

soft moments with redstart!reader / prequel post

> damian plays the role of being a little-brother guide, having being raised in a situation somewhat similar way as you. little moments like listening to him complain about something mundane as you’re both perched on a terrace during patrol, him trying to peel an orange and the two of you ultimately squashing it open, him doing his school homework while you watch, giving small bits of what you think.

> like this picture, but it’s reversed and the reader’s copying what he does in a way to humour him.

> reader who watches tim work on cases in their free time. asking very few questions that he’s pleased to answer, subconsciously slipping into a more articulated way of talking, using big words and metaphors to elaborate on even the simplest things. he’s very pleased to explain his work without a time constraint or worry about quality, and you’re more than happy to listen.

> i imagine they don’t really know how to communicate appreciation well in a “way that matters” since they were expected to automatically be grateful for everything in their previous family. so they learn from observing, watching people give each others gifts and presents. leaving little trinkets they find or make cleanly and neatly placed somewhere for them to find.

> is embarrassed by being recognised for it though. so the family just opts to keep it on them/use the gift in front of them so that they know they got it. reader’s happy, but keeps a straight face, voice softening in the middle of a conversation just a little when they notice.

> you’re close to cassandra too, sticking to her like glue. you both were heavily indoctrinated by your fathers that you couldn’t place the world over, healing slowly but surely. she most definitely helps you settle into your new life at the manor.

> small things, like recognising feelings you struggle to express, she notices, offering you a hand or leaning into your arm. you are neither willing to speak out what you feel, and she won’t insist. she knows, and you’re grateful that she does.

> dick grayson is a little overwhelming. it’s more of the fact that he reminds you of your other older brother than it is him offering warmth that you’re not used to. out of habit, you do try to coerce yourself into a complacent, comfortable-around-him sibling, but there’s always a little self doubt. he’s welcoming, but you subconsciously walk in eggshells around him.

> he does notice that you’re nervous around him, and brings it up one day when you, him and damian go to hang out. there’s a small conversation, and you allow yourself to open up just a bit about your struggles upon the reassuring nod damian gave you before leaving the two of you be. the pressure of being perfect, the expectations set on yourselves by yourselves, is something common between you two.

> it’s safe to say that you’re a little less weary around him after that exchange.

> now with bruce wayne things are a little tricky. he feels indebted to you for being somewhat responsible for the death of your father, something strictly against his code. you feel indebted to him the way you did for your father, for taking you in and providing you with the comfort of a home and a family.

> but on the big picture? your interactions with him are a bit difficult, awkward. ues you’ll spend time together, he’ll let you follow him on patrol, teach you about the life of a socialite too, but casual conversations are a bit stiff.

> he does try his hardest though, and you do too, to be family. the gift giving thing comes in here too. there’s not much bruce wayne can’t afford, but your small cards made with damian, origami made with cassandra and duke, and short letters describing your day written with alfred’s support warms his heart. the weight of guilt ebbs, just a little.

> if you happen to have a particular type of biscuit, or fruit juice, more often than the rest, expect bruce to remember to ask alfred to keep it in stock. seasonal fruits like guavas and oranges get imported year-round for you and the others, and that little, small extra care just makes you feel a little more appreciated. for doing nothing. your heart swells.

> solving puzzles with duke is a passtime training excersise you’ve taken up. it’s a replacement for the idle time you used to otherwise spend organising things for your father, but it’s comforting in a way other than being reassurance. whenever you get stuck on a particularly vexing crossword, he’s more than happy to sit with you and solve it. he helps you with the answer, instead of giving it, and it helps you understand that mistakes don’t undermine your efforts in anyway.

> “what matters is that you’re trying” is an oversaturated expression, but one you’ve seldom heard. and coming from him, the shared laughter and prideful “victories” from solving said puzzles, he shines an extra light through the dark window in your head that’s slowly opening up.

> jason todd is an enigma. you come across him in the manor library at dark, curious but not hostile about his looming shadow. you observe as he leaves, perceiving just a hint of hesitance from him as he climbs through the window.

> you did not much appreciate him the first time you met him, finding his opposition to bruce offensive, and your siblings slight awkward stiffness around him suspicious. you had considered him an enemy by their reactions at first, a familiar mixed rush of anxiety and impatience in your blood as you repositioned your leg carefully.

> but when he spoke, his voice wavered. just a little. and what took you up wasn’t suspicion, but familiarity. in his shadow, you saw your reflection. he was also your family.

> jason and your relationship is not much different from his with the rest. close, but only to an extent. but you understand him on a level that allows you to feel empathy for him, sadness that you couldn’t communicate it in the new ways that you learnt.

> so you slip into his dingy apartment while he’s somewhere on patrol, using your expertised ghost walking to enter without notice. you feel it’s wrong, and that there are better ways to be considerate, but you don’t care.

> alfred told you he liked to read, so you got him a book you had poured over and stuck into your heart forever. it was a little sentimental, stupid even, and you felt a bit embarrassed. he would be angry at you for entering like this, without asking, breaking in as an uninvited guest. so you reconsider your choices, and leave it in a bag outside his building, tied with a ziplock tie. you hope no one takes it.

> you’re not sure if jason ever got the book, not sure if he’d know if it was you or if he just ignored the packet and moved in. but the next time you see him out on patrol, he acknowledges you with a raised hand, before leaping away.

> it begins to feel like, your happiness is not deserved due to duty, but the consequence of your attempts at a new life. acknowledged, appreciated, noticed and even maybe loved. the moods you thought weak and unnecessary are the foundations of the stability you have found, the complications you faced with expressing them only obstacles in the face of support. sometimes you doubt their intentions are true, but even sitting among them whispers a little comfort.

> you deserve this. there is nothing you have done to not.

INTERACTIONS & Replies appreciated !!

next up: serious moments with redstart reader. the obstacles with a new life after such a violent upbringing, guilt and remorse, missing your old family, etcetera. im really just writing whatever, but do pls interact!! replies asks wtv,, it helps motivate and actually… want to write, since i kinda feel my itch to post on tumblr dying.. anyway,

thanks for reading!!

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lovedahlia · 11 hours ago

Text

LOVERBOY ! SOLDIER BOY HEADCANONS ( 18+ ! )

. . . bc i'm feeling so incredibly mentally ill rn. lemme live in this fantasy. that i believe to be true & how my pookie beloved would BEEEEE. idc if u think it's ooc this is my canon.

ben greets you every time you see each other with a kiss on the back of the hand and some murmured words, like, "hey pretty."

he's constantly showering you with gifts.

flowers for when he does something bad, with a messy scrawled note that says "sorry for making you cry. kisses." or, "sorry i punched a hole through the door. love you." or, "not apologizing for beating that guy's face in. sorry it upset you though. kisses."

chocolates for when he comes over. two boxes, one for him, one for you, because he knows ( from previous experience ) that it irritates you when he'd steal from yours.

( it does not stop him still from stealing )

jewelry! every time he sees something that you would look pretty in! and he does the clasps for you.

he's a nuzzler. you made the mistake once of mentioning how his beardburn tickled and now he doesn't just aim to leave it between your thighs but he rubs his face on your neck and throat like a cat.

he's still gruff as fuck, but it's with more intent, now. he'll bend you over and throw your legs around and move you as he pleases but kisses each part along the way.

like. he puts your legs over his shoulders when you're pinned beneath him and kisses your ankle. he puts you on your hands and knees and trails little kisses down your spine.

don't get him started on hickeys. seriously. he bites.

the aftercare is so lovely with him :( he absolutely doesn't listen to your insistences that you're fine. he's already running a bath for you, WITH bubbles, even though it wastes your pretty soaps.

he just likes to be able to scoop some bubbles up and pile them on your head while you're in there <3 bc oh yeah, he is washing u. don't even try to argue.

long days = him not saying a word when he gets home = he's just immediately snatching you from wherever you are to drag you to the nearest seat so he can sit with you in his lap. many dinners have been burnt bc of this.

he likes when you play with his hair! it makes him feel like something gentle and kind and deserving of it, when you treat him so lovely. even though he only ever cares what people think of him with you, and only cares how he behaves in front of you.

praise <3 you could walk into a room and he'd be like "my pretty baby's so damn steady on their feet, my god." he wants you to have the biggest ego on the planet actually

he also likes to remind you of how well you take him when he's fucking you.

he WILL and DOES pay attention to your cues. you're overwhelmed? need a break? he's not questioning it. maybe he'll tease you that "you didn't need a break last time he was so rough" but that's all.

forehead kisses. he is tall. he is kissing the top of your head, your forehead, or your temple, whenever he damn pleases.

he has probably killed people for looking at you wrong or being mean to you. at the very least he threatens it, because how could someone be mean to you? you? his baby? the one who's never done a thing wrong in your life?

. . . of course my first post over here is me being soldier boy's biggest simp in the universe. kissin the ground he walks on. literally im there on the ground rn doin it do u see me.

tags <3 @figthoughts @honeyryewhiskey @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @aileenunfiltered @bluemerakis @deansbite @beausling @ultravi0lence14 @starzify @angelblqde i don't remember all my mooties to tag over here ... if u are forgotten pls take me out back n shoot me 4 this mistake.

property of the FLORALSCENTED franchise! © i do NOT give permission for my work or ideas to be used, rewritten, or reposted!

#lovedahlia!#loverboy!soldier boy #jensen ackles #jensen fucking ackles #soldier boy #the boys tv #the boys amazon #soldier boy headcanons

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paranoiddreams · 5 hours ago

Note

please absolutely explore tiger sukuna more

Tigerhybrid!Sukuna x fem!reader

Thank you so much for sending this in, I cherish every ask I get, truly!! I see Tiger!Kuna being this huge intimidating guy but in reality he just needs love lol. I hope you guys enjoy this!!

Tiger!Kuna is definitely a sight to see. Most people wouldn’t assume he’s your boyfriend, rather some man that you should be afraid of.

To be fair, you were at first. He’s a big guy, for lack of a better term, and he doesn’t talk much, so his emotions are entirely impossible to read. But after some time, and a lot of reassurance, you saw through to Sukuna’s soft inner kitten.

But people don’t know that, so the amount of times Sukuna is mistaken as your KIDNAPPER rather than your boyfriend is ridiculous.

Like when you begged him to take you to target so you could find a makeup product you saw online, and he refused to even give you a few feet of space. It was almost comical how Kuna looked following you down the fluorescent makeup aisle, ignoring the other people shopping entirely.

It only occurred to you that Sukuna’s clinginess could be mistaken as something else when an older women came up to you and tapped you on your shoulder:

“Hi honey, are you okay? Do you need help with anything?” She smiled as her eyes darted between you and Sukuna towering behind you, his ears twitching with agitation atop his head.

“Oh, I’m fine. I just found what I needed,” you responded with a smile. But the woman took this as you not talking her ‘subtle’ hint, and leaned in closer to you.

“Do you know that man…behind you?” She whispered.

You looked over your shoulder at Sukuna, who was still staring you down, and the looked back at the woman. “Yeah, that’s my boyfriend,” you smiled at her, “he’s just like that!”

But it’s not Sukuna’s fault!!! You just make him feel like no one else has, and he’s enamored with you because of that.

You could simply be near him, or even look a little extra pretty (which is all the time), and he’ll start purring like as loud as a sports car. One little touch from you has his pink ears twitching and fluttering atop his head. In other words, you are the sparks to his flame.

Without you, he’d probably fall apart. Not just in a romantic I-can’t-live-without-way, but also because you are quite literally the glue holding him together. You run his warm baths, brush out his sensitive tail, and remind him to eat three meals a day; all without him asking. It’s become a natural routine for you, because taking care of him just makes you happy.

And Sukuna is…not used to that, to say the least. He’s used to people being friendly to him out of fear of in order to gain something. Like the men he occasionally meets in bars that buy him a few rounds just to ask if he’s interested in underground hybrid fighting rings. Or others who only want him for sex, because they fetishize him. But you’re not those people—you’re far, far from those people.

He only realized this when he saw that you were going out of your way to take care of him. The care you put into his specific diet, the pride you have in his abilities, the unmatched passion you have for the things he enjoys—it all went above and beyond anything anyone has ever done for him.

In return, he treats you as if you were a princess he has sworn his life to protect. You never have to walk alone or drive anywhere, Sukuna’s got you. You’re no longer even obligated to worry about money anymore because he’s already throwing his card at you. And he will always and forever be your number one protector. He will defend you when no one else will, and he’ll be proud of it. Because he’s proud of you.

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xxchumanixx · 3 days ago

Note

May I please request a fic where the reader (who's a famous singer) falls in love with Tim but is reluctant to fully trust and be vulnerable with him due to bad experiences she's had with men in the past? The reader could eventually write and sing a song about her love for Tim which blows up and even wins awards like Grammys too which makes their relationship stronger and she opens up her heart more? 🥺

Be myself

Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Warnings/Tags: fluff, a bit of angst, mentions of physical abuse / hitting (please look for help if you're in an abusive relationship! Being abused is not normal and it shouldn't be simply endured and viewed as it) Word count: 2.421 Authors note: I don't know if I used the gif before (probably did), but it just fits perfectly. I know you linked Whats love got to do with it by our legend Tina, but I kinda didn't vibe with it. I hope you'll still like it, though (if it was even meant for reference to the song the reader writes). I'm in no way a songwriter, so I'm not at all sure about that small part i wrote there. I know I posted a sneak peak for something different, but this gave me so much motivation to write so i put it first. Enjoy!

He didn't know how he ended up with you of all people.

Not that he'd complain.

Never.

But a famous singer like you and a cop like him? It had to be fate that brought you together when him and his rookie had been called to deescalate a situation at a concert of yours.

He didn't expect to fall for you - hell, you probably didn't either. It just kinda happened after you gave him your number before him and his rookie left.

It had been meant more like a joke - yet he hadn't been able to get you out of his head and neither did you. So he texted you.

Three weeks later you went on your first date.

You had been cautious, bad experiences with previous boyfriends and dates branding you more than you'd have liked to admit.

And so you didn't.

The date went great, leading to another one shortly after.

Tim swore you were playing some magic trick on him. The speed in which he fell for you was shocking. In a few weeks you had him wrapped around your finger.

It didn't take long for him to admit his feelings to you, saying he'd understand if you weren't ready for anything yet, and as he rambled on, you'd cut him off with a kiss.

Because you were indeed ready.

At least that's what you thought.

Not that you didn't have feelings for him - you had, and they were strong. You just had trouble letting yourself be too open, too vulnerable.

To trust easily.

Though, right from the start, you knew he was different. He was interested in your career, yes, but in a way that didn't profit him or made him want to brag about his girlfriend being famous.

Or try and hit you if you didn't spend all your money on him. It had happened once, leaving a mark on your soul you had trouble getting rid of. Getting rid of the douchebag wasn't exactly easy, either.

But that was another thing.

No, Tim supported you, took days off to watch your concerts and be there for you. And maybe to have the time of his life with you in your wardrobe backstage.

For a while now, you had been working on a project - a new song that one day came to your mind when you thought about the past few months and your relationship with Tim.

It had almost been a year now, and you started to question whether your cautiousness was misplaced.

Not that you didn't trust him.

You trusted him more than you did any other man you'd been with, it just was like a habit of sorts. Some sort of protection your mind had put up in the beginning.

It wasn't easy to let that guard down.

It was one of the main parts you included in that song. How he made you want to be more open, to trust and give up that control you so desperately held onto.

To love without the constant fear of it all going downhill.

Your producer, Savannah, supported you all the way. You wrote your song, recorded it over and over again until you were a hundred percent convinced that it did Tim justice in a way.

Or rather his love for you. The way he never treated you differently even though you were famous.

Sure, there were times when his face would be plastered along magazine articles alongside yours - especially the beginning hadn't been easy.

Hiding a relationship wasn't easy and it certainly didn't work in this case, either. The first time it happened it had been on Instagram.

Someone had seen you and him together, taking a video and posting it for everyone to see. Once it reached a certain amount of views, it spread like wildfire, and everyone knew.

Tim wasn't very happy about it.

He understood that it was part of your life, but he didn't like it - and that included him - plastered all over the internet.

When you were shopping and hoarded by paparazzi or too many fans and he'd notice you were overwhelmed, he'd play the 'I'm a cop, please stand back' card, effectively getting you out of the situation.

Another thing you loved him for.

He didn't thrive on the constant attention, didn't suck it up like a sponge and used it to his advantage. Not like other men had tried to do before.

So why was it so hard to let go? Why was it so hard to trust, to let yourself be too vulnerable?

When you published the song, Tim had yet to hear it.

Yes, maybe you should have let him listen to it before publishing it, but you were too nervous. Too nervous he'd laugh at you, tell you that you were crazy for writing and publishing that song.

It would have also meant he'd question the origin - why you had such trust issues, had these problems of opening up.

You didn't want to be judged. After all, you still hadn't told him about it.

Only a few days later, you and Tim were driving in his truck home, when suddenly, the radio moderator announced your new song. Tim's gaze snapped to you - normally you'd show him your upcoming projects, talk to him about them.

He didn't know you'd just published a new song.

Your cheeks heated up as he stared at you in confusion before his gaze fixed back on the street. You knew he was listening, picking up on the lyrics.

Another thing you loved about him.

He didn't just hear the songs, he listened to them. Analyzing them, understanding them.

So it was no surprise he did understand this song, too. About a minute into the song he parked in his driveway, killing the engine but leaving the radio on.

You nibbled on your lip nervously, heart beating wildly as you tried to make out his reaction. You couldn't read his thoughts, so you had to rely on his body language.

And when he understood the song was about him, his gaze snapped to yours right as the second chorus hit.

You let me be myself, and I thank you for that.

You ban all the bad thoughts from my head.

No matter how hard I try, I can't find anything bad about you.

And I hope you see me like that, too.

You support me, give me strength,

It is wrong to hold you at arms length.

I love you and I hope you see,

that your're the best thing that's ever happened to me.

You swallowed, not interrupting him as he listened to the rest of the song. This certainly hadn't been how you'd planned this.

Sure, you wanted him to know about the song and all the things it expressed sooner or later, but when you published it, the thought of him hearing it that soon hadn't exactly crossed your mind.

When the song ended and the next came up, he immediately turned the radio off.

He stared at you, shocked, surprised.

In awe.

You bit your lip as his own parted, though nothing came out. His head tilted slightly, thinking.

"Is it true?" was the first thing he asked. "Or is it just... I don't know, a random love song?"

Your eyes widened slightly, and you shook your head. "No, it's not a random love song." you said. "It... It's about you, Tim."

He nodded slightly, still shocked. "What about the- the trust issues you talk about? Or sing, for that matter." he inquired further. "Or the 'keeping at arms length'?"

You swallowed, sighing quietly as you looked away. "It's all true, yes." you admitted quietly. "And I know I should have told you, and I know you're having a lot of questions right now, but... I'm sorry."

Tim leaned forward over the middle console and placed his finger under your chin to lift your head, his blue eyes meeting your Y/E/C ones. "Hey, you have nothing to apologize for." he said, shaking his head slightly. "Yes, it would be nice to know the details behind it, but I understand that you didn't tell me. Or show me the song beforehand, for that matter. It's great, by the way - just like everything else about you."

You blushed, suddenly feeling undeserving of him. He was way too caring and understanding.

"I mean, I assumed some things..." he continued, tilting his head from side to side for a moment. "But I never pushed you to tell me. And I won't now. Neither did you on the subject of Isabel. If you want to tell me, I'm happy to listen, but you don't have to. Just know that I feel incredibly honored and love you."

Tears burned in your eyes, and suddenly, you knew you could trust him with everything. No more keeping him at arms length.

"I love you, too." you breathed out, smiling through the tears. "I just- I don't know." you shook your head in sudden embarrassment. "Ever since I got famous all the men seemed to want the same thing. Fame, my face as their way into Hollywood. To brag about their girlfriend being famous and make themselves look more important. Or try and hit me for not spoiling them like the ungrateful bitch I am." you grimaced, and his eyes widened before they narrowed. "I know you aren't like that, I do. I just couldn't shake this... habit of closing myself off and trying to avoid another one of these situations. I'm sorry, Tim. I know you are better than them. That song is about you and it is supposed to express how I feel about you."

Tim smiled, cupping your face with his hands. "You're so much more than your career, Y/N." he told you, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. "You're a caring, beautiful and brilliant woman. You're far more than I deserve yet I'm too selfish to ever let you go. I love you more than you can imagine, and I want you to know that I'd never try to get any fame or benefits or whatever from you or your career. Let alone lay a hand on you. I love you too much to risk us - not that I'd need your fame or money. I'm a cop and I love being a cop. My girlfriend just happens to be an amazing singer."

You laughed quietly, blushing more. His words spread a warmth through you like no one else ever did. "You're flattering me." you mumbled sheepishly. He cocked a brow. "I'm not." he said. "You are an amazing singer. You're amazing in general, all over."

You laughed once more, a smile on your lips. "You're way too good for me, Tim Bradford." you said. "I'm the one not deserving you."

He huffed, tilting his head from side to side again. "Debatable." he said. He leaned closer, capturing your lips in a sweet and gentle kiss. "Come on, let's head inside." he mumbled against them. "I want to celebrate this song."

It had been about two weeks until your song seemed to have gained massive popularity, and when the letter landed in the mail weeks later, you screamed.

Tim had rushed into the kitchen, gun drawn as he tried to find out what happened. When he saw you with the letter in hand, pressing a hand to your mouth, he lowered the gun, stepping beside you.

One look at the letter and his lips parted.

You looked up in your excitement, almost headbutting him where he was looking over your shoulder. "Tim-" you breathed out, cutting yourself off with another squeal. He grimaced at the high sound, though laughing as he moved to hug you from behind.

"Baby, that's amazing." he breathed out. "I'm so proud of you." You bit your cheek, heart pounding wildly. "I- I mean, I haven't won anything yet." you said, fingers trembling as they held the letter. "But..." "But you're nominated." Tim finished for you. "That's more than most can wish for. This is amazing, Y/N. God, I'm so proud of you."

You smiled widely, clutching the letter to your chest. You giggled and jumped up and down in his arms, pressing a hand to your lips. Tim laughed quietly, holding tighter onto you, his nose brushing the shell of your ear. In the last few weeks you'd grown even closer, and it all felt more right than ever.

"Told you you're amazing."

Nervous wasn't word enough to describe your current state.

The Grammys.

The fucking Grammys.

Never would you have thought this would happen. Who would have thought you'd make it this far?

Fidgeting with your small clutch nervously, you took a deep, trembling breath. Tim grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers and giving them a reassuring squeeze. You'll be okay.

The wait had been torture.

Waiting for the day to come, waiting for the announcements. It was like a dream come true, yet the wait left you on edge.

You'd been nominated for single of the year. Your song about Tim Be Myself had literally exploded, landing you a spot at the Grammys.

You inhaled shakily as the nominees were announced before the moderator opened an envelope. She drew it out, making the anticipation rise higher and higher until your heart suddenly slammed to a stop.

"Best single of the year goes to... Be Myself!" Your lips parted, not believing what just happened. Tim cheered, the crowd applauded, and you got up on shaky legs.

You couldn't believe it.

This was more than you could have ever wished for, and as Tim pressed a kiss to your cheek, giving you the biggest, most proudest smile you'd ever seen on him before he ushered you to the stage, you knew it.

You knew he was the one.

He was the one that treated you right. The one that loved you unconditionally.

And you'd be forever grateful for that.

Tag List

@laheysfilm @newobsessionweekly @augustvandyne @RookieTrek @dhundhchrih @nachofriess @dtftheavengers @wonderland2425 @skywalker0809 @freyathehuntress @caplanbuckybarnes @sacredwarrior88

#the rookie #the rookie imagine #the rookie x reader #the rookie x u #tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x you #tim bradford imagine #imagine

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lovesickchoi · 17 hours ago

Text

PROMPTS -

“i have sex with you alot in my head.”

“don’t go on that date”

PAIRING - soobin x reader

GENRE - smut

WARNINGS - friends to lovers, riding, lowkey switch!reader and switch!soobin

WC - 1.2k

the passive aggression in soobin’s voice when you told him you had a date tonight was unmistakable.

“maybe this one won’t be a total failure,” he spoke, not giving you so much as a glance up from his phone.

your head craned to look at him next to you on the couch, his own eyes still trained on whatever he was doing on his phone. he wouldn’t dare look up at you, for he knew your ears must’ve been red with anger. but soobin didn’t care—at least he didn’t want you to think he did.

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?” no answer. “hello? earth to soobin?”

throwing his phone onto the coffee table, he slowly turns his body to face you like it was the most difficult task in the world. “what do you want me to say?” he says, shrugging with his hands.

“you act like this every time i tell you i’m going on a date. can’t you maybe, i don’t know, be a supportive roommate for once?”

soobin rolled his eyes at your words. it certainly wasn’t the first time you two have had this conversation. “don’t even start. i’m always supportive of you. all i’m trying to say is that you keep going on dates with shitty guys and they never turn out successful. why can’t you just focus on yourself for a while instead of always having to see someone?”

“you say that as if you don’t hook up with strangers every chance you get,” you spit back at him, furious with what he was saying.

“i know that! but at least i’m self aware.” soobin hated the way your eyes noticeably filled with tears when he spoke.

the truth was soobin did care. in fact, he cared so much that his feelings for you would often times blur the lines between best friends and something more. you were right about his abundant hookups—which you had to endure as soobin’s roommate—but what you didn’t know was that they were a mere distraction from the fact that you were always dating people who weren’t him. soobin longed for the day he could finally be the one taking you out.

soobin knew he must’ve struck a cord the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes anymore, choosing not to fight back. he hated himself for it. he hated the way he took his frustration out on you. it wasn’t your fault, he knew that, and yet he let to start walking away from him.

wiping a tear aggressively from your eye before it could drip down your cheek. you stood up and brushed your pants off, doing your best to keep your cool. “well if you’re done telling me how to live my life since you’re such a saint,” silence ensued. not a word from soobin. “i have to go get ready.”

you eventually vanished into your room, hesitating at the door frame momentarily. maybe a part of you had hoped soobin would have more to say deep down. but your shoulders dropped in disappointment seeing he hadn’t left his position from the living room.

this wasn’t even the first time you and soobin had it out like this. different dates and hookups coming in and out of you and soobin’s rather small shared space made it hard to keep your personal lives private. you’d begun to think it had become a competition of some sorts.

the two of you always too busy playing roommate with one another, you both ignored the obvious sentiment beneath your frustrations. it was truly agonizing for you both, yet somehow you’d convinced yourselves it was easier this way.

and so, with every last ounce of hope drained from you, you finished throwing yourself together for your date. perfect mini skirt and blouse, perfect makeup, perfect hair. everything perfect except the frown that stared back at you in the mirror.

you were praying that soobin had been hiding away in his room as you made your way through the apartment. grabbing your coat, your purse, and your keys, you believed you were in the clear opening the front door.

that was until an out of breath soobin seemingly out of nowhere slammed the door shut. his hand rested against the door above your head as he towered over you, chest heaving from his sudden movement. “don’t go on that date.”

you look up at him in disarray. “soobin i’m not having this conversation with you again.”

“no, you don’t understand. i dont want you to go on that date.” he looked more serious than he’d been before.

you crossed your arms over your chest. “and why shouldn’t i?”

soobin opted not to give you a verbal answer. instead, he hooked an arm around your waist, spinning you so your back was now flush against the door. his other hand protecting your head as his bent down to kiss you.

and he really kissed you. like this would be his one and only opportunity to do so. soobin’s eyebrows scrunched with emotion, savoring the feeling of your soft lips on his despite you not having kissed him back.

you didn’t believe this was actually happening. it felt like something out of a movie. and after so many terrible dates and relationships, you were starting to believe something so good wasn’t meant for you.

but feeling soobin beginning to second guess himself and pull away brought you too your senses. hell—this was everything you wanted and more.

feverishly, you dropped your purse and coat off your shoulders. reaching up to grab soobin’s face in both your hands, your forced his lips to stay on yours.

you could feel soobin relax against you, smiling into the kiss. in one quick movement his hands were underneath your thighs and lifting your legs around his waist. you finally allowed your lips to part, tongue meshing so needily with his. you wanted this just as bad as he did.

you wanted nothing more than to continue kissing his perfect lips, but something in you needed to hear his voice to ensure once again that this was real. gripping his hair, you pull his face away from yours. he groaned at the feeling which left you all too excited.

“and what the fuck is this exactly?” you mutter quietly, only half joking.

soobin chuckles, his boyish dimples making an appearance. “this… this is the reason you cant go on that date. i’m done playing pretend with you. i’m done acting like i’m not in love with you. i’m done watching you go on dates with these guys who won’t treat you half as good as i would.” he pauses, releasing his hold and letting you stand on your own now. “i’m done fucking random people and pretending that they’re you.”

you’re not exactly sure how you both got there, but before you know it soobin had you stripped down to nothing but your undergarments. you straddled him on the living room couch, only his boxers and your underwear separating you at this point.

soobin’s hands feverishly ran across your body. not an inch of your skin would go untouched by him. soobin sat back in disbelief watching you take total control. it was better than anything he’d imagined.

you hiss at every roll of your hips, feeling his length pressing hard against the soaked spot of your underwear. you pressed sloppy kissing across his neck, taking in his sweet scent. soobin didn’t think he could be anymore addicted to you as he traced his fingers across your skin.

“you know,” soobin speaks up. his words slurred as he could barely focus on anything other than the way your cleavage spilled out of your lacey bra, grazing against his bare chest with every roll of your hips. “i have sex with you alot in my head.” he smirked up at you, eyes so fucked out behind his tousled hair.

you could literally feel your ovaries twitching at his words. if only you or him had been bolder to make a move sooner. “well it’s about time you got it out of your head,” you whisper, pressing a last kiss to the base of his throat.

you stood up momentarily, urging soobin to lift his hips so you could pull his boxers down with his help. finally coming back down to straddle him again, you shiver feeling him pulling your underwear to the side. his fingers were slender and cold to the touch, and you wanted nothing more than to ride him right then.

soobin falters for a moment, hearing a slight buzzing coming from your purse. it was your phone ringing persistently. he couldn’t ignore it. soobin tried to catch your gaze, but you were too fixated on where your hips were about to meet his.

“i’m pretty sure that’s your date calling wondering where you’re-“ you didn’t soobin finish his words as you sat yourself all the way down on his dick without warning. “fuck!” he yelled, gripping your hips for support.

you wrapped your arms around his neck wasting no time to ride soobin at an even pace. “oh my god,” you whined out. “you’re so fucking big soobin.”

soobin let out a throaty groan hearing your words. he watched you bounce so effortlessly in both pleasure and disbelief. your lewd moans mixed with his filled the room—your shared apartment. the place where you’d both been dancing around what you truly desired. eachother.

some time went on with you both like this, and soobin enjoyed watching you get yourself off at his expense. but all the times he’d imagined finally getting to have you how he liked, this was not it.

he suddenly gripped your ass, halting your movement completely. “binnie please,” you whined out, trying desperately to fuck yourself against him some more. soobin twitched inside of you at the nickname and your neediness.

“fuck, princess.” he spoke lowly, wiping some of your sweat-matted hair from your forehead. it was a sweet gesture that made your heart race even more, if that were possible. “i’m sorry, but this is not what my first time fucking you looked like in my head.”

soobin left you no time to response before lifting you and placing your back gently on the couch where you could lay down. he eagerly laid on top of you, pressing your knees into your chest so your legs were now resting over his shoulders.

soobin glanced over your body in absolute awe. “been dying to see you all spread open like this for me,” soobin basically moaned his words. seeing your leaking folds so up close and how easily bendable you were for him. it was enough to make him lose it.

“finish the job, binne,” you tease him, running your own fingers over your clit. that was all it took for soobin to begin slamming into you repeatedly. this position allowed him to have total control over you, unlike before. he trapped your body beneath his weight, hitting the right spot just perfectly with each thrust.

he rested his lips against yours as he fucked you into the couch. profanities spilling from him the closer his was, naturally pulling you nearer to the edge yourself. “i’m gonna cum so fucking hard,” you moan, almost as a warning. soobin could tell by the moans escaping your lips and the way you clawed at his biceps, begging to come undone.

he went in and out of you at an electric pace. he was persistent, and wouldn’t let up until he knew you were satisfied. eventually, all at once, a white hot orgasm overtook every ounce of your being. your body shook against soobin’s, calling out his name in a string of whiney moans. this was enough for soobin to arrive shortly after you—the tears prodding at the corners of your eyes, the tinted pink of your cheeks, the way your mouth remained slighly open even after you came. slow, high pitched breaths leaving your lips from the overstimulation. how could he not cum after that sight?

pulling out, begrudgingly so, soobing finished on your stomach. he groaned feeling your hand reaching down to finish him off, helping him ride out his orgasm. he couldn’t help but think how perfect you were for eachother. he released your legs slowly, massaging your sore hips from being held up for so long.

“that was long overdue,” soobin is the first one to break the silence. he felt butterflies erupting in his stomach at the way you laughed at his joke.

“i couldn’t agree more.” you smiled, reaching up to kiss his lips softly this time. your stomach begins to growl at your sudden movement, and you realize how hungry you’d been this entire time. “you know,” you chuckle, playing with soobin’s hair. “i was technically supposed to be eating dinner like an hour ago.”

a huge smile makes its way across soobin’s face. “let’s get cleaned up. and go put something nice on. i’m taking you on a real first date.” he pecks your lips once more and pauses before saying, “also your last first date.”

#soobin fluff #txt drabble #txt au #soobin smut #txt smut #yeonjun smut #txt oneshot #yeonjun fluff #beomgyu fluff #tomorrow x together #txt fanfic

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echoessilencepatienceandgrace · 17 hours ago

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-lucanis and rook-

lucanis has lost so much, so much was taken from him, everything was always determined for him, sometimes without his choice or say. getting out of the ossuary gave him a chance to reclaim his life.

it gave him a chance to heal, to move forward, and it’s all terrifying. lucanis is a master assassin, heir apparent to house dellamorte. he can be nothing less than that in his own mind and he cannot let the team, or rook, know how badly he is struggling.

it’s why he takes on such a caretaker roll, allowing himself to care for the team, to show that he’s fine. the other part is because he truly cares for their wellbeing. part of his job is to know his targets, to understand them and that translates to his personal relationships too. he’s able to read the people around him easily, to understand and know them. but allowing himself to be known is the real struggle.

but then, there’s rook, who has seen him from the very start. rook who can see the bags under his eyes, who wipes away the blood from his nose after another spite incident, who breaks through the demons control not once but twice.

he can’t let her get too close, what if she sees him for who he really is?

and again here’s rook, who shows him kindness despite his short comings, who calms spite, who shows him she cares, who worries for him. who encourages him and makes him laugh, who strips down his defenses without him realizing.

she shouldn’t be so accepting, he doesn’t deserve it.

rook, who he shares coffee with at midnight, who shares his joy of cooking, who always knows what to say, who has the weight of the world on her shoulders but somehow always knows how to brighten his day. rook who fights by his side, who sticks up for him against his enemies, who checks on him in the quiet moments of the night.

she deserves better than me, what do i have to offer?

rook becomes a soft place to land for the weary restless crow. in time, she is someone lucanis realizes he doesn’t want to be without. she’s saved him in more ways than one, and he finally allows himself to feel what’s been in his heart since he saw her in the ossuary: love.

she’s a breath of fresh air, she’s so close and hasn’t turn away yet.

rook’s kindness and acceptance shines at every corner, breaking down lucanis’ walls and saving him from his own jail of despair and grief. he clings to that light in the uncertainty around them, like a plant to the sun.

it’s why he doesn’t know what to say to her. it’s why he feels as if he needs to apologize because he feels like just another burden on her shoulders. but there she is again with her reassuring smile, with love pouring from her like water. there is never judgement in her eyes and no trace of it in her voice.

it’s new and it’s nerve wracking and jittery as they sit side by side sharing desert, and it’s everything lucanis hoped for and could want.

in time it becomes easier, because it’s rook. he knows with her, he’s understood and cared for and seen and known. it’s the trust they’ve built with each other, it’s the glances shared. he showers rook with love in his own ways: cooking for her, buying her things that made him think of her, always being within an arms reach of her, idle kisses, tender touches. bc he loves her and he doesn’t want to hold back anymore.

especially when it’s just the two of them alone, he’s like a lovesick fool around her, so smiley and just so in love. like like i can see him retrying the wall lean one night but this time it’s extra corny, even more pouty lip action and rook is blushing and laughing and lucanis is so happy and leans down and it’s just the softest kiss and after they’re both smiling.

it’s finally allowing himself to sleep by her side, with spite letting him rest. it’s the fears of being so close and intimate washed away by her touch, the calm he feels from the sound of her heart beating, her soft snores as she holds him close. it’s in the safety he feels near her, never wanting to be parted from her. he knows what awaits them in their fight against the gods, but he is utterly devoted to rook and it is his goal to keep her safe. he has lost so much, he will not let the world take her away from him.

and for the first time in his life, there is optimism in his future. though he has taken on the title and burden of first talon, the weight is eased knowing rook is by his side no matter what comes next, it’s her love that fuels him, and that keeps him sane.

in short, lucanis craves connection and love but never allowed himself the joy of it due to his perception of himself. with rook’s help, he slowly allows himself to have these things, allowing himself to love and be loved. to cling to the good and not have it ripped away from him.

in short short, i love lucanis so much and I love rook so much and i love rookanis and i will never stop shouting it from the rooftops they both deserve so much love and they deserve each other

#rookanis #lucanis dellamorte #rook #lucanis dragon age #rook and lucanis #lucanis and rook #rookanis is everything to me and i will never stop talking about them #datv lucanis #datv #dragon age #lucanis #thea mercar #althea dellamorte #rook x lucanis #lucanis x rook

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moonlit-imagines · 1 day ago

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Headcanons for being Viktor’s younger sibling

Viktor x sibling!reader

warnings:

a/n: im so sorry if this sucks so bad im soooo sorry its my first arcane fic

prompt: anonymous: “Hooray for open requests!!! Maybe hc for being Jayce or Viktor's younger sibling? And accompanying them to the lab?”

you and viktor never thought you’d make it out of the undercity, but viktor was gifted. he helped give you a better life

heimerdinger helped you find your place in piltover, viktor wouldn’t let you get left behind

“y/n deserves to go to a good school. have advanced classes. they can handle it.” -viktor

“i have no doubt, especially if y/n takes after you” -heimerdinger

you’d come a long way, farther than you ever thought you guys would go

“i’m glad i have you as a brother, vik” -you

“you’re just saying that because you have a nice plate of food in front of you” -viktor

“it doesn’t hurt” -you

even if viktor was your older sibling, you devoted yourself to sticking up for him

especially when you lived in zaun, since viktor was not treated kindly

“no more fighting up here?” -viktor

“i hope so, but just because we’re in piltover doesn’t magically solve discrimination. we’re still outsiders” -you

“why do you say that? has something happened?” -viktor

“just the way the people up here act” -you

you two still made the most of the opportunity with your studies, moving up in piltover

viktor soon met jayce, which you had mixed feelings of

maybe you were a little prejudiced againts topsiders still, even after all this time

“hey, who’s this!” -jayce

“viktor’s sibling, y/n. who are you?” -you

he liked you though!

you started to accompany them as they worked, especially intrigued by hextech

you were sort of an “intern” as they liked to call you

but it was worth it, experiencing something so fascinating

“y/n, stand back” -viktor…experimenting

“fineeee” -you

after some time working together, you saw a future in this

but not everyone saw it your way

you started coming around to jayce when he convinced mel not to pull the plug on hextech

“don’t act like im not your favorite” -jayce

“you’re far from my favorite” -you, jokingly

after some time, viktor grew ill and you grew more worried

you wanted to care for him but he simply would not let you

and he hated letting you see him that way

“viktor, i’m your sibling. please don’t shut me out, i won’t let you.” -you

“i’m fine, y/n. please, do not stress over my health.” -viktor

“come on, viktor. you know as well as i do something is wrong. you fainted!” -you

“yes, and i have better things to do than ‘rest’ as you keep asking me to do” -viktor

“you’re impossible” -you

“takes one to know one” -viktor

viktor pushed you away as he got sicker, leaning into his work

the hexcore was the breaking point

he showed up to your door in tears in remorse for sky’s death, you knew it was bad when he told you that you were right

“viktor, you’re not well. it’s time to rest” -you

“i don’t think i can after this” -viktor

you reached out to jayce after this incident, viktor left and you didn’t think you could follow

“he thinks you worry too much, he doesn’t want to be a burden” -jayce

“then will you help him? i don’t want him to be alone” -you

you gave him a hug and hoped for the best

but maybe he was destined to fail

you fell apart when you heard of the attack on the council, even more so when you saw viktor within the hexcore

“what did you do?!” -you

“i did what you asked! i helped him!” -jayce

you visited viktor every day regardless, usually ignoring jayce as he worked

and jayce really tried to make it up to you

“i don’t think he knows how much he’s done for me” -you, breaking silence after jayce hands you a pastry

“how so?” -jayce, timidly

“i could still be in zaun. i could be starved, suffering, and wasting my talents. but i’m here—because of him. he gave me the opportunity of education, safety, peace of mind and i feel like i failed him” -you

“i can’t imagine he sees it that way. you used all your resources and focused on yourself. that’s what he wanted for you, not to get involved in our messes” -jayce

when viktor woke up, he wasnt the same. he was a shell of himself. it caused you a lot of unease

your hug was weakly returned, and at first you thought it was just his recovery, but you soon found he was changed.

you stepped back, finally heeding years of warnings viktor had given you about worrying for him, caring for him, trying to help

you felt you were on your own, maybe it was for the best as you pursued your interests and career

and jayce went his own way pushing you away as well

but you chased him anyways and ended up in a dark, cruel world—the future viktor created

“where the hell are we?” -you

“i told you to leave! you shouldn’t be here!” -jayce

“i don’t…i don’t know where here is? you’d prefer to be alone in this?” -you

the mission changed as time went on, you loved viktor but you saw what came of the world

and jayce felt the need to try to convince you, but you’d already made up your mind

“we have to stop this. any way we can.” -you

“wha—i had a whole speech planned?” -jayce

“don’t want to hear it. viktor died when jinx attacked the council. this is…someone else’s work” -you

jayce and viktor taught you well, and soon enough you were back where you needed to be—and jayce took lead

but it wasn’t so simple, war broke out and all your hard earned time suffering in a broken timeline paid off as you fought against noxus

you watched from afar and viktor and jayce were taken from you and you felt…at peace

taglist: @summersimmerus //

#viktor arcane #viktor league of legends #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane imagine #viktor x reader #viktor imagine #arcane #arcane imagine #arcane x reader

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00valentina-writes00 · 6 hours ago

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Abby with a mommy kink???? Like she calls reader mommy,lovesss to suck on your nippless Abby, 🤭🤭

✞⛧ Abby with a mommy kink ✞⛧

(headcanons and a smut to go with it)

✞⛧ Abby’s mommy kink didn’t start as a conscious thing—it kinda slipped out one night when you were taking care of her, rubbing the knots out of her shoulders after a long day. She mumbled it without thinking, and the moment it left her lips, her whole body tensed like she’d been caught doing something illegal.

✞⛧ She’s got major control issues, always has. She grew up in a military-style environment under the Fireflies, where discipline and self-sufficiency were drilled into her. Depending on someone, letting go, being taken care of? That’s not something she allows herself often. So the fact that it feels good when you take charge? It messes with her head in the best way.

✞⛧ At first, she resists it. Avoids saying it again, even if it’s all she can think about when you cup her jaw and make her look at you. She’s too proud, too stubborn, but god, the second you notice and push her just right? She’s done for.

✞⛧ It’s not just sexual (though it absolutely is that too). It’s about trust. Abby doesn’t trust easily—she’s been betrayed, she’s had people taken from her, she’s had to be the strong one for so long. Calling you mommy is an act of surrender, of admitting she doesn’t always want to be the one in control. That sometimes, she just wants to be told she’s good, to rest her head in your lap while you scratch her scalp and tell her you’ll take care of her.

✞⛧ You start to notice the way she craves direction in everyday life, too. She’s decisive when it comes to survival, to battle tactics, to keeping people safe—but when it’s about herself? What to eat? When to rest? She hesitates. It’s like she was never taught to put herself first. So when you tell her, “Sit, baby. Let me take care of you,” and she melts immediately, you realize just how much she needs it.

✞⛧ The duality of Abby Anderson—towering, muscled, and terrifying to most people, but soft for you in a way that would ruin her reputation if anyone else knew. She can throw a grown man across the room, but the second you murmur, “Good girl,” in her ear? Her knees buckle.

✞⛧ Her mommy issues run deep. She was raised by her father, and after losing him, she latched onto other authority figures—first the Fireflies, then the WLF. But none of them cared for her the way a mother would. So when you do, when you hold her and praise her and tell her she’s doing so well, it scratches an itch in her brain she didn’t even know she had.

✞⛧ She thrives under structure. She’s disciplined, she likes routines, she’s used to strict rules—so when you set boundaries, tell her no when she’s overworking herself, make her listen? She doesn’t just want that, she needs it.

✞⛧ If she ever acts up, it’s because she wants you to put her back in her place. Not that she’d ever admit it. But the bratty remarks, the testing your patience, the way she pushes—it’s all just her way of begging you to correct her. And when you finally do? When you grab her by the jaw, make her look at you, remind her who’s in charge? She’s gone.

✞⛧ And the best part? She doesn’t have to pretend with you. With everyone else, she’s Abby Anderson, the soldier, the protector, the one who never lets anyone see weakness. But with you? She’s just your girl. Your good girl. And fuck, does she love that.

✞⛧ Abby’s puppy dog eyes are a weapon she’s learned to wield subtly—they’re not just for when she wants attention, but for when she needs something more emotional. When she locks eyes with you, there’s a vulnerability in her gaze that belies her tough, soldier persona. It’s almost like she’s asking permission to soften, to be cared for, to fall apart. The way she looks up at you from beneath those lashes, breath shaky, as if she’s trying to hide just how much she needs your affection, melts something in you every time.

✞⛧ When Abby calls you mommy in bed, it’s like a trigger. At first, it’s a quiet thing, almost hesitant, but over time, it becomes a way for her to express just how much she trusts you with her submissive side. The word leaves her lips in a hushed moan, a bit breathless, as she waits for your reaction. She doesn’t just say it for pleasure—she says it because it grounds her, makes her feel safe in the vulnerability of the moment. It’s almost like she’s reminding herself that with you, she can let go of all the responsibility, all the weight she carries.

✞⛧ When Abby has her head resting against your chest, it’s like she’s melting into you. The sturdy, solid Abby who can fight off anyone becomes this tender, soft woman who craves your warmth and protection. She breathes deeply, listening to your heartbeat, like she’s trying to memorize the rhythm of your life. Her hands instinctively find their way to your body, exploring your chest with the same tenderness she doesn’t often show the world. Sometimes, her face gets buried into you, her body language screaming that she wants nothing more than to be wrapped up in your arms and cared for in the most simple, quiet way.

✞⛧ Abby’s the type to get obsessed with sucking on your nipples when she’s feeling needy. It’s not just for pleasure—it’s a way for her to feel close, to ground herself in something so intimate and nurturing. When she pulls you close, one hand gripping the side of your body, the other trailing over your skin to your chest, there’s a desperation to it. The way she wraps her lips around you, her eyes fluttering shut as she sucks gently, is an act of complete surrender. She’s not just seeking your touch; she’s asking for validation, for you to let her know she’s worthy of this attention, this affection.

✞⛧ Abby can be downright whiny when she’s craving your attention, and it’s almost like she forgets how to ask for things politely. She’ll get frustrated, annoyed, or even pouty when she doesn’t get her way, especially when she’s feeling overwhelmed and needs you to remind her that it’s okay to let go. You’ll catch her whining, “C’mon, Mommy, please,” in the softest voice, the desperation clear in her tone, as she seeks comfort or reassurance. She can’t help it—when she feels like she’s losing control, she wants you to pull her back in, to make her feel wanted and safe.

✞⛧ When you use your strap on her, it’s intimate—the act itself more than just physical. There’s a rawness in her submission, her hands gripping the sheets or your body as you move with a pace that she needs—sometimes slow, sometimes harder, but always controlled, always deliberate. The moment she feels you push inside her, it triggers something deep in her chest—this quiet, almost desperate need for connection. She might groan softly or whisper “Mommy” under her breath, the word coated in desire, longing, and trust. She wants to feel owned in that moment, but also cared for, protected as she allows you to fill her up.

Smut smut smut smut smut:

The air inside the tent is thick with the scent of sweat and desire, the sound of Abby’s ragged breaths filling the space as she arches her back against the bedroll. Her strong, muscular frame trembles beneath you, her sun-kissed skin slick with the heat of your bodies pressed together. You can feel the tension in her broad shoulders, the way her powerful thighs clench around your hips as you hover above her, the strap-on harness snug against your own arousal. Her blue eyes lock onto yours, a mix of hunger and vulnerability shimmering in their depths, and for a moment, the world outside—the post-apocalyptic ruin, the danger, the loss—melts away. All that matters is her.

“Mommy,” she whispers, her voice low and raspy, her lips parting as she looks up at you with a pleading intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. Her calloused hands reach up, fingers gripping the straps of your tank top, and you feel the urgency in her touch as she pulls you closer. “Please… I need you.”

You don’t hesitate. You lean down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, feeling the heat of her mouth against yours. Her tongue brushes against your lower lip, teasing, testing, and you open for her, letting her deepen the kiss as your hands roam over her body. You trace the scars on her arms, the raised lines that tell the story of her survival, and you marvel at the strength in her frame, the way her muscles flex beneath your fingertips. She’s so powerful, so capable, and yet here she is, surrendering to you completely.

Her hands move to the hem of your tank top, tugging it up and over your head, and you feel the cool air of the tent against your flushed skin. Her eyes darken as they roam over your chest, her breath hitching as she takes in the sight of your breasts, the hard peaks of your nipples begging for her attention. She doesn’t keep you waiting. Her calloused hands are surprisingly gentle as they cup your breasts, her thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you gasp at the sensation, the electric jolt it sends through your body.

“Mommy,” she murmurs again, her voice dripping with need, and then her mouth is on you, her lips closing around one nipple as she sucks greedily. You moan, your hips bucking involuntarily against the strap-on still nestled against her, and she lets out a muffled whimper around your breast, her tongue swirling over the sensitive bud. Her other hand moves to your second nipple, pinching and rolling it between her fingers, and you can’t help but cry out, the dual sensations overwhelming you. She’s devouring you, sucking and teasing until you’re trembling above her, your thighs slick with your own arousal.

“Abby,” you gasp, your voice trembling as you reach down to position the strap-on against her entrance. She’s already so wet, her folds glistening in the dim light of the tent, and you can feel her trembling with anticipation as you press the tip against her. She whimpers into your breast, her hips lifting off the bedroll as she tries to take more of you, and you can’t hold back any longer. With a slow, deliberate thrust, you slide into her, the sensation of her tight warmth around the silicone making your head spin.

“Fuck,” she moans, her lips leaving your breast as she throws her head back, her neck exposed as she gasps for air. Her hands grip the bedroll, her knuckles whitening as you start to move, rocking your hips against her in a steady rhythm. You can feel every inch of her around you, the way her walls clench and flutter as you thrust into her, and it’s enough to make you dizzy. She’s so tight, so perfect, and you can’t stop the primal groan that escapes your lips as you pick up the pace.

Her hips meet yours with every thrust, her body moving in sync with yours, and you can feel the heat building between you, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. Her hands move to your hips, her fingers digging into your skin as she pulls you closer, urging you deeper, and you obey, driving into her with a force that makes her cry out. Her back arches off the bedroll, her chest pressing against your stomach as her lips find your nipple again, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin as she moans around you.

“Mommy, please,” she gasps, her voice breaking as she looks up at you, her eyes wide with desperation. “I’m so close… I need…”

You know what she needs. You adjust your angle slightly, your hips grinding against hers as you thrust into her, hitting that spot inside her that makes her scream. Her body convulses beneath you, her walls tightening around you as she comes, her lips still latched onto your breast as she sucks and moans like she’s trying to milk every last drop of pleasure from you. You keep thrusting, drawing out her orgasm until she’s trembling, her hands gripping your hips so tightly it’s almost painful.

Finally, she collapses back onto the bedroll, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. Her hands fall to her sides, her body limp and sated, and you can’t help but smile at the sight of her, so completely undone by you. She looks up at you, her blue eyes soft and hazy with pleasure, and she reaches up to brush a strand of hair from your face.

“Mommy,” she whispers, her voice barely audible, and then her eyes flutter shut, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm. You lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, and for a moment, the world feels right. She’s safe. She’s yours. And nothing else matters.

#abby x fem!reader #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x you #abby x reader #abby imagines #abby headcanons #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x reader #the last of us x reader #the last of us smut #the last of us drabbles #the last of us headcanons #the last of us imagine #the last of us fic #the last of us

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whatdoidosatoru · 3 days ago

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hands down

hanma shuji/fem!reader | ao3 cheirophilia - also known as hand partialism or hand fetishism, is the sexual fetish for hands. this may include the attraction to a specific area such as the fingers, palm of the hand, back and/or the nails. wc: 4541 cw: smut, unprotected séx, choking, pet names (doll, princess), creampíe, hanma should be his own warning part 1/? 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

“just a few more, keep that thumb in place”

directions flow left and right in hanma's bright photography studio. music is turned down at your reqest, with the excuse that you couldn't hear the instructions over the bass. sure, hanma thinks, spoiled brat gets what she wants. he fixates on your hands, clean, well-manicured fingers curling around the product he was hired to photograph.

he hates this sort of marketing, always has done. the companies and brands all think they know better than him, the person with actual knowledge of photography, of media. this shoot, much like any other, comes with a thick binder full of requests. model’s left palm facing up, product on the widest part of her hand, rotated 36° to the left from photo described on page 17– it's all bullshit they think is going to help them sell that miracle cream, something that'll make it look like it’s the only solution to all life’s problems. like your pretty hands can suddenly make anything look like a good idea.

hanma’s mind flashes him an image he doesn't want to think about, a fantasy he's had for the past two days of the shoot. an image of your gorgeous, soft hand wrapped around his thick cock, stroking it up and down until his tip leaks all over your fingers, making them sticky, making it only natural that you lick them clean. he sighs, placing the camera on one of the tables on the side and gesturing that he needs a smoke break.

once outside on the rooftop, free of the artificial light and the presence of too many people, he leans his back against the wall as his large hands rummage his pocket to produce a nearly empty pack of cigarettes and a lighter so used that the logo on the side is rubbed off. one, two flicks and it sparks up, lighting the end of the cigarette between his lips and illuminating his face orange for a second. exhaling, he closes his eyes, keeping them like that as he tries to think about anything unrelated to you, anything at all. the zoo. elephant shit. giraffes. long slender necks. slender fingers. your fingers, wrapped– damn it. it feels hopeless, but by now he's gotten used to feeling his jeans tense with the erection pressing against them, screaming to be released. when was the last time he had sex? not too long ago, but his body is reacting so strongly. he needs to get laid.

“oh i'd kill for one of those.” a smooth voice nearly makes him drop the cigarette from his lips, startling him into opening his eyes and nearly activating his fight or– well, fight, response.

“huh?” internally he chastises himself for saying it so stupidly. it's you, something about your demeanor and an easy smile during shoots, even when instructions are being barked all around you, flusters him, makes him talk weird. makes him act stupid.

“the smoke? i'm not allowed to hold them, even with gloves.” hanma hardly takes in your words, the way those fingers twirl a strand of your hair and tuck it behind one ear send his mind spiralling. gods, he needs to feel them on his skin, needs to see his cum stringy and sticky between them. he needs to stop. already saving this moment into his mental wank bank, ready for later when he’s finished picking out and editing photos from today, he extends his arm and holds the lit cigarette in front of you.

“mhm… that’s good. told ‘em three days in a row are too much, but my agency is shit like that.” you complain a little, a weak attempt at maybe bonding with the man who’s spent a long time looking at you almost exclusively through a camera lens. and another lens. and then a different lens.

“i’m not allow–”

“no just take the drag.” he’s a professional. at this point he’s photographed hundreds of hot women, each prettier than the next. he’s done lingerie shoots, he’s done boudoir, he’s done everything and anything under the cold tokyo sun. so it truly puzzles him that he’s getting so hot and bothered by the way you lean in and wrap your pretty lips around his cigarette, cheeks sucked in as you take that drag and lean back, exhaling it with your eyes closed.

and each time that bright flash lit up your skin, he thought of just saying fuck it and taking you right there in the studio, sitting you down on that stupid stool and spreading your thighs just far enough to slot his face in between them and stick his tongue between your squishy folds. he thought about those perfect fingers of yours carding through his hair, tugging on it a little when he’d flick against your clit, he’d nibble on it gently, with the intent of making you grip onto his hair harder. all that thinking is making it difficult having a casual conversation with you now.

“yeah most are that way,” he puts the cigarette back between his lips, taking a moment to enjoy the fact that they’re touching the exact place yours touched, “trust me, i’ve dealt with them for years.”

he offers you another drag and you take it, almost instinctively trying to grab for the hand that holds the cigarette, but not quite getting there, not allowed to hold it. hanma feels your breath on his fingers, they’re so close to you it would be so easy to just slip them into your inviting lips. he’s had plenty of girls begging for it, whining voices pleading with him to just wrap those large tattooed hands around their throats and coax out lewd moans, almost shocked at how good it felt when he squeezed them by the necks.

he’s always been on the receiving end of the admiration, so readily flaunting those nimble digits setting up camera after camera to get a perfect shot of his subjects even outside of the studio. in the dark, in the crumpled sheets of his bed. they always asked to be put under the mercy of his palms, and now he tries not to recall those moments, but suddenly every girl in his memory wears your face.

suddenly he can’t remember any of them, instead it’s you he’s pulling by the hair, exposing your neck for him to bite down on it while his hips snap against your ass, it’s you on your back with legs up, held tightly by his hands under your thighs as he parts your precious pussy repeatedly slamming into you. he can clearly see in his mind the faces you would pull, the noises he’d drag out of your throat with just a little pressure to the side of your neck.

“hah, yeah, mine insisted on working with you, apparently.” he watches as you turn directly towards him, opening the communication between your bodies. he can see more of you now, when you’re not bringing all the attention to your most prized feature, he can see the shape of your body. even better, he can imagine his hands on you more, fantasize just how good it would feel to squeeze those tits of yours as he gives you all of his inches.

“that’s because i’m the best, doll.” he braves a little pet name, testing the waters, raising an eyebrow to see how you’d react. and bingo. the little flush spreading your face and the way you tilted your head as if to hide from him tells hanma everything he needed to know. oh he’s got you where he wants you; seeing you shift on your feet, pressing your legs a little tighter together, he’s willing to bet that you’re imagining nearly the same things as him, being put into your place by someone strong, by him.

“how so?” your innocent tone does nothing but make him more hell-bent on taking you for himself. hanma’s brain seems unable to relax and give up on the images that keep running through it, the images of you in just a pair of translucent stockings with your own panties rolled up and stuffed between those precious lips, images of your ass so tastefully bouncing on his hips as he helps you ride him. since he can’t do anything to stop his mind racing, he leans into it. he’s testing the waters to see how you’ll react, feeling out how much he can get away with.

“models love me, managers fear me. simple as that… doll.” he throws the finished cigarette onto the ground and steps on it with the toe of his shoe. it’s safer if he shoves his hands into the jacket pockets, he thinks. safer if he can’t reach out and grab your face to pull you in for a damaging kiss. “i’ve managed to satisfy all of them… in one way or another.” but some of them in both ways, he thinks, once again recalling the whiny moans under his toned body, the thin arms wrapping around his neck, and the drag of their nails along his back. but he doesn't recall the faces, all of them look like you now, all of them a blank canvas upon which he paints your eyes, so wide with flustered excitement, your nose, blushing from his words, your lips, gently parted as you sigh and whimper his name…

“another?” how innocent can you be? oh hanma nearly lets out a laugh. or maybe you’re playing him, maybe you know exactly what he means, but you want to tease him and make him work for it.

“yes, another, what don’t you get?” hanma’s lips tug into a grin and with a step towards you he closes the distance. seeing as you make no move to get away, he reaches around your waist and pulls you closer. “you want a demonstration?” the honking of cars and the rush of traffic underneath doesn’t break the tension between you, it’s like you’re in a little bubble of your own, ten storeys above the rest of the world.

hanma watches you closely, dipping his head down to brush lips against the side of your head and hear you inhale sharply, as if battling with yourself about how to continue.

“of what?” you clear your throat, looking down for a moment before returning his gaze. “a demonstration of what?” damn, he’s so much taller than you, his lean frame is slouched to get near you. it makes for even more thoughts carefully being put into a folder with your name on it in his mind.

his chuckle is so low, right against your ear while his one hand reaches to hold your chin, tilting it up so he can see you better. his fingers squeeze your cheeks a little, making your lips pout so deliciously.

“of how i satisfy little princesses and dolls who might not be too happy with posing for so long…” he trails off, leaving the rest up to your imagination, knowing that you’re smart enough to understand, to pick up what he’s laying down.

from the way your cheeks redden even more, your eyelashes bat a little quicker, and you make no move to pull yourself away, even shift on your feet so you come a little closer, it’s clear to him that it’s a good move.

“and how are you going to show me that?” your voice is too soft, he almost doesn’t hear it, but the way your lips move in between his thumb and index finger is making his already straining erection feel more painful than ever. despite it, he lets go of your face and stands up straight. one tattooed hand, sin, brushes through his unruly blonde-streaked hair, he forces his feet to move away from you and start walking back inside the studio.

“come to my office, i’ll show you what i mean.” hanma makes himself sound casual though the level of obsession in his mind is reaching new heights. he’s counting seconds as he strides through the studio, ignoring the questions coming from the people on set, even his own team. he must not lose focus.

throwing himself into the office chair, he rubs those pretty hands over his face. focus, damn it. his knee bounces, looking down he subtly fixes the way his cock is constricted, moving the seam of his jeans a little to the side, counting down seconds until–

you slowly walk in and close the door behind you, like you’re a schoolgirl in trouble walking into the principal’s office expecting to get shouted at or suspended. so submissive, so perfect for him to unwrap.

you approach him with that same redness on your cheeks, standing in front of his desk as if unsure if you should sit or not. hanma beckons you to circle the desk and lean against it, your legs slotted in between his knees. he slides forward on the wheels of the chair, bringing himself closer to you and now his face is level with your chest. his hand sneaks around to caress the back of your thigh, your bare legs shiver under the warmth of his touch.

“n-no” your answer is a simple one, and even that you manage to stutter, “no, everything is n-nice.”

“tell me, doll…” he drawls, looking you over, admiring your thighs as they peek out from under the hem of that cute little skirt you wear, “are you happy with the set conditions, hmm?” he leans forward, the leather of his chair creaking as he moves, now ghosting his breath across your stomach, across the thin knitted jumper you’re wearing. “the lights are okay, yeah? you got some food, you got drinks, you had breaks… is there anything you want that i didn’t give you?” his tone gets lower, the rasp of his voice sends shocks through your spine as his large hand reaches the underside of your ass.

it’s embarrassing how much he wants to just turn you around, tug those panties off, and shove his aching cock inside you, but he’s nothing if not a teasing motherfucker. a bastard that will prolong your and his torture if only to toy with his prey.

hanma chuckles in reply. nice. he hates that word. it means nothing, anything can be nice, he doesn’t want that. he wants amazing, fun, interesting, perfect.

“looks like you’re enjoying yourself more than you thought, yeah?” he soon pulls his hand away while the one on your ass stays, kneading the soft flesh as he pops his middle finger in between his lips. “mmm fucking delicious, i knew you would be.” his finger prods at your bottom lip, making it part more to place his two fingers on your tongue. your lips immediately close around the digits, tongue swirling as you taste yourself, but most of all enjoy the feeling of those slender fingers in your desperate mouth, finally starting to get put in your place, finally being touched and used. as hanma pulls his fingers out, his movements speed up. he’s been patient, gentle, even, but his erection is getting painful to the point where he needs to get it out, and he’ll be damned if he sits there with his cock out and it’s not getting sucked or being used to fuck you.

“just nice, hm?” those long, pretty fingers that touch you so gently make their way over the swell of your ass, rubbing it in tender circles as he looks up, leaning his chin on your stomach. “anything i can do to make it better than nice?” he purrs, reaching out with his other hand to touch your other thigh, this time from the front.

that hand also disappears under your skirt rather quickly. you grip onto the edge of his desk while he explores your soft skin, fighting yourself to keep your eyelids open and connected with his eyes. you don’t answer, just keep your juicy lips parted slightly, letting out a tiny whimper when his fingers reach the edge of your panties.

it brings back the smile on his face, the mischievous smile that says got you when he sees he has you right where he wants you. his index and middle fingers gently hook under the edge of that soft fabric, testing out the boundaries though there don't seem to be many. he closes his eyes for a moment, swallowing saliva when he realises how soft your skin is, how wet you are already.

hanma trails those two clever fingers up and down your precious slit, smearing your wetness around, enjoying the texture of it on his fingertips. a small groan rips from his throat, you're so warm under his touch, he’s barely keeping himself together, barely stopping himself from ravishing you immediately.

“so pretty,” he murmurs, “so damn beautiful i need t–” a groan stops his words, the urge becomes too strong. your pretty little pout makes him want to take you immediately, so badly it’s unnerving. it takes him a few quick seconds to have you turned around facing the desk and pressing up against his chest. one of his hands parts your supple thighs while the other gently wraps around your tender neck, holding you in place with your head tilted back.

with a quick tug, he pulls your panties down, revealing the sweet piece of heaven that is your tender pussy. he wants to kiss it, wants to make out with it for hours, wants to lay you down on his desk and spend the rest of the day with his lips drowning in your juices, have them drip down his chin until there is a puddle on the floor. he wants to tease you so damn much, but it feels like he’s going to die if he doesn’t have his cock inside you right now. with a groan, he undoes his jeans and stands up, sliding them down to his mid thighs as you look down and– gasp.

the look in your eyes says need you now. it shows your desperation, even more so when he takes your hands and brings them to his mouth. hanma can tell you don’t expect any softness from him, but his lips gently brush over your knuckles, kissing every finger as he leans forward, rubbing his bare erection against you.

“doll… tell me something.” his raspy voice flows into your sensitive ear, so low and seductive he wonders if you just got wetter from the sound.

“a-anything… ‘m gonna tell you anything.” you desperately respond, swallowing saliva and feeling your throat bob under his large palm. gods, his hands are pretty, they look so perfect wrapped around your slender neck, tightening the grip with his thumb on the side so gently.

“anything? fuck, you’re a greedy little doll, aren’t ya?” he chuckles, but the hardness of his cock is rubbing against your lower back, making it difficult to stay as cocky as he wants to. with one hand, he picks up your leg and lifts it up on the desk, opening up the path to insert himself into your heat as he tilts your head, making it easier to lock eyes. “look at me… there you go, you want this just as much as i do, don’t you?”

you nod, nearly salivating at the prospect of finally feeling what it’s like being one of those girls that the famous photographer hanma shuji takes home and rewards for being such good models.

“out loud, doll, need to hear you.” he coaxes, bending his knees slightly to get the angle right, to align his fat cock head with your drooling little cunt.

“y-yes, i want this… please, want you so much.” you hold onto the flat surface of the desk, your pretty fingers balancing you as your slick covers hanma’s tip. his strained chuckle glides over your cheek as he tilts your head a little to the side, perfectly placing his lips against yours, but not kissing you. no, the bastard has to tease you first.

“that’s a good doll.” only after he whispers his little praise does he sink his thick cock into you, kissing your pouty lips at the same time. it’s a harsh kiss, demanding entrance into your mouth as his hips meet the plump flesh of your ass. the noise is addicting, skin bouncing against skin, the buckle of his belt jingling with every movement, your moans in his mouth, his curses in between hungry kisses. hanma is gone. one thrust into your weeping cunt and he’s a dead man. he’s sucked in so snug, your warm walls accommodate him only just, making the squeeze that much more intense as he pulls almost all the way out before pushing himself back in with a muffled groan.

hanma extends his index finger from your throat and pushes it into your mouth, pressing down onto your greedy tongue while his hips keep colliding with you, his cock drags out squelching sounds form your sopping pussy, hitting every sweet spot in your warm little cunt that contracts around him. “put your damn finger in my mouth, doll, come on.” he demands in a gravelly voice, a little out of breath as he feels his hips twitch.

“fuck, doll… so warm for me, hmm? so tight around me,” his voice gets lower as the hand holding your throat moves you again, letting him speak into your ear while the other hand holds your thigh, “so tight and perfect, aren’t you?” hanma chuckles, barely holding on to sanity. he speeds up a little, moaning every time his balls smack against your clit.

“tell me, princess…” he pauses talking to hear more of those melodic whines coming from your sweet mouth, so perfect that he has no choice but to squeeze your neck a little tighter, making for the noises to get higher in pitch. “ah… i could just– mmm bottle up these little whines of yours… tell me doll, you doing good, hmm? y-you having fun, huh?”

hanma is used to taking his sweet time, making his pretty girls beg, whine for him until he feels merciful enough to give them what they crave. but as you shakily remove your hand from the desk and bring two slender, perfectly manicured and clean fingers to his lips, he greedily takes them in, sucking on them like it’s his favourite lollipop. like the answer to the meaning of life is buried deep inside your cunt and under the skin of your hands. his tongue shows off, swirling around your fingertips, sending shivers throughout your body.

deeper moans join the symphony of noises in the office, he licks between your digits, continuously snapping his hips forward, thrusting so deeply into you that you feel the edge of his desk dig into your front. your cute little skirt is hiked up around your waist, giving him a good view of your round ass whenever he lets his eyes wander away from the knuckles of your hand resting on his chin or the sight of his tattooed hand, punishment, squeezing your throat harder, tighter, making whiny little whimpers slip though your lips and past his index finger stuck in your mouth.

the sensation of your cunt tightening around him is almost too much, so he nearly collapses, knees giving up, when he hears your pleading voice vibrating against his index finger. he pulls it out of your mouth, letting you speak up, oh how he wants to hear you plead for him.

“p-please, haa– i need t’...” a groan escapes you when hanma pulls his head away, letting your fingers slip out of his mouth and onto the desk where they were before. he dips his head closer, tugs on your earlobe with his mean teeth. “need t’ cum, please, can i?”

hanma has struck gold. a sweet little doll like you with a tight pussy almost made for him that can take his cock so well, a gentle thing with puppy eyes and perfect hands that he just wants to capture stroking his thick, veiny cock… begging to cum. if he were to die today, he would die a happy man. hanma drags his lips down to your cheek, taking a playful bite of your face before tilting your head again, not slowing down the relentless movement of his vicious hips. he chuckles raggedly, his energy is focused elsewhere, but he needs to give you some cheek before giving in.

feeling brave, hanma presses a few uncharacteristically gentle kisses along your neck where he squeezed you moments before. once he stills, once you’ve both come down from your orgasms, he pulls out, hissing at the lack of contact and the sight of your cute little hole oozing his silvery white release.

“hmm, already? mmm alright, doll, i-it would be my honor if you did. whaddaya say, you gonna cum on my dick here? y-you gonna make a mess in m-my office, yeah?” his teasing tone is followed by a speedier pace of his hips. he places a hand on your abdomen, feeling for the little bulge where his cock keeps hitting, chuckling a little as he feels it right at the glorious moment when your cunt contracts, making him stutter in his movements and almost immediately follow your orgasm. pretty, he thinks, sounds so gorgeous when she cums.

with those words on his mind, he topples over as well, groaning out into your hair as he spills inside you, gradually slowing down his messy thrusts. his hand releases your throat while the other rubs little circles on your abdomen, large hand covering most of your skin.

he wants to take a photo of it, but it will have to wait, he has a feeling he’ll get to take you like this again. catching his breath, he reaches down and pulls his jeans and boxers up, buttoning himself up before smacking your tender exposed ass with one tattooed hand, punishment. looking down, he realises that he feels more at ease around you now, having dealt with his overflowing need for you. hell, maybe he’ll even give you a moment before asking you to put your gentle hands on his cock and get them sticky with his cum.

“think the break is over, doll.” hanma drags one hand through his hair, taking a deep breath before helping you get back onto your wobbly legs and pull your panties back up. “we got another ten pages of poses to go through… or you’ll be back tomorrow for another session.” a wicked grin spreads along his face. another session, he’s almost getting giddy at the thought of having you here again, another day, another chance to find himself balls deep in your wet cunt, walls fluttering as y– he needs to get a grip.

maybe not during a photo shoot, maybe he’ll invite you over next time, get some food in you, share a drink or two before he makes you pose for his private collection. before he fills all of his memory cards with lewd photos of you in every position imaginable, before he deletes all the other ones he took before. deletes all the photos that don’t have your precious hands in them.

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