#you were just not cared for as a child and made to feel that was your fault

[himasgod]

Can you do 2nd year's where u stop giving them attention? 🩷

SECOND YEARS X READER

Where you suddenly stop giving them attention

FIRST YEARS HERE

How would the second years react if you suddenly stopped pampering them due to lack of sleep because of your studies?

Floyd was addicted to your attention.

Just like that. No sugarcoating.

He loved it when you looked for him, when you hugged him in public, when you called him “my baby” Because only you could do that without making him mad. Only you could calm his tide of emotions with a smile.

"Shriiimpy~ you're super cuddly today, I looove it."

He was happy. So happy he didn’t even try to hide it. He became calmer when you were around, more cheerful, less chaotic.

But when you stop showing up, when the “Floyd, come here” turns into “sorry, I have to go,” Floyd starts acting weird.

At first, he insists.

"Shrimpy! Are you ignoring me? Are you playing hide-and-seek without telling me? So boring!"

But when he realizes it’s not a game, that your eyes look dull, that you don’t even notice you’re pushing him away, something inside him churns. His smile fades. He stops going after you. He just watches you from afar.

And inside, he feels like a forgotten child.

Until one day, he gets fed up.

He corners you against your locker with his arms on either side of your head, his face more serious than ever.

"What’s wrong with you? You don’t love me anymore? You got bored? Did I piss you off?"

You don’t know what to say. You’re so tired you don’t even have the strength to lie. You just lower your head, murmuring a soft “sorry, I’m exhausted.”

And Floyd… goes still.

"You’re sad? You’re tired and didn’t tell me?"

He looks at you in silence for a second. Then wraps his arms around you tightly, hiding his face in your neck.

"I don’t care if you don’t hug me or look for me… but don’t disappear on me like that. Don’t leave me without you, Shrimpy."

And that day, Floyd doesn’t let go of you for a second. He carries you like a blanket and takes you to his room, lets you sleep against his chest like a plushie and sings you a song softly, no teasing, no sarcasm.

"Sleep. I’ll take care of you. Even if you don’t spoil me, I’ll spoil you now."

Jamil wasn't used to being the center of anyone's attention.

His whole life revolved around obeying, caring, and repressing. Emotions were dangerous. Affection… even more so.

So when you started doting on him—for real, without expecting anything in return—he refused to believe it.

Every touch of yours made him tense; every sweet word forced him to look away.

But he got used to it. Or rather, he allowed himself to depend on it a little. On you. On your silent attentions. On how you noticed when he was overwhelmed and simply held his hand without saying anything. On how you reminded him that he was valuable beyond his usefulness.

And then, one day, all of that stopped.

Without an explanation. Without a fight. Without an "I'm tired." Just… absence. Averted glances. "Sorry, I don't have time right now." Entire days without messages. And he, silent, swallowing his doubts.

"Did I dream it? Was it always a lie? Have they had enough of someone like me?"

He doesn't tell you. Jamil would never admit it. But he starts acting drier, more evasive. He avoids you so you don't notice how much it hurts. Until he sees you asleep with your head on your notes, your back hunched, and your breathing heavy with stress.

And in that instant, the anger collapses. All the accumulated venom turns to worry.

He approaches silently. He covers you with his jacket. He sighs deeply, as if crushed by the weight of something he can no longer contain.

"…You're not the only one who's tired of pretending everything is okay."

He wakes you gently, almost fearfully. When you open your eyes, you see something different in his: not anger, not reproach… but contained sadness.

"If you're exhausted, tell me. Don't leave me alone imagining that I no longer mean anything. Because you don't know how much it hurts when the only place where I felt free… disappears too."

That day, Jamil accompanies you to your room. He forces you to eat, to drink water, to sleep well. He doesn't ask you for anything in return.

But as he strokes your hair with trembling fingers, he whispers softly:

"This time, it's my turn to take care of you. But don't go away. Not again."

Kalim adores you. There's no other word. For him, your love is like the sun after a sandstorm, like a laugh in the midst of silence.

He's always been generous, always giving love without asking for it. But when you started pampering him, it was as if for the first time he received without needing to give. Your spontaneous kisses, your texts reminding him to drink water, your way of saying "I miss you" even though you'd only seen him two hours ago…

"It makes me so happy to know you're thinking of me!" he would always tell you, hugging you tightly.

So when that disappears, Kalim doesn't know what to do.

At first, he tries to cheer himself up. "I'm sure they're busy. Everything will be okay."

But as the days pass, uncertainty eats away at his smile.

He starts looking for you more insistently. Laughing louder. Proposing plans.

"Let's go carpet flying! We haven't been out in a long time!"

But you just tell him, “I'm sorry, Kalim, I can't today.”

And that day, when you walk away without looking him in the eye, something in his expression changes. His smile freezes.

He follows you with his eyes until you disappear into the hallways. Then he sits alone, in a corner of the garden, hands clasped together.

“Maybe… I did something wrong. Maybe I was too intense. Maybe… they don't love me like they used to.”

When he finally finds you asleep in the common room, exhausted and murmuring words in your sleep, his heart breaks.

“Oh… that's it. You're tired. You're so tired, and all I thought about was myself.”

He approaches carefully, tucks your hair behind your ear, and in a low voice, with that pure tenderness that characterizes him, he speaks to you even though he knows you're not listening:

“You don't need to be strong for me all the time. It's okay if you can't pamper me. I love you the same. I'll be here the same. Always."

That night, Kalim tucks you into the softest blanket he can find, leaves a cup of tea on the nightstand, and a note written in his big, cheerful handwriting:

“Don't miss me. Don't pressure yourself. Just rest. I'll be here when you wake up. I love you always, even when you can't show it.”

And yes. He keeps his promise. When you open your eyes, he's there, smiling brightly, holding your hand.

“Did you sleep well? It's my turn to take care of you today, okay?”

Riddle was so nervous at the beginning of the relationship that every gesture of affection from you left him silent, blushing, confused. But over time, he began to crave your attention as if it were afternoon tea: part of his routine, a sacred ritual.

You organizing his schedule, reminding him to rest, kissing his forehead when his headache ached—it was your way of caring for him, and he accepted it like a blessing.

But when that disappears, Riddle panics.

He doesn't show it right away, of course. He denies what he feels.

"Theyre probably busy. I shouldn't bother them. I shouldn't show weakness…"

Until anxiety consumes him. Until he accidentally explodes.

"You didn't reply to the text I sent you three days ago! Did I do something wrong?! Why are you ignoring me?!"

And when you turn around, your eyes tired, unable to even stand completely, Riddle feels his heart sink.

"Oh… you're… you're exhausted…"

He sees you trembling. He sees the dark circles under your eyes. He sees you like a castle about to collapse.

Then he takes a step back, swallowing. He lowers his gaze. He approaches calmly and takes your hand, his tone infinitely softer.

"Forgive me. I didn't know how to see it. You don't need to explain anything to me. Just… come with me."

He takes you to his room. He changes his schedule. He suspends his studies. He makes tea. And when he sees you asleep, tangled in his blanket, he closes his eyes with guilt and tenderness.

"You taught me to be loved… now it's my turn to learn to care for you as you deserve."

And that night, Riddle Rosehearts doesn't sleep. He stays by your side, watching over your sleep, like someone tending a beautiful garden that has flourished even in the harshest spring.

Jade is a man of subtleties. Of long silences, gentle smiles, and eyes that observe more than they say. When you started pampering him, at first he thought you were just playing around… but over time, he understood that your attentions were sincere. You made small braids in his hair when he rested with you, brought him new herbal teas to try, told him how much his presence calmed you.

And he, silently, became addicted to it.

Not because he needed it—or so he wanted to believe—but because it made him feel human, and not just another servant of his brother's capricious emotions or a mere executor of orders.

So when that warmth disappears overnight, when you stop texting him, stopping by the lounge, touching his hand for no reason… Jade doesn't say anything. He doesn't pressure you. He just observes.

But behind that apparent serenity, a restlessness begins to grow in his chest.

Until one day, when he notices you in the greenhouse, half asleep, lying on a flowerpot, your face covered in dirt and your hands trembling, he approaches silently. He doesn't say "I missed you," he doesn't complain.

He just crouches down beside you and begins to wipe the mud off your fingers with a white handkerchief.

"I was wondering… if plants also stop blooming if their gardeners forget themselves."

And then, without warning, he looks into your eyes, very close.

"I don't need your touch to be with you. But I can't bear to see you like this… as if you'd vanished without realizing it."

He helps you to your feet. He leads you to his room. He makes lavender tea. And that night, he sits beside you, silent, gently touching your hand, as if afraid of breaking you.

"When you're ready, I will once again receive each of your caresses with gratitude… but for now, allow me to take care of you."

Azul is used to transactions. To giving in order to receive. To measuring affection in terms of utility and results. But you… you broke his logic from day one. You gave him attention and affection, without conditions. You hugged him when he frowned. You defended him when others saw him as just another merchant.

And Azul, for the first time, didn't know what to give in return. He felt awkward. Exposed. But happy.

"Are you sure you don't want anything? Not even a symbolic contract…?"

And yet, every time you looked at him with genuine love, his insecurities faded a little. Your affection transformed him.

So when you stop pursuing him, when your messages dry up and your visits to the Monstro Lounge cease, his first reaction is to panic.

"Did I say something wrong? Is she angry with me? Did she regret it?"

He starts replaying conversations, looking for signs. He locks himself in his office, checks his magic mirror to see you from afar (blame it on jealousy, blame it on anxiety), and what he sees isn't contempt… it's exhaustion.

He watches you drag yourself between classes. Fall asleep over your notes. Walk like a ghost.

And something in him snaps.

The next day, a note arrives, delicately folded.

"Come by the Lounge this afternoon. I've reserved the place just for us. It's not a formal date. I just want to see you."

When you arrive, Azul is waiting for you with a warm cup of your favorite beverage and a blanket draped over the shoulders of the most comfortable chair. He invites you to sit. He doesn't try to talk business, or magic, or anything. He just watches you, with unusual calm.

"I don't need your daily flattery to know you appreciate me. But if you're losing yourself, then I… I can't stay still."

His voice trembles a little. Azul isn't good at showing vulnerability. But he tries.

"You gave me more than I ever expected to receive. Let me give you back at least a part of it."

And that night, there are no contracts. No exchanges. Just Azul holding your hand as you sleep on his couch, a barely audible whisper in the air:

"Please… don't disappear again. You don't know how much I need you."

Ruggie never considered himself someone worthy of much luxury or attention. He comes from what's fair, what's scarce. He’s used to giving more than he receives. But when you came into his life and started spoiling him —with food, sweet words, casual affection— at first, he got defensive.

"What’s up with you? Are you bribing me or what?"

But then… he got used to it. And without realizing it, he became addicted to it. To the way you looked at him like he was special. To how you remembered the things he liked. To how you hugged him for no reason and called him “my boy”

So, when all of that stops suddenly, Ruggie doesn’t take it well. And he doesn’t express it with sadness, but with forced humor.

"Hey, did you replace me or what? 'Cause you don’t even throw a “hi” my way anymore. I feel like a forgotten veggie in the fridge."

He says it with a lopsided smile, like it’s a joke, but his hyena ears are drooping. His laugh sounds weak. He’s hurt, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

When he finally sees you collapse in the cafeteria, your head buried in your arms, not even touching the food given to you, something changes. He doesn’t joke anymore. He pulls you out of the place without asking, takes you behind the kitchen, puts a bun in your hand, and makes you eat.

"You know I don’t mind if you don’t pay attention to me… but this isn’t okay. You can’t keep going like this. I don’t want to see you falling apart from trying to carry everything alone."

And when you look at him, for the first time in days, with eyes glassy from guilt and exhaustion, he sighs.

"Dummy. You got me used to your affection and now you take it away. That’s not fair, is it?"

But he hugs you, without resentment, with the tenderness he keeps only for you. And that night, without you asking, he cooks your favorite dish and sits down to eat with you, talking nonsense until you laugh.

"Come on, boss. You spoil me, but now it’s my turn to take care of you, okay?"

Silver isn't a demanding person. His calm, almost ethereal nature makes him seem as if he's above common emotional needs. But since you've been with him, there's something that keeps him more awake, more grounded in the world. Your attentions, however small—a hand on his cheek, a loving whisper before he falls asleep, a smile when his eyes close—are what remind him that there's someone who chooses him every day, even when he's lost in his dreams.

That's why, when you start to distance yourself, he notices… even though he doesn't say anything.

At first, he thinks maybe he's imagining it. That he shouldn't be selfish. That you have your own problems too. But the days go by, and your greetings become automatic, your hugs are absent, and you're no longer there to wake him with affection when he falls asleep in the garden. And Silver begins to dream uneasy things. Dreams where he searches for you and can't find you. Where his world is silent and empty.

One afternoon, as you watch him from afar, he pauses, approaches with a serious look—serious, not angry—and offers you his hand.

"Come. I want to show you something."

He takes you to a corner of the forest where the sun's rays filter through the trees and the sound of water gently flows. There he sits with you, and for a moment he says nothing. He just listens. He watches the dark circles under your eyes form. How your shoulders slump with exhaustion.

"You always take care of me. You're always there for me, even when I can't stay awake myself. So now I want you to rest."

He takes off his coat and places it around your shoulders. Then he sits beside you, lets you rest your head on his chest, and closes your eyes.

"I don't need you to pamper me all the time. Just for you to be well. That's all I want."

And when you finally allow yourself to let out the silent cry, he doesn't move. He doesn't speak again. He just holds you. Like you did so many times.

[sweetsturns]

touch me — sub!matt ꒱ ﹐ ‏࿐ contains : mommy kink !!

it was safe to say that matt was a huge softie when it came to affection. he just needed your attention, no matter what. you could be watching movies and he would whine and pout at the fact that you weren't giving him enough attention.

he sighed dramatically as he leaned against you, resting his head on your shoulder. “pay attention to me,” he whined, pouting like a child. “not right now matt, m’watching a movie”

he groaned and slumped even more against your shoulder, practically melting into you at this point. “don't care, pay attention to me instead.” he mumbled, his voice slightly muffled. as he was leaning against you, you couldn't help but notice the slight bulge in his sweatpants.

he couldn't help but feel impatient, wanting your attention right away. so he started to subtly hump the side of your thigh, being extra needy. the contact made him feel a bit needy, making him pout even more, looking up at you with pleading eyes.

his body pressed even tighter against you, the friction against your thigh building up. he let out soft, needy little whimpers, his grip on you tightening. he needed just a little bit more, something to push him over the edge; something from you.

he looked up at you, pleading, begging. "please…" “aw can’t cum without mama?” he whined at your teasing tone, pouting even more, his cheeks flushing a little at the nickname. "no…need you…please mama…" he mumbled, looking up at you.

“aw sweet boy” he couldn't help the whine that slipped from his lips at your words, feeling a mix of embarrassment and neediness. "mama please…" he mumbled again, his eyes pleading. he needed the attention, needed the affection he knew you could give him.

“lay back on the couch sweetie” once matt listened you slowly started to pump his pretty cock. he shuddered at your touch, his body immediately responding to the attention he so desperately needed.

his eyes fluttered shut for a moment before opening again, still watching you. "n-need more.." he whimpered, struggling to keep his voice from trembling. “hmm… and what do we say when we want something?” he swallowed hard, trying to gather himself enough to say the words.

"p-please…please mama.." “there you go, good boy matty” you increased the speed of your hand was pumping him. he clenched his fists at his sides, trying desperately to keep himself from squirming too much. “oh..!" he gasped, his body jerking slightly from the touch. "mm..feels so good.." he whined, closing his eyes.

“doing so good sweetheart” he clenched his teeth, trying to contain the sounds that were threatening to spill from his lips."y-yes mommy, feels so good, ngh, ffuuck…" your touch. the feeling of your hand on him was almost too much, but he never wanted it to end.

he looked up at you, his eyes glazed with desire and desperation. "please, don't stop.." he managed to whisper, his voice hoarse. little spills and leaks of pre-cum spilled from his tip. “you close pretty boy?”

his body trembled slightly, the pre-cum making him feel even more needy and desperate. "y-yes.." he whimpered, his eyes pleading. "please, i'm so close..need it, please.." he whined, his voice quivering a little. he squeezed his eyes shut, his breaths coming in short pants as you focused on his tip.

his body tensed, muscles clenching as he finished. "f-fuck..please, please, please.." he cried out he felt like he was about to explode, his words dissolving into needy whines and whimpers. “goood boy”

a/n: sub matt sub matt sub matt ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა !!

@mattybsgroupie

[brittle-doughie]

(I must give credit to my brother @mrrandombunny for this)

May I ask for a fic of Eternal Sugar Cookie with an adopted Y/N? Similar to Rapunzel where they were adopted as a child and grown up exclusively by Eternal Sugar in paradise. The Beast is obsessively possessive over Y/N, she can barely stand the idea of Y/N being out of her eyes for like one minute, and Y/N doesn’t know anything about what exists outside Sugar’s paradise.

[apologies if this is too long, I just wanted to get as clear as possible and not be vague]

You don’t remember much of your past as a younger Cookie long ago, all that you can recall were the monsters and devastation around you, Cookies fleeing for their lives while your parent hurried you away, barely keeping it together on their end. The monsters were in pursuit of you two, never to be shaken off no matter how many turns your guardian made. They valued your life over theirs, pleading for you to run while they fended off the monsters. After tearful hesitation, you ran away and did not look back…

Left all alone, you held your legs close to you as you quietly cried, trying to process everything that had just happened. What on Earthbread were you going to do now? You had nowhere to go, no one to look to, you had no one…

“That is not true, little Cookie. You still have someone…”

You looked up to see…an angel, there was no doubt about what you were seeing. The area around you brightens up to a pinkish white space as this angel floated towards you. You were steadfast at first, trying to scoot away from her at first, until your back hits the tree behind you.

“Oh! Please, don’t be scared of me, little Cookie.”

Her voice, it was sweet and serene, it already had you wanting to come closer to her despite your initial reaction. She didn’t seem like a threat, quite the opposite! She lands in front of you and observed your state of despair, it left her so heartbroken to see a sweet, little Cookie suffer such hardship and pain…

“You poor soul, left all alone in this dangerous world…”

She reached out her hand ever so gently and slowly. Her touch was soft and careful as she caressed your bruised cheek. She placed her other hand to her chest as she closed her eyes with a frown, as if she was trying to hold back her own tears.

“It is a cruel and unforgiving place this is, little Cookies like you don’t last long around here. You don’t want that, do you? You want to instead live in a place where you can be happy and know no pain!”

A place where you can be happy…?

“Yes! It would be my paradise, where Cookies like you can live worry-free and be able to feel joy through all your years! Would that make you happy? Embrace sweetness with me!”

She stepped back from you as she gently reached out her hand to you.

“Come with me and your happiness can be forever…”

Throughout your years growing up, Eternal Sugar made sure that you got only the best that her world had to offer. Your own sanctuary with all kinds of flowers that she remembers you’re fine with and your favorite types of food that her servants will serve you every time.

She was already present in your life, whether it be up close by sitting next to you when you gaze at the flora or from afar when you’re talking to other Cookies within this paradise. The latter however, might leave her…paranoid.

“My dearest, you were a minute late to your afternoon walk! Was something wrong? Ah, I’m glad to hear that you are okay! Although, could you tell me who you were talking to earlier? I didn’t know you like to spend time with others often!”

It was like she knew your every move, your routine, where’d you be and when. This became the most noticeable when you became a grown Cookie, looking behind you to possibly spot her silhouette just barely hiding away from sight.

It only made what you wanted to do all the more harder to ask…to venture outside of this paradise into the world.

You were curious at how the land beyond this place could be, you never had any memories of what it was like outside of fleeting memories of your childhood…before Eternal Sugar Cookie.

She made you so happy…it was like you had forgotten of what it was like before she came into your life…

“Leave? Why…would you want that? It’s safe here, with everything that you could possibly have. Is this place not enough for you? Am I not enough?”

No! That wasn’t what you were saying!

“Then I don’t see why you should leave when this place already makes you happy! The world outside of here is cruel and heartless, it doesn’t have anything that you could want!”

But, would it hurt to not give it a peek-

“Y/N Cookie. Listen to me…”

Her firm, but still gentle hand touched your cheek as she makes you look at her, deep in her eyes.

“This world shows no end to the cruelty that it gives. Please understand, my dearest. I’m only telling you this because I love you. I can’t bear to imagine you in pain, it makes my heart crack just thinking about it!”

Those three words resonated deep in you. She..was the one that saved you when you were at your lowest long ago, you felt like you owed her your life for saving you.

You didn’t want to make her upset…

You…understood what she meant, which brings Eternal Sugar’s smile back on her face. She couldn’t hold back her joy as she hugged you tightly.

“I knew you’d see it my way. I just don’t want to lose you. I love you too much to allow this world to take you from me! I’d rather stay here for eternity if it means you’ll be here with me, my dearest!”

You agreed…

“I promise that no matter what, I’ll make sure you’ll always be happy! I love you so much!”

You…loved her too…

Eternal Sugar kept her embrace with you as tightly as she could, looking up at the clear sky.

She wanted to count her lucky stars that she had found you that day, as if the Witches themselves had bestowed her the most precious of gifts…

It took a little nudging with your guardian, but who cares how it came to be. She was just so happy to have you now…

[dissociativewriter]

Unnatural Affinity- Part 1

Isekai!Reader x Love and Deepspace

wc: 2.3k

cw: ANGST, depressed reader, allusions to self harm, reader is not MC, reader has a defined personality, I fear you can tell she's a self-insert, eventual contact with all love interests, no guaranteed happy ending

Synopsis: You hadn't been okay mentally. When going to meet your friend for lunch, you suddenly find yourself plunged into the world of Love and Deepspace as a close friend to the main character. Would you be able to find your place in this world not made for you?

author's note: So this is technically based on @ixloom819 ‘s post on affinity levels with an Isekai!Reader, but I made it very angsty and didn’t actually address the affinity levels in this part (we’ll get to it eventually, I swear. Probably in the next part, actually.) Reader has a lot of oddly specific personality bits here and there that are very much just me so uhhh sorry <3 also the song that is consistently referenced is Vienna by Billy Joel (it’s my favorite <3) Also MC is named Em because I saw another creator call her Em Cee so I decided to use that to instead of searching for a new one to use!

You rose with a jolt.

You had plans today.

You rolled over, checking the time.

11:30.

Weren’t you supposed to meet at 12:00?

You jumped out of bed, running straight to the bathroom. You would have to forego much of your “get ready” routine if you wanted to be on time. Quickly brushing your teeth, arranging your hair in a way that didn’t look like you just rolled out of bed, throwing on some jeans and a cute top conveniently sitting at the top of your drawer, and you were pretty much ready to go.

You grabbed your tote bag, tossing in your laptop, a journal, your pencil case, an old, heavily annotated copy of Frankenstein you were currently rereading (and trying to ignore your past, somewhat cringy annotations), and a small bag of snacks.

You checked the time again.

11:48.

Not too shabby.

Although getting ready was an easy, albeit rushed task, getting to the cafe you were meeting at on time was an entirely different and much harder issue. Through some stroke of luck, you’d manage to get to the bus station just in time for it to leave. And you found a seat!

Maybe today was going to be a good day. You were certainly due for one, you thought.

You knew why your friend had asked you to meet up, of course. You put your earbuds in, cueing your favorite song.

Slow down, you crazy child. You’re so ambitious for a juvenile. But then, if you’re so smart, then tell me, why are you still so afraid? You let the music wash over you, the soft piano soothing your nerves as you relaxed your shoulders.

She was worried. You didn’t blame her. You hadn’t exactly been the pinnacle of happiness these past few months. Your recent self-imposed isolation probably hadn’t helped with that.

Your hands, resting on your thighs, flexed restlessly. You could almost feel the outline of every single cut you’d made.

No matter what you’d say, no matter how many I’m fine’s you’d muttered, you knew.

That was not what a healthy person did.

You thought of a journal entry you’d written, what seemed so long ago now.

‘I think it is the true human experience to want more than you have. But I don’t think this emptiness is innate in the human experience. The feeling never leaves me, it’s encapsulating. I feel absolutely nothing so completely. I cannot bring myself to care about my passions, my friends, my self.

I don’t think I can handle anything more than the burden that is my existence. My days are filled with distractions and entertainment, and my night are spent mourning lost time. I desperately want something worthwhile, something meaningful. I desperately want an adventure, with romance and risks. How am I supposed to find that in this world?’

It was an entry you’d thought about a lot. A bit melodramatic, sure. You’d probably been reading Sylvia Plath or something before writing it. But there was still truth to it. You told yourself you’d be fine, you’d get better. And the glimmer of hope at the very end of the entry served as a testament to you that it could get better:

‘But then, I guess those distractions were meaningful if they brought me happiness, however temporary. All emotions are temporary, so this should also be. This feeling will leave. And maybe I can have the adventure I dream of, maybe that is the dream of all creatives. Why else would these feelings and this imagination be given to humanity?’

You still didn’t know where these words had come from. It was a blur of existential crises and anxiety attacks and nights spent sobbing. You could understand the logic behind the words, and they’d helped you before. Briefly. But emotion does not bow to logic, and you soon found yourself drowning again.

Slow down, you’re doing fine. You can’t be everything you want to be before your time.

You really couldn’t blame your friend for worrying, you thought as you stepped off the bus. Even though there were glimmers of hope in your otherwise bleak mindset, you knew you needed help on some level. Maybe she could help, maybe she would realize what you were trying to say as the words died in your throat. Maybe she could recognize the storm brewing inside you.

Maybe, for one time in your life, you could feel truly seen.

Now, for the first time since you received that text inviting you out, you were actually looking forward to seeing your friend. What was once dread for an intervention where you’d be forced to dodge your feelings and hide them so as not to be a burden, became excitement as you realized how dearly you had missed your friend.

Isolation was nice for a time, yes. It allowed you to gather your thoughts. But then the thoughts came too fast and too much. Maybe a break from the overwhelming thinking would be nice. Maybe you’d laugh again.

You peeked through the windows of the cafe, and, not spotting your friend, decided to wait outside under the sign.

You sighed, a bit regretful that it’d taken you this long to feel not completely shattered again. You’d lost a lot of time mourning the future you couldn’t have and the past you couldn’t erase, neglecting the present all the while.

Well, it’s time to live in the present, you thought as you shut your eyes, enjoying the cool breeze on your face. It’s time to recognize the beauty of life for what it is.

Maybe happiness wouldn’t be that hard to achieve.

The breeze grew colder, and you let out an involuntary shudder. It was so warm today, you knew the weather was supposed to stay warm, so why was the temperature suddenly dropping?

Your headphones let out a harsh crackle before the sound fizzled out completely. You could still hear the ghost of the lyrics if you listened hard enough.

You’ve got your passion, you’ve got your pride. But don’t you know that only fools are satisfi—

“There you are!” You cracked an eye open. The voice wasn’t familiar, but not unknown either. The girl in front of you smiled bright. “I thought you’d be late. Again.” There was an obvious teasing each to her voice, as if you knew each other.

You didn’t, right?

You looked around at the street around you, startled to realize that it had completely changed. The bus station was gone, the sushi shop across the street replaced with an arcade. The city you were now in was nice. Sleek. The kind of stuff they show in Sci-Fi movies. Oddly familiar, too. You looked up above you, trying to catch a glimpse of the sign hanging above your head.

Destiny Cafe.

Wait.

Destiny Cafe?

You felt your throat tighten. You looked around, more attentive this time, searching for any sign that you were right and this wasn’t just a coincidence. When you caught sight of an Otto-Bot, you knew.

You were in that game. That stupid game you’d downloaded a few months ago out of curiosity. The game you’d spent too many hours in, finding comfort in the words of men who did not exist.

If you really were in Love and Deepspace, would that make you the main character? That’s usually what happens in those Isekai stories, right? Your thoughts whirled before you were brought back by the expectant stare of the girl in front of you. She doesn’t look like Tara or any of MC’s friends, you thought, so who could she be?

You examined her closely. She was almost like you. As if her appearance were a distant echo of your own. But upon closer inspection, you could see: where your eyes had many flecks of colors, hers had only the one. Where your skin had a blemish here and there, a slight change of hue, hers remained consistent. She was too clean, as if there were no substance at all. And that wasn’t even considering her perfect pale skin, or long, sleek black hair. That was when you realized, and a wave of disappointment flowed through you. This was her.

Everything about her seemed so two-dimensional, a constant reminder that this was not a version of you or even an independent person, but the Main Character of an otome game.

This was the figure in all the promotional art.

This was the main character of Love and Deepspace.

Not you.

Her.

After all, why would it be you, when she was standing right next to you?

“Hello? You’re staring off into space. Are you okay?” She waved her hand in front of your eyes. Your gaze snapped to hers. Though her brows were drawn in concern, you weren’t sure you could name a single emotion behind her eyes. “If you’re not feeling well, we can always go home… We don’t have to go out today if you don’t want to. Don’t feel bad for saying you don’t want to just because it’s my first day back here in a few weeks.”

You looked at her, your confusion only growing. How can you figure out what the hell is going on without seeming absolutely insane? ��…Sorry, I hit my head really bad earlier this morning, and I’m having trouble remembering things. Could you just give me a quick sum-up of what’s been happening?” It wasn’t perfect, but maybe you could get some answers.

The furrow in her brow deepened. “You… don’t remember?” She suddenly grabbed your arm. “Do you remember my name is Em?!”

So that was her name. “Of course I do!” you chuckled. “Just give me a run-down of the past few months, maybe it will jog my memory.” You smiled, hopefully convincingly.

It seemed to do the trick, because she smiled back before diving into what seemed to be her life story with great enthusiasm. “Well a few months ago, I went to the N109 Zone for that one secret mission, do you remember that? Well anyway I was gone for a few weeks, I spent a lot of time with my friend Skye. I’m pretty sure you meant him, we saw him at that work karaoke party?”

Skye in the N109 Zone. You realized with a start: I’ve met Sylus! At a work party? Surely you’re not a hunter. You realized Em was waiting for your yes or no before continuing, so you gave her a slight nod to go on.

“Right, so, after that I took a few missions with Xavier, helped out Rafayel with bodyguard duties or whatever, and had to go see Zayne for a ton of things because apparently my heart was beating arrhythmically. Turns out I’m fine, just a lot of excitement happened, you know? Anyways, after that I took leave for a few weeks to go to Skyhaven. You remember that, right? I remember I told you a lot cause you were using your access for research to help me out.”

Access for research? What kind of purpose did you serve in this plot line?

“I got in a bit of trouble with the Farspace Fleet, but everything’s fine so don’t worry! And now I’m here to meet up with you ‘cause I missed my roomie!” She gave you a tight hug.

She certainly had a lot of energy, you noted.

So from what you gathered: You were roommates with Em and you both worked at the Hunter’s Association. It seems she’s pretty up-to-date as far as the main plot line goes. That, unfortunately, means you’ll be left in the dark for a lot of future events. You’ll have to go off of only the secrets you know from the game.

You mentally thanked yourself for not neglecting any of the Love Interests. You knew they were all extremely important in the world, and, despite having a favorite, you participated in events and games with all of them. All of their affinities were relatively high, meaning you knew a lot of lore.

That could come in handy.

You were still struggling to realize your importance in this world, though. Surely, if you were this close to the Main Character, you contributed something, right?

Would you be able to find a happy ending in this game?

Em continued jabbering on, mentioning little memories and conversations you two had shared.

You stared at her blankly, unsure of what she was talking about. It certainly sounded like something you would say, or something you would do, but you had no recollection of any of it.

Then, it came to you.

Fragments, at first. Memories of a life that wasn’t quite yours. One somewhat empty. One that seemed hastily added in at the last second. One that didn’t hold importance in a world as vast as this.

An afterthought.

You decided to eat lunch with Em. ‘You’ had apparently promised her a lunch date, after all. You didn’t go into Destiny Cafe, and you weren’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. It almost felt like breaking the fourth wall to go inside, and you were afraid of what you would find when you entered.

Would it feel as empty as Em’s eyes?

You ended up finding a quiet sandwich shop. It was cute, homey, and you could feel yourself settling into a rhythm with Em. While you ate and chatted, attempting to seem casual and familiar in this setting, you watched her closely.

She was almost like an extension of yourself. You could see your own influence, seeping in from your various choices in the game, no matter how small. But she was still her own person.

You would never be her, you realized with a pang in your chest.

Never carry that importance.

So what was left for you?

A secondary character meant to fade into the background.

What fate awaited you?

Had anyone even bothered to weave the strings in the fabric that is your destiny?

comments and reblogs appreciated! <3

masterlist

[mintyys-blog]

Minty. Can I have a reader with child bearing hips? And the thoughts of Main Mark and his variants?

HEADCANON | variants with s/o who has child bearing hips

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: brief oral sex (fem receiving)

MAIN MARK

Mark didn’t notice it at first—not really. But then there were those times you’d walk past in those tight joggers or jeans, and his eyes would lock on your hips like they had a mind of their own. His face would flush red, and he’d quickly look away, hoping you hadn’t caught him staring. Spoiler: you always did.

He loved how soft you were, how your body practically invited his touch. There was something primal about it, something in the way his hands fit around your waist or the way your hips swayed when you walked. The idea of you carrying his child flickered in his brain more than once—and each time, he’d shake it off with a nervous laugh and pretend his face wasn’t burning.

Sometimes he’d just hold you from behind, hands resting right on those hips, thumbs brushing along your skin under your shirt. You’d tease him for how still he’d go, like he was caught in a trance.

And he was—every time.

SINISTER MARK

Mark’s touch was anything but gentle. He didn’t ask for permission, nor did he need it. There was something about the way you moved, the curve of your hips, that made him feel entitled to you.

He loved the way your body responded to him. Whether you were standing or bending, his hands were quick to find their way to your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, using it to guide you. Even when there was plenty of space, he would push past you, gripping your hips tightly as he made his way to whatever he was after, a smirk on his face as you were forced to cling to him for support.

“You’re so… convenient,” he’d murmur, barely looking at you, the words dripping with an unsettling amount of amusement. His fingers would squeeze tighter, an unmistakable reminder that you were his to use. He didn’t care if you were uncomfortable with the way he manhandled you, because he liked the power he had over you.

When you’d try to move away, he’d stop you with another firm grip on your hips, his voice low and mocking. “Trying to get away? You’re not going anywhere.”

His possessiveness wasn’t subtle. He didn’t hold back from making sure you knew that those curves—those hips that caught his attention—were his to appreciate, and anyone else that dared to get close would have to answer to him.

But even in his cruelty, there was something almost comforting about the certainty of it, the way he owned you with just a touch. You might not be sure how to feel about it, but he didn’t care. His grip on you was as solid as his control over everything else.

MOHAWK MARK

Mark had always been the kind of man to take charge. And when it came to you, especially with your curves, he wasn’t shy about showing you off. The moment he noticed how well your body filled out certain clothes, he took full advantage of it.

He was always picking out outfits for you—tight dresses, skirts that hugged your hips, tops that accentuated your curves. The look on his face when you wore them was always one of possessiveness, but there was a hint of pride too, like you were a prize he had earned. “I like this on you,” he would murmur, his hands brushing over your curves as he adjusted a strap or pulled the fabric a little tighter.

It wasn’t just about showing you off to others—it was for him, too. He loved how your hips swayed when you walked, the way your figure became more pronounced with every step. When he was with you, he was hyper-aware of how people looked at you. You were his, and he made sure that everyone knew it.

“Go ahead, show them what you’ve got,” he’d tease, his voice low, almost a growl. He enjoyed watching the way people’s eyes lingered on you—especially if they looked a little too long. When you’d get self-conscious, he’d laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear and saying, “Don’t worry about them. They can’t touch what’s mine.”

When it came to private moments, his hands were never far from your hips. He’d pull you close, his fingers sinking into the soft curve of your waist, giving you a look that made it clear he wanted you, needed you, in ways he didn’t express with words. The more you tried to hide your curves, the more he insisted on seeing them. “You were made to be seen,” he’d say, his lips brushing your ear. And when you resisted, he’d just chuckle darkly, pulling you closer to him, his possessiveness evident in every move.

But even through the teasing and dominance, there was a sense of care. He wasn’t doing it to humiliate you; he was doing it because he was proud. Proud of you, proud of what he had, and proud to claim you in front of the world.

His love was a bit rough, but it was never without purpose. It was his way of saying, You are mine, and I will make sure the world knows it.

VILTRUMITE MARK

Mark’s perspective on your body was different from others. He didn’t just see you as an object of desire—though, undeniably, he found you incredibly attractive. His mind often went to a more pragmatic place, considering the future, especially when it came to your hips.

He appreciated how your body was built for strength and reproduction. It wasn’t a mere observation—it was a belief ingrained in him by his upbringing, by his very nature as a Viltrumite. You were a valuable part of his future, and your childbearing hips spoke to that. The way they naturally flared out, perfect for carrying and birthing his children, made him proud. It was a sign of health, strength, and capability—everything a Viltrumite would look for in a mate.

When he watched you walk, he couldn’t help but notice the way your hips swayed, the natural curve of your body. A possessive, yet contented feeling filled him, knowing that your form would help to ensure the next generation of powerful, strong offspring.

“You’re perfect for the task ahead,” he would say, his tone uncharacteristically soft as he studied you. He wasn’t the type to speak often of emotions, but when it came to the matter of legacy, he was unwavering. His hand would brush over your hip, fingers pressing lightly as though marking his territory in the gentlest of ways.

He never failed to admire you, especially when you carried yourself with pride. Whether it was the way your body filled out your clothes or the confidence with which you walked, he saw it all as a testament to your strength. His hand would rest on your waist, guiding you closer to him, feeling the weight and the beauty of what you carried. “Your body will bear strong children,” he’d say, almost matter-of-factly. “Our children. Viltrumite blood runs in them, and they’ll be as powerful as you are.”

Though he was often cold and stoic, moments like these made him feel something deeper. The strength in your body, the power you carried within it, was something he valued immensely. It wasn’t just about attraction—it was about lineage, about strength, about the future. And in those moments, when he held you close, feeling the soft curve of your hips beneath his touch, he would think about the legacy you would build together.

He didn’t need to speak much about it, but in his actions—his hands, the way he held you, the way he looked at you—he showed you how much he appreciated the gift your body gave to him, to the Viltrumite race, and to the future. You were perfect, and in his eyes, that was all that mattered.

PRISONER MARK

Mark’s relationship with you was intense, rooted in a constant mix of dominance, control, and raw desire. He was someone who liked to take control of every situation, but when it came to you, especially your body, he didn’t hold back in the slightest. He enjoyed testing your limits, seeing how far he could push, and you—no matter how much you tried to act oblivious—always seemed to give him just the right amount of challenge.

Your hips, the way they curved so perfectly, were his favorite thing to touch. Every time you walked past him, he would reach out, his hand smacking against your side with a possessive force, or his fingers curling around your waist, squeezing just enough to make you gasp.

“Perfect,” he’d mutter under his breath, as if it were a secret between the two of you. The way your body fit in his hands was both satisfying and arousing to him. Your thick, rounded hips were something he couldn’t resist, and the way they moved when you walked, or even when you stood still, made him hungry for more.

It wasn’t uncommon for him to pull you closer, trapping you in his grip with a mischievous grin. “C’mere, baby,” he’d growl low, his hands gripping your hips tightly as you tried to playfully escape. His fingers would dig into the plushness of your body, making sure you knew who you belonged to. You’d try to squirm away, but he’d keep you trapped, his grip firm and unrelenting, always reminding you that he was in control.

But when it came to the bedroom, that’s when his obsession with your hips went to a whole new level. He had a specific kink he liked to indulge in—one where you used your hips and thighs to hold him. He’d be on his knees, practically begging for you to squeeze your thighs around his head, to trap him between your powerful legs while he grabbed at your hips. It was a moment of vulnerability for him, one that sent a thrill down his spine. The sensation of your legs around him, your body just within his reach, made his heart race.

He would hold onto your hips tightly as you adjusted your position, letting you take control in the way that only you could. The grip of your thighs, strong and firm, pressing around his head while he continued to squeeze your hips, was a powerful reminder of how much you owned him. His tongue would suck on your clit and squirm its way inside. You weren’t just physically stunning—you were strong in a way that kept him hooked, pulling him into a world where he didn’t need to be the one in charge.

“Perfect fit,” he’d murmur, his voice gruff, the pressure of your body around him both grounding and thrilling. His eyes would flash with approval, the dominance in him now replaced with a deep, carnal admiration. He didn’t just crave you—he respected you in ways that were hard for him to admit.

And when you’d finally let go, allowing him to regain his footing, he would keep his hands on your hips, a possessive mark left on your skin, a subtle reminder that your body—your perfect, curvy body—was his in every sense of the word.

OMNI MARK

Mark is stoic, but there’s a part of him that can’t help but notice how your body complements his in ways that make his mind wander. When he sees you walk into the room, his gaze always falls to your hips—how they sway so effortlessly, drawing attention as you move. It’s not just about physical attraction for him, though the shape of you excites him; it’s the way you stand with such confidence, as if you know exactly the effect you have on him.

He doesn’t make it obvious, but when you’re alone, he’ll gently place his hands on your hips as if to ground himself. It’s an unspoken thing—a moment of connection when the rest of the world falls away. His fingers dig in slightly, as though he wants to memorize the feel of you, that subtle curve of your body that fits so perfectly with his own.

Though Mark isn’t the kind to get overly possessive, there’s a quiet pride in how he views you. The idea that your body is something strong, capable, and undeniably attractive makes his chest swell with satisfaction. He doesn’t need to voice it, but he makes sure you know with every touch, every look, how much he appreciates the way you fit with him.

In more private moments, he’s far more open. He’ll guide you gently but firmly, his hands resting on your hips, pulling you closer when the intimacy of the moment demands it. He enjoys how responsive you are, how his touch can make you tremble in his embrace. Even when he’s not speaking, his grip on your hips will tell you everything you need to know. He’s the type to savor slow, deliberate movements, letting his hands wander over you as he takes in every inch, his gaze following the curves of your body before he shifts you just the way he wants.

He may not voice it every time, but your hips, and what they mean to him, will always remain close to his heart.

[elleaitch22]

Terms of Endearment

Chapter 3: Maison Noire

A/N: I'm not too sure about this chapter lol. I hope you love it though! Also, our girl isn't gonna stay in the dark place, I promise! xx Elle

Warnings: Flashbacks featuring emotional abuse, verbal abuse, domestic violence, gaslighting, manipulation, low self-worth, abandonment

Word Count: 2.3k

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Azzi was so exhausted she could feel it in her bones.

After her meeting with Mr. Smith, he decided to keep her there like a scolded child.

“You embarrassed me, Ms. Fudd. We don’t reward insubordination at St. Paul’s.”

Azzi held back the replies she wanted to give. He didn’t want teachers who thought; he wanted obedient little soldiers. Azzi was everything he hated: young, female, and unafraid to speak her mind when needed.

"You asked for my opinion, Mr. Smith." Azzi said tightly. "It doesn’t make sense to punish a child for standing up to bullies. It’s literally what we teach them to do."

Azzi was dismissed with a warning to not let anything happen again and the recommendation to “keep a better eye” on her students. She knew the real reason for his anger. Paige Bueckers – a lesbian and single parent – had embarrassed him by refusing the back down and enroll Soleil in a different school.

Azzi stepped onto the L train, head pounding. She buried her face in her hands, letting herself sink into the cold metal. Teaching didn’t pay enough for this shit.

When she stepped into the lobby of her building, Azzi jabbed the button for the elevator. The distinct lack of electrical humming that made her huff. Of course, the elevator doesn’t work — today of all days. She needed to move. As she climbed five flights of stairs, she ran through her budget in her head.

You can’t afford a better apartment, idiot.

She slammed the front door to her studio apartment and rested her forehead on the wood. Three hours until her shift at Maison Noire.

The upscale club was a survival tactic. On good nights, she could make her rent in a single shift. If she didn’t love teaching so much, she would have quit and been a server full time.

Azzi sighed, thinking about how she ended up here. Grant had seemed like a good guy. She met him at her first college party at eighteen. A few too many shots had her waking up somewhere unfamiliar with no memory of the night before. Grant had brought her bagels and coffee to help with her hangover, and she’d been charmed. She had no idea what the next few years would bring.

It started small — complaining that she spent too much time with her best friends, Caroline and Colleen, neglecting him and their relationship. She distanced herself from them, believing he was right. Next, she missed holidays with her family; it started small with the Memorial Day cookout before escalating to Christmas.

Once she was isolated, the real abuse began.

He wasn’t stupid; he never raised a hand to her. But the things he said hurt worse than a punch ever could.

He gave her everything — everything — and still, spat in his face like an ungrateful bitch. It was laughable, really, how she thought she was smarter than him, asking about bills like she understood the burden he carried. She was entitled, paranoid, and sick in the head, making up problems just to feel important. Her friends didn’t care about her; they tolerated her, the same way you put up with a sad little stray. She was a liar by nature, lying even to herself, twisting every kindness into cruelty so she could play the victim.

Her degree was a joke, a hobby, something little girls picked when they didn’t have the guts to do anything real. She didn’t have the brains or the discipline to survive without someone holding her hand. She would never amount to anything but a preschool teacher. She wasn’t special. She wasn’t strong. She wasn’t even good.

Deep down, she knew it too; she knew she was broken, unlovable, a burden that smart men like him were stupid enough to believe they could fix.

He would leave her, and the world would finally see her for what she was: a failure in cheap makeup, begging for scraps of attention from people who would never really love her.

She hadn’t decided to leave until he finally hit her. Six years into their relationship, when his fist ended up in her stomach, something inside Azzi broke.

She packed a backpack with essentials: passport, driver’s license, social security card, phone, charger, a few outfits, and one picture with her family. She left Los Angeles and started over in a different city.

It wasn’t until a couple months later she realized the full extent of the damage. Collections letters started popping up in her mailbox. The car, the apartment, and all the credit cards were tied to her name. She remembered signing papers, thinking she was just cosigning. She was in thousands of dollars of debt by the time she figured it out.

That was when she applied at Maison Noire.

While grateful for the money, she was sick of having to be ogled by disgusting men. On a Tuesday night, no less!

She used to dream about a tiny classroom, a partner who loved her, maybe a dog. Instead, she was smiling through aching feet, hoping drunk strangers would hand her enough cash to keep the lights on.

She decided to read for an hour and a half before getting ready for work.

Caiden Thomas, the love interest, reminded Azzi of a beautiful, strong blonde who had recently entered her life.

Paige Bueckers was probably the most beautiful woman Azzi had seen. Every time she opened her mouth, Azzi wanted to drool. And the way she had shut down Principal Smith’s bullshit? Hot.

 She was glad Soleil had someone like Paige looking out for her and taking care of her because Azzi had missed that.

She was all alone in a big city. Her parents didn’t even know where she was. She missed her mom, dad, brothers, and grandparents. But Azzi couldn’t face them now. She was worthless. She put a man before everyone. They wouldn’t love her now. They couldn’t.

Not anymore.

Azzi’s alarm buzzed, signaling it was time to get ready. She let out a quiet whine of protest.

One of her favorite things about Maison Noire was the uniforms for bottle girls. They looked like something you could wear out, unlike many of the other clubs in Chicago.

She started with her hair, slicking the front of her hair back and securing it with a claw clip, leaving the rest of her coils loose. A few face-framing pieces softened the look. Disgustingly, she always got more tips if she wore her hair like — or in braids or ponytails.

Men are disgusting.

She applied a light layer of foundation, thanking God that her skin had been behaving lately. She layered on a heavy smoky eye with long lashes. A pinky-purple blush warmed her face nicely, and pink lip gloss tied the look together.

She zipped up the tight black skirt and secured the sweetheart corset. After slathering on shimmering lotion, she spritzed on Kayali’s Sweet Bakery Bliss, her new favorite perfume. She added a silver necklace, bracelet, and a few rings.

She stuffed her feet into a pair of combat boots and pulled on a black hoodie for her train ride. Azzi packed her floor shoes, pouting at the uncomfortable arch. She shoved sweatpants, a t-shirt, and old tennis shoes into her backpack, so she could be comfortable on her journey home.

Setting spray! How could she forget.

Azzi dashed into the bathroom, drenched her face, and used a handheld fan to make it dry faster.

Tonight is going to be great, Az.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Manifestation always worked. By 10 p.m., Azzi had already made $400 in tips.

She took a fifteen-minute break and, when she returned, Kayla handed her an order for a VIP booth in her section.

Three Dirty Shirleys? Someone must be turning 21 or something. Azzi giggled and passed the order to her favorite bartender, Ayanna.

While waiting for the drinks, Azzi made her rounds, groaning internally as she spotted a few of her regulars. Focus on rent, Azzi.

Looping back to the bar, she grabbed the drink tray and plastered on a bright smile.

Azzi approached the VIP section with velvet couches. Three women laughed together. So not a 21st birthday. Two of the women were decked out in silky dresses and jewelry, hair perfectly curled. Maybe sister wives? The third woman wore a beautiful black suit with a blonde bun that looked oddly familiar.

Before Azzi can speak, she felt the blonde woman’s eyes raking over her. She locked eyes with her instinctively.

Her tray almost hit the floor, and a soft gasp escaped her lips.

“Good evening, Ms. Fudd.”

Paige Bueckers was here.

Paige Bueckers, the mother of the child that will probably be Azzi’s favorite this year, was here.

Paige Bueckers, the finest woman Azzi has even seen, was here.

She was here, in Azzi’s section at a club that she would lose her job for being at if her boss ever found out.

Paige Bueckers was at Maison Noire looking at Azzi like — Jesus.

Azzi was very aware of her buffering when one of Paige Bueckers’ companions teased, “Wow Paige. You and Soleil weren’t lying. Ms. Fudd really is as pretty as a princess.”

“Shut up, Nika.” Is gritted out as the same time as, “You can call me Azzi.”

God, her cheeks heated up again. She wished that the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

“Well, you have to call me Paige, Azzi. No more Ms. Bueckers.” Paige’s cool façade was back up, smirk firmly in place.

Azzi nodded stiffly. “Good evening, Paige.”

Before the blonde could say anything else, other women spoke. “I’m Jana, and this is Nika. Thank you for sticking up for Soleil today.”

A smile cracked Azzi’s face before she could control it, “It was nothing. She’s such a sweet girl and she didn’t deserve to get in any trouble.”

“Come sit with us,” Nika waved her over.

Azzi’s eyes bugged, stuttering. “Um, I — I’m still on the clock, I’m sorry.” She forced herself to finish her thought.

She placed the drinks and shots on their table and scurried off without another word.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

“So that’s Ms. Fudd?” Nika smirked, watching Azzi retreat.

Jana snorted. “You chose a class where Soleil’s teacher works here.” She gave a nudge to Nika, one that Paige couldn’t see.

“Don’t talk about her like that, J.” Paige frowned. “Everyone knows teachers don’t make shit. And this didn’t pop up on the background check. Remind me to ask Ash how she missed it.”

After a few more rounds of drinks, the girls had managed to pry some information out of Azzi. She was from Virginia, went to college at UCLA, and stayed in LA for a couple years after graduation before moving here, wanting a change of pace. She was 26 and in her third year of teaching at St. Paul’s. Her job at Maison Noire helped her make ends meet because private school teachers didn’t make much. She had two brothers and no pets, but maybe a dog soon.

Whenever Azzi was around, Paige went silent, content to watch her.

After her fifth Shirley, Paige pulled out her phone and texted the owner, Shyanne, knowing her from her college days.

I want a private room with Azzi. Just her. Five minutes.

Shy Sellers: Room 35

She left Jana and Nika to find someone else to flirt with and walked to Room 35.

The room was silent for ten seconds before the door swung open.

“I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not for sale!” Azzi’s brows were furrowed, her big brown eyes flashing.

Paige was unbothered. She lounged back on the velvet couch, long legs spread casually, arms draped along the back. “Sit down.” She began lazily, “Please, Azzi. Five minutes.”

Azzi scoffed, hovering by the door.

Paige dragged her gaze over the brunette. Her black corset top, the tight skirt, the way she seemed to hide away, just a bit. It made Paige was to take her and keep her all to herself. She was perfect. If given the opportunity, she would protect her, cherish her, worship her.

“I just wanted to talk. Without the music. Without the girls.” Paige drawled lazily. “I heard what you said about working here. I want to help you, if you’ll let me.”

Azzi’s frown deepened and her arms tightened around her. “Why? You don’t even know me.”

“You helped my daughter. Because you care,” Paige shrugged. “I want to offer you something different than…this.” She gestured around, “You deserve better than this.” She gestured to the dark room. “You could leave the club. We would have an exclusive arrangement. No kissing. No sex.”

She sighed, leaning further back. “In my line of work, men don’t like dealing with single masc women. I missed out on a 2.3 million dollar deal because I’m single. They went with a company where the owner was married with two kids, even though they aren’t as efficient as me.  Having someone makes me look more stable, more dependable. You’ll be seen with me. Dinners, events, galas, those kinds of things. You’ll be with me, but not with me. No strings.”

Grant was wrong about something. At least I’m still good for my looks. Azzi thought to herself. Yeah, good enough to be a trophy, but not good enough to love.

“Just think about it.” Paige said, standing. “This could help us both. You work Friday, right? I’ll be back in this room at 11. Please have an answer by then.”

[sugarwarachan]

driving you crazy part 1, part 2

pairing: tsukishima kei x f!reader, andy's notes: tsukki pov 🗣️🗣️🗣️ I made him PATHETIC summary: being in the same phd program as tsukishima kei was already the worst, and that was before you and the snarky bastard were tasked to teach the same class together. after a late-night run-in at the library leaves you breathless, what will happen when you attend the same conference together? content warnings: SMUT, brat reader, dom!tsukki, reversal of roles, power dynamics, praise kink word count: 1.5k art credit: @Freaka_LoonyZ on x

Kei knows he’s prickly. Judgmental, easily irritated, and, perhaps occasionally, prone to acting like a snarky, immature child. Or so Tadashi might say.

But he also knows behavior. He knows people.

He knows exactly why discovering that smudged line in your notes upended his entire life.

Because you wouldn’t have written it if you didn’t want him, too.

The library wasn’t supposed to happen. Neither was tonight, or so Kei told himself earlier that evening. But he doesn’t want to keep you at a distance any longer, not when you’re clambering into his lap, all languid and soft.

You’re so close; one move and he could stuff you full. His dick pulses and you huff that cute laugh he always feels in his chest.

“How have your clothes stayed on?”

Your hands slide under his shirt, and Kei immediately shivers.

He hates how much control you have over him, how much you make him feel.

You toss the shirt away and admire his bare chest.

“I always knew you were like sneaky ripped.”

“You’re such an idiot,” he replies before crushing his mouth to yours.

He cups your jaw in his hands and drinks in the breathy sighs that fall from your lips.

You’re not paying enough attention, he thinks, feeling you go pliant and eager in his arms as he kisses you. You’d see it plain as day, stamped all over his face, if only you opened your eyes and looked.

He hates to admit it, but it hurts that you kiss like this: so tenderly, so intimately, as if you come together like this every night, like you have all the time in the world.

You undulate your hips over his cock in a slow steady circle; it’s hard to think outside of wanting to sheath himself in the slick channel of your cunt.

“I need you,” you whine, all tongue and teeth as you bite and lick into his mouth. “No one else makes me feel like this, you know that? This fucking insane.”

(You’ve been less of a brat since you came, too, but he’s going to be polite and keep that to himself for now.)

“Feeling’s mutual, sweetheart.”

Your hands are everywhere now that his shirt is off, and you whine against his neck to take off his pants.

He doesn’t care how you want him or how you figure it out.

If he has to fuck you every day to drive it into your pretty skull that you’re perfect for each other, that’s what he’ll do.

He grunts into your neck when your fingers wrap around his cock, bolts of pleasure shooting down his spine.  

“Of fucking course you’re hung,” you scoff in annoyance, your hand sliding over his shaft and teasing more pre from his tip. His head falls back. You lick and bite over his throat, working his cock between your fist like you were born to do it. “Of fucking course you’d fill me up the way I’ve been aching for it.”

You’re good at touching him, just as observant with him as he is with you. When you rub your thumb over the slit of his dick, he’s a moment away from begging, actually begging, for you to sit down on it.

“Y/N—"

Kei doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, to be honest. He doesn’t normally like to be ridden. There’s something about it that he finds unbearable: the loss of control, the eye contact he never cares enough to hold—

But when you told him you wanted to make him feel good, he realized how much he wanted to let you.

“Need me, too?” You’re all seductive smiles now, and it’s honestly the hottest thing he’s ever seen. “I didn’t think I’d ever see the mighty Tsukishima Kei making the noises he’s making right now, but fuck if it doesn’t make me wet.”

He loves your mouth. He loves the way you talk, the way you tease him, the intelligence that literally pours from you every time you open your lips to speak. He’s practically been hard since the day you two were introduced.

“Of course you’d be a teasing little bitch,” he says, not missing the way your breath catches.

“Takes one to know one, babe.”

You’re so obscenely wet that you sink down onto him in one slow slide, rocking your hips forward until he’s nudged right up against your cervix.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, hands settling on his chest to hold yourself steady. “You feel so good.”

Kei is doing everything in his power not to instantly cum.

It’s indescribable being inside of you. The heat of you pulsing around him, the softness of your legs on either side of his hips. You shuck off your tank top and immediately he fills his hands with your breasts, holding the weight of them in his hands.

“Doesn’t really do much for me to have them played with you,” you say a little breathlessly. “But you can touch them if you like them.”

“Need a chance to adjust to me, princess?” Your walls flutter around him. He screws his eyes shut to blast away the onslaught of pleasure. “I can put my hands to better use if you need help.”

He scoops under your ass and starts rolling you up and down his dick.

“You’re such an - hnnghh - asshole, you know that?” You push him back, and he lets you, lets you lean forward to pin him down and start riding him in earnest. “Making me feel this good and insulting me all at once.”

His stomach tightens every time your hips meet. “Don’t pretend you don’t love it.”

“I do love it,” you admit. “I love the way you feel inside me, Kei. How full you make me feel.”

The words buzz in his head.

Before he knows it, the request is out of his mouth.

“Keep talking to me like that. Keep telling me how good I make you feel.”

The smile you gift him is filthy in its promise.

“You like it when I praise you, Kei?” You lean close, eyes glittering in front of him. Your question is honey-sweet, similar to the tone he adopted with you earlier. He’ll spank your ass raw for it later, but right now, it only fuels his hunger for you.

“I love it,” he says through gritted teeth. “Competitive, remember?”

You laugh and slow the rhythm of your hips, cantering your pelvis forward and rocking onto him. The urge to rut up into you like an animal grabs him by the throat.

“I’ve never wanted someone like I want you. Do you know how many times I thought about torturing you like this?” You stop moving, and the whine tumbles from his mouth immediately. You smack away his hands as he makes a grab at your hips. “I used to fuck myself stupid on my dildo thinking about sitting on your cock and edging you till you could barely talk. And now you have to go and be the best fuck of my life.”

Your pussy pulses around him. He groans, low and guttural, feels it vibrate through your fingers on his chest.

“Baby -"

He’s seconds away from begging, his hands so tight on your hips he’s certain they’ll leave bruises. You haven’t moved a muscle.

He knows he’s stronger than you. He could flip you over and fuck you hard if he wanted to, but the power dynamic of this is quickly turning into the sexiest thing he’s ever experienced.

For you, he doesn’t mind letting go of his control.

“Please,” he finally says, and just like that, you roll your hips. Needles of pleasure reverberate out from his groin.

“I never thought I’d hear you beg,” you sigh, bringing your lips to his. He drinks you in like a man dying of thirst. “Don’t move, Kei. Please? Just let me take care of you. Let me reward you for how good you made me feel earlier.”

He groans. “You’re not playing fair and you know it.”

“I’m not,” you say, and it’s desperate now, the way you’re fucking yourself down onto him. “I’m close, and I need you to cum with me. I wanna feel you cum inside me. Please. You’re so good, Kei, fuck, you feel so good.”

His orgasm is coiling tight in his gut, and with each whimper you make against him, he’s seconds away from spilling himself inside you.

“Say my name,” you say. “I love it when you say my name.”

He can’t deny you, not when your pussy is clenching him like a vice and your frantic pleas are such beautiful music to his ears. He holds your gaze and chants your name like a fucking prayer, and he hates how happy he is to hear you breathe his name moments later.

2025 © all works belong to @sugarwarachan. do not repost, translate, or steal any of my works pls. reblogs and comments always appreciated <3

taglist <3 @tabi-kat, @localfandomjumper, @cielito--lindo, @one-scarred-mofo, @uekarashi, @waterfal-ling, @snowthatareblack, @peach-filth, @kodsuken, @kongkhoi

[acorn-squash-writes]

[Image description:

Gif from a Batman cartoon: Bruce opens the door of a luxury car and gestures to a group of five to get in. Subtitles: Bruce Wayne. If you need a job, I think I can help.

Another gif, same cartoon: Someone bald, wearing a suit, is sorting through some papers, throws them aside in surprise, and shakes Bruce’s hand.

Another gif, same cartoon: A very muscular character in a torn suit walks into a room and is shocked to see someone sleeping in a hospital bed with a redheaded person sitting on a chair nearby.

Comics: Batman is shielding Joker from Punisher, who’s approaching with one fist raised and the other on his gun.

Punisher: How many times have you put this maniac away? I can end it right here and now.

Batman: Joker?

Joker: Yes?

Batman: Run.

Closeup on the Joker’s face.

Joker: Huh?

Off-panel character: Run for your life.

The final panel is Batman, still costumed, with his thigh exposed. In the background, someone runs away.

Comics: Bruce and Robin hold up a novelty check.

Bruce: --This certified check for $4,999.99!

Photographer: Smile big for the camera, Mr. Wayne.

A gif (still the same cartoon, I think): Harlequin says, to Batman, “There’s one thing I gotta know. Why did you stay with me all day risking your butt for someone who’s never given you anything but trouble?”

Comics: A shadowy hand, dripping bright fluid, shows a Wayne Tech business card to a person wearing heavy makeup. The person with the card says, “I hear these people are hiring reception girls. Don’t let me see you on the streets after tonight.”

Comics:

Batman, panel 1: It doesn’t have to end like that. I don’t know what it was that bent your life out of shape, but who knows?

Maybe I’ve been there too.

Maybe I can help.

Panel 2, Batman, off-panel, continues talking to the Joker: We could work together. I could rehabilitate you. You needn’t be out there on the edge any more. You needn’t be alone.

We don’t have to kill each other.

What do you say?

Comics: Batman stands in a cage near a young child sitting on the floor. He says, “I’m stepping a little closer now, okay? You were so brave. You made it through everything all by yourself. And tonight, you got yourself free where we could find you. That took a lot of strength.”

Comics: A masked villain, spinning a chain in one hand, approaches Batman, saying, “I’ve seen how you treat your prisoners. Forgotten and scared. Can it be you actually care for those creatures?”

Comics:

A masked person in a purple hooded cloak: You told me you had a whole new way of helping Gotham. Something different than the path Batman offered.

Someone in a red outfit whose face and hair seem to be made of gold: Would Batman have had you steal those Epipens and deliver them to the people who need them most?

Purple: Literally, yes. Like, every week. How did you think I knew how to bust into Penguin’s narcotics warehouse?

How come every time I try to do this different than Batman, I just end up doing exactly what Batman would do?

Comics: Bruce says, “I have no interest in not caring about people. I have no interest in giving up the mission I started when I was eight years old. You’re sick. There’s a part of you that’s broken and you’re angry that it’s not broken in me.”

End image description.]

Does anyone know which issue the second-to-last comics panel came from? I’d like to read it.

Also, I didn’t do a great job identifying characters. Feel free to copy this and edit it into something more useful.

why does anyone in Gotham even bother doing crime like you KNOW the second you leave the bank with the money you just stole Bruce Wayne is gonna be chilling on a bench on the other side of the street in his bat fursuit like “hey bitch u better not be breaking the law”

[hy0rii]

still here

Pairing: Kento Nanami x F!Reader Genre: Angst to Fluff Word Count: 3,101

we will find our way back to each other

He arrived home late once more, his seven-month-old daughter already tucked in and fast asleep. Nanami Kento could already picture the conversation that awaited between you and him. His hands move the key to open the front door, while the other holds his briefcase. Being an office worker is tiring, but being a father is even more so. 

Nanami understands that he's not the only one working hard each day. You chose to stop working to focus on caring for your child while he continued with his job. A few months after your precious daughter was born, tensions started to rise between the two of you, even though you both loved her dearly.

When Kento entered, he heard sounds coming from the kitchen. You were pouring yourself a glass of water in the middle of the night. “I’m home, sweetheart,” he whispered, knowing his voice would be heard clearly in the silent house. After leaving his briefcase and jacket on the couch, he approached the kitchen. You’re not upset with each other, yet the relationship feels different. More distant, and that hurts him deeply. Nanami Kento refused to become one of those men who are only tied to their spouses because of their children. 

You hear his voice before you see him, quiet but clear in the stillness of the night. Your hand stills around the glass of water. You hadn’t expected him to be back so soon, though you suppose “soon” has taken on a new meaning lately. You don’t rush to turn around, but you don’t ignore him either. A heaviness in your chest, familiar now, rises whenever he comes home, and you realize how little you’ve spoken that day.

You finally speak, softly. “Hey. Long day?”

And he noticed how your hand stilled around the glass of water when he greeted you. His eyes then traveled to your back. You weren’t even turning to greet him. A small sigh escaped his lips when you finally spoke softly. He was tired, and seeing you avoid his gaze when he was right behind you hurt him.

“Yeah…” he quietly replied. His hands rested on your shoulders now that you had stopped pouring the water. Now he could tell how stiff your shoulders were. 

You didn’t pull away when he touched your shoulders, but you didn’t lean into him either. Your body remained tense, like you had forgotten to relax under his touch. The warmth of his hands should have been comforting, it used to be, but now it just reminded you how long it had been since you felt close.

You closed your eyes for a moment, the sting of tears threatening, but you held them back; you didn’t want to cry, not because you were angry, but because if you started, you weren’t sure you’d stop. Because you didn’t know how to say everything that had been building up: the loneliness, the resentment, the guilt. How every time he left before sunrise and returned after dark, it felt like you were both slowly forgetting how to be each other’s person.

A mixture of emotions washed over him when he felt the tension in your shoulders. It starkly contrasted how you used to relax under his touch. He remembered how natural it used to feel, but now it felt awkward, distant between the two.

His grip on your shoulders tightened just a bit as he noticed how you closed your eyes. Seeing you like this, trying to hold back tears, made his heart ache. He knew he hadn’t been a great partner lately—a great husband, to you, his precious wife.

“I’m tired, Kento,” you said finally, your voice thick. “I don't want to feel so alone with you anymore,” you admitted quietly.

He felt a pang when he realized how much you were carrying. You felt alone even though he was physically present. “I know…” he replied, gently massaging your shoulders to soothe your pain. His breath hitched before he continued. “I’ve been a terrible husband.”

His words hung heavy between you, their weight pressing against the space that had grown between you over the months. His hands, warm and tentative, tried to convey everything his words couldn’t fully reach. But the tension in your muscles didn’t ease. Maybe because it wasn’t just physical exhaustion, but the emotional weariness that had settled in. 

“You haven’t been terrible,” you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t an excuse for him, but it was the truth, even if it didn’t make it all better. You couldn’t deny how much he had sacrificed, how hard he had worked. But you also couldn’t ignore the absence that had slowly crept into your life, longing for him to.

He felt a strange mix of relief and guilt hearing your words. Relief at your understanding, but guilt for letting it come to this. His hands moved from your shoulders to your waist, pulling you closer than before.

He leaned into you, his head resting against your shoulder. He inhaled your familiar scent, the scent he’d missed so much.

“I’ve been distant,” he murmured, his voice heavy with remorse. “I’ve been so focused on work that I haven’t been here for you. For us.”

You turned your head just slightly, enough that your profile was visible to him. The water glass was still in your hand, forgotten.

“I didn’t want to make you feel like I was angry with you,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “I just…I felt invisible. Like I was handling everything on my own. And I didn’t know how to tell you that without making you feel like you were failing me.” You paused, the words coming faster, like a dam finally breaking. “I didn’t want to add to your burden, Kento. But my fears came true. I became someone’s mom. I miss working. I miss having you around. I feel like I’m losing my purpose, and I hate it. I needed you.”

His heart ached. His grip on your waist tightened as if he were trying to hold on to you. He rested his chin on your shoulder. His gaze never leaves your profile. You were expressing your feelings, and he was listening to them—the feelings he’d been unintentionally causing. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he let your words sink in. They were a painful but necessary wake-up call. He wrapped his arms tighter around you, pulling you even closer. 

“Do you not love us?” you asked quietly, fat, hot tears rolling down your face.

He was taken aback by the sudden question and the sight of your tears. It broke his heart even more. He spun you around to face him, bringing his hand up to cup your tear-stained face.

“No, how can you think?” His voice was filled with desperation and pain. “I love you and our little one with all my heart.” He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, your noses nearly touching. 

“I miss you,” you whispered, your voice cracking, betraying how much you meant it. 

He heard those words, and a bottomless pit of guilt formed in his stomach. He had failed. Seeing the pain in your eyes, the tears streaming down your face. Gently, he moved your face, angling it so he could kiss your tears away. He kissed them away one by one, his lips gentle against your skin. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I made you feel this way.” He whispered. 

��The gentle press of his lips against your skin, each kiss a silent apology, sent a wave of emotion crashing over you. The warmth of his touch, so tender, so full of regret, was enough to unravel everything you had been holding back.

You could feel the sincerity in how he kissed each tear away, his hands trembling slightly as they cupped your face. The rawness broke something deep within you. The man who had been so distant, wrapped up in his struggles, was finally here, reaching for you.

You didn’t pull away. You couldn’t, the pain wasn’t gone, but the softness in his touch, the way he held you so carefully now, was something you hadn’t felt in so long. The space between you that had once felt insurmountable was now filled with a quiet hope– a whisper of what could be if you tried. 

“I didn't mean to push you away,” you mumbled, your voice fragile, still shaky from the tears.

Kento knew he pushed you away, not intentionally, but the result was the same. The distance between you is slowly bridging again. “I know, and I should’ve noticed. I should’ve been there for you.” His thumbs caressed your cheeks, the touch both tender and desperate. He leaned closer, his mouth hovering just above yours. He’d missed this intimacy, this closeness.

You let your eyes flutter closed, the closeness between you almost suffocating in its intensity. You missed this, too. The tenderness, the affection, the feeling of being seen by him in a way that had once come so naturally but had been buried beneath the weight of life. 

His lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, like he was waiting for your permission and giving you the space to decide if you both needed this.

Slowly, you closed the gap, allowing your lips to meet his. The kiss was soft, slow, and laden with everything you couldn’t say. The tenderness in the kiss made your heart ache, but it also brought relief. It was a promise, an unspoken agreement to start again, to find each other in the quiet spaces where the words had been too hard to say. 

The simple act of closing the gap between your lips was almost overwhelming for him. The flood of feelings it stirred within caught him off guard: pain, regret, and intense longing that had been suppressed for far too long.

As your lips met his, they moved together in a slow, gentle dance. It was a dance of forgiveness, of understanding, and of a love that had been tested but refused to crumble completely. 

He deepened the kiss, his tongue lightly tracing the contours of your mouth. His touch was both tender and possessive. You responded in kind, your lips parting slightly, inviting him closer, the kiss growing deeper with each movement. You let yourself feel the intensity of the moment. Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. It was a reminder that, despite everything, he was still here, still with you. 

Nanami pulled you closer, molding your body against his. Your touch on his chest, feeling the rhythmic beating of his heart, sent a jolt down his spine. The kiss grew more urgent, more desperate. Your lips moved in sync, parting and coming together in an intimate dance, a language you’d forgotten to speak but were now rediscovering. His hands moved down to your waist, his grip tight, pulling you closer.

The kiss slowed, your foreheads met gently, both of you taking a moment to breathe and feel the night's quiet settle against you. His hands still rested on your waist, keeping you close, not wanting to let go of this fragile closeness that had returned between you.

Kento wasn’t just apologizing with his lips. In this quiet, intimate moment, he was showing you that he was here and ready to rebuild. Ready to fight for you, for the love that had been tested but was still worth holding onto.

You pressed your lips to his again, softly, a promise this time—one that said, I’m here too.

He felt your forehead against his, the quiet intimacy of the moment wrapping around them like a comforting blanket. His hands still held your waist, the touch saying more than his words could.

When your lips met his again, in a softer, promise-filled kiss, he drew in a smooth, shaky breath. It felt like a revelation, a validation that you were in this together.

His grip on your waist tightened slightly, the gesture protective and possessive. He didn't want this closeness ever to fade again. "I love you," he murmured, his voice rough and choked up.

“I love you, too, Kento.”

Hearing those three simple words, it was as if a weight lifted off his shoulders—the weight of his guilt, failures, and the distance that had grown between you.

Hearing you say you loved him, too, was a precious reminder of what he nearly lost.

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping tightly around you. He buried his face into your neck, his breath warm and shaky against your skin.

"I promise I'll do better," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"I believe you," you whispered back, your hands finding his back, gently pressing into him as if you needed to be reminded of his strength, which both of you could find together. "I just need you to be here."

Your words washed over him like a wave, filling him with relief and determination. He pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze. "I’m here. I'm here."

The raw honesty in those words, the quiet promise they held, echoed through the stillness of the night. He pulled you even closer, his body pressed against yours.

"I’ll make it up to you," he murmured, his voice determined but gentle. "All of it.”

“I know you will,” you whispered, your voice a soft murmur against his chest, filled with a quiet belief that had been absent for far too long. “You’re already doing it.”

The faintest of smiles curled the corners of his lips as he heard your words. They were both a reassurance and a challenge.

His hand moved up to gently cradle the side of your face, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles on your skin. "We’re doing it," he corrected you softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, their breaths mingling in the intimate space between them. "Together."

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice soft but firm, as your hands found their way to his cheeks, grounding yourself in his embrace. “Together.”

His heart skipped a beat as you whispered the word back at him, your hands on his cheeks anchoring him to this moment of vulnerability and connection. In the quiet of the night, the word 'together' held a powerful meaning, a promise to face the future as a unified front.

He pulled you impossibly closer, his arms encircling you in a tight embrace, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "I won’t leave your side again," he vowed softly, his words a quiet declaration of devotion.

EXTRA

As the first rays of morning sunlight peeked through the curtains, you stirred in your bed, slowly emerging from a quiet slumber. Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the gentle luminosity creeping into the room.

Beside you, the other side of the bed was empty. The sheets are cool and untouched. Your heart skipped a beat as your mind fully woke, the absence of your husband not unnoticed.

A soft scoff escaped your lips as you sat up in bed, the coolness of the sheets beside you more of a sting than you expected. After the vulnerability of last night, the closeness you’d shared—it stung to wake up and not find him there. You had hoped that he’d at least be beside you in the morning after everything, but there was only a space.

Shaking off the sleepiness, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, your feet meeting the cool floor. You heard faint giggles and soft chatter from downstairs, a sound that immediately drew you out of your thoughts and toward the source. A soft smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you walked toward the stairs.

You couldn’t help but pause just outside the doorway as you approached the kitchen. You saw him, Kento, shirtless, moving around the kitchen with a comforting and familiar ease. His back was to you as he hovered over the stove, the smell of something sizzling in the air.

But it wasn’t just him. He held your seven-month-old daughter in his arms, the soft giggles and the cooing noises coming from her mixing with his quiet, soothing murmurs as he gently rocked her in his arms. The scene before you was enough to stop you in your tracks, your heart instantly softening at the sight.

He was absorbed in his task, oblivious to your presence in the doorway, focused solely on the breakfast that sizzled in the pan, and their daughter.

His gentle swaying movements were like a calming dance, his voice low and soft as he whispered quiet reassurances to the little girl. Now and then, he’d nuzzle his face into her, eliciting another series of giggles.

As your heart melted at the spectacle, a thought crossed your mind, a subtle realization. This man, this stoic and hardworking husband, was also very much a daddy.

You leaned against the doorway, watching the quiet dance of fatherhood unfold before you. There was peace in your heart for the first time in a while. The tension from the night before felt like it had melted away with every soft giggle, every gentle movement.

He continued to move around the kitchen, tending to the food on the stove and stealing moments to play with their little girl. She’d reach for his face, her tiny fingers trying to grab his nose, and he would gently catch her hand, placing a soft kiss on her wrist before returning to the task at hand.

He must have sensed your presence, though, as he must have picked up the subtle sound of your breathing. His gaze darted towards the doorway, where you stood, watching him.

“Morning,” you said quietly, stepping closer.

He nodded. “Morning.”

You glanced at the stove, then at the little one clinging to him, her wide eyes following every movement he made. “This is… probably the best breakfast I’ve ever woken up to.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, a little sheepish. “It’s just pancakes,” he said. “She insisted on helping.”

“Ah. The sous-chef?”

“She takes her role very seriously,” he deadpanned, glancing down as your daughter babbled in agreement. He kissed her chubby wrist absentmindedly, adjusting her on his hip.

You laughed softly, the sound lighter than you expected. “You’re not too bad at this, you know.”

He looked up again, meeting your gaze for a long, quiet beat. No more walls. No more weight. Just him. Here. Present.

“I’m trying,” he said.

And that was enough.

author's note: i finished my 6,000-word project proposal (!!!), so here’s a little treat for you<3

again i would appreciate any feedback or thoughts on how i can improve going forward.

[chiefofsmut]

A Taste Of Maternity

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: Avis doesn't feel wanted. Her own daughter has rejected her since the day she was born and her husband hasn't looked at her in years. The only one who still looks at her is her maid.

𝔀𝓬: 6.5k

𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓼: lactation kink, praise kink, mommy kink

𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰: explicit

𝓪𝓸3

Avis knew her marriage was a fragile bound, more a convenience rather than something either of them truly cherished anymore, what they committed to when they exchanged their vows. She knew over the years Ace learned to find his pleasure elsewhere, so did she, her visits at the gas station less complicated than sleeping with the help. Yet, no wealth or paid sex could erase her unhappiness and neglect, her marriage only a facade to how invisible she had become to her husband. She can’t remember the last time Ace had touched her out of pure want, when he had made her feel like a woman. 

Not even her daughter could fill that hole. Her own child disliked her. Right from the beginning it seemed as if Claire didn't accept her as her mother, had refused to latch onto her breast when she was born, had fussed and gnawed her tender flesh sore, but never accepted to be fed. And still to this day she doesn't want her motherly care. Doesn't want her love.

But then Avis brought you into their home to replace Gertie, a maid close to Claire's age, hired to keep the house clean and their bellies filled with freshly cooked meals, but you ended up providing so much more for her than just that. You were the only one who listened quietly, but attentively, when she vented to you at the dining table, when Ace was still asleep or already out—she had stopped questioning if he left to the studio or elsewhere a long time ago.

Avis had made a habit of telling you about how sick she was of being at home so much, how lonely she got when the house was empty, her own family abandoning her. But never you. You understood her pain. And whenever she sat in her expensive morning robes, pouring out her heavy heart, you always knew what to say, always complimenting or comforting her in a way both innocent and sensuous. Sometimes she headed downstairs early—before she even wanted to leave the warmth of her bed and when you were still whipping up breakfast—just so you would look at her with this addictive admiration, and when you placed the plate in front of her you even dared to say things like: "You're looking radiant this morning, Mrs. Amberg." Cheering her up with that sweet smile of yours had become her favorite part of the day, her frown immediately gone.

But it had become a problem and had weighed on that unsatisfied maternal part of hers that never got to experience what it was like to have a healthy relationship with her child. It had unleashed something twisted in Avis.

For weeks all she could think about was her lost fertility. The chance she had missed to experience her daughter's childhood in a way that was both fulfilling and loving. And the kinder you were, the stronger grew the urge to give something back to someone—she wanted to nurture. Missed the feeling of being able to provide in a way that was not meant to be anymore.

Until one day the desperation consumed her, when she was lying in bed, wide awake while Ace was deep asleep, snoring. She vividly remembered how heavy her breasts had felt after her pregnancy, how taut the skin had been, how sensitive her nipples, and when she shifted in bed next to her husband it seemed like her bosom was just as tender again from the memory of it alone. She missed that feeling and the knowledge to be able to provide for her child.

Before she knew it, not even a week later she found herself hiding in the bathroom, dressed in just a loose, untied robe and her panties, her full chest heaving with nervous breaths as she unpacked a breast pump she had bought earlier that day while hidden under a big pair of sunglasses and a huge-brimmed hat. Her fingers trembled as she took out the device, her heart pounding in her throat as she became aware of the situation she was in—how utterly desperate she was.

The sigh that left Avis' mouth when she finally attached the pump to her puckered nipples was loud and shaky, and as soon as the first pull tugged at the tips of her breasts she closed her eyes, bit her lip to keep herself from whimpering.

It was enough to make Avis obsessed. And after just this one evening—what was supposed to be a one time occasion to imagine the satisfaction of nursing a child—she found herself in this very position over and over again, hidden in either the bath or bedroom, the breast pump working her bosom, more tender now after the many times she had used it. But as much as she hoped, the device stayed dry.

Every night Avis allowed herself to chase after this fantasy of lactating—without success. Each time she pulled the pump on her chest with a frustrated huff, the emotional pleasure she had received from the sensation of the pulls alone had not lasted long before grief overcame her, reminding her of how her body is failing.

After carrying this secret habit for weeks, it came to a surprise to Avis when Ace asked her out on a date, a proper one, just the two of them. Dolled up and clad in an expensive, glamorous dress that hugs her full curves perfectly, she admired herself in the bedroom mirror, the display of an appropriate amount of luscious cleavage.

For a brief moment she wondered if her breasts had gotten larger, but quickly pushed the thought aside telling herself she was just imagining it.

Avis had felt good when she put on the silky fabric, almost beautiful, until Ace canceled their planned date for some "Important meeting with the board," he had said.

And now she was angry.

𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓸𝓷 𝓪𝓸3

[stormrider24]

Before him sat a child. A young girl, no older than 10, with blood dripping down her face from the hit she'd sustained. Her pigtails were damp with sweat and blood, and her eyes were in a daze, like she couldn't quite bring herself to care that she'd been unmasked.

Dr Austere dropped the crushed helmet he was holding and barely registered the clanging sound it made when it hit the warehouse floor. "No..." He muttered. "No, no this isn't right... You're not... You can't be..."

"It wasn't supposed to be me, doctor," she muttered. Her high-pitched voice tore him apart - he'd always thought the voice modulation from the suit was just some identity masking tactic. "It wasn't supposed to be me running around all day going toe to toe with you, y'know. But I didn't have a choice."

"But you... I just..."

"My mother was a robotic scientist," she explained, gingerly stepping out of the mech suit and shaking off the slashed wiring. "From the day I was born, crime all over the country just kept rising. Armed robbery, kidnapping, racketeering, corrupt politicians, arson, illegal possession of radioactive acid... So she built the T1TAN. It was supposed to be for her. But..."

"No... No, I didn't... That wasn't..."

"You?" She laughed. Honestly, truly laughed. Maybe for the first time all day. "No, T1TAN's test drive wasn't against you. I lived in a different city then. Some guy who called himself The Neon Terror. She chucked him off a building and he clipped her eject button on the way down. The suit walked back home on its own when it had gone about a day without it's pilot... That's how I..."

She sat down on the warehouse floor. Dr Austere sat down with her. He never meant for any of this. He never meant to kill a child. How many times had he almost done so?

"I didn't have any friends at school, and my mom was all I had, so... I fixed up the T1TAN so the eject button would only trigger from the inside. I added a little voice modifier to it so I wouldn't sound so young and I ran it as far as it would go on its old power cells. Then I set up a lab in the abandoned Jettcore building. Y'know, the one with--"

"All the outdated engineering equipment, yeah. And my--"

"Your Energy Ray was actually really useful," she perked up. "I took the core from that and replaced the power cells so it would run forever. Or at least until you chucked me into a meat grinder."

Again, Dr Austere cringed, and pulled away. "I never wanted it this way," he admitted. "I always thought you were some billionaire with too much time on his hands, or a college student with debt. Not... This."

"Are you kidding?" She bounced up. "You're the most fun I've had since that day! I didn't have friends, I didn't have any family. No school, no job obviously. I used to sit in that lab and tinker all day, scrounging for food until you showed up! Sure, the death rays and the acid pits were always scary, but I've never felt more alive!"

"Yeah, and you almost WEREN'T alive!" He finally stood up. "How many times have I nearly destroyed you?! How do you think the world would feel if they knew Utopolis's very own T1TAN was piloted by a KID?!"

There was a long pause. For a moment, he almost thought he'd gone too far.

"Doctor..." She shook her head. "They already do."

It was then that he remembered the camera. The live audience. Suddenly, he was aware of police sirens closing in on the warehouse.

"Seeya around, Doc." She said with a smirk. "Try not to wreck the Mark II, alright?" She shot a grappling hook at the nearest window and was gone.

"Now behold! Behold as I unmask your...beloved...hero...?" The villain's voice trailed off as he tore open said hero's crippled mech suit on live TV, only to reveal something quite...unexpected.

[moniquesha]

sharing is NOT caring

prologue

Pair: College!Bucky x reader

Summary: You and your twin were nothing alike, except when it came to men. That one shared taste might be what tears you both apart.

Warnings: there are both of you here, violence, angst, fluff, filthy smut, cheating, pick me behaviour, crazy twists, had a hard time writing this.

Masterlist

a/n: my brain is dead for exfil, i need new things to write about. i hope u all enjoy this because this is so crazy when i was writing it <3

Your mother once dreamed of having a child, just one. Someone to love with all the vastness of her heart. But the universe had grander plans and blessed her with twins. Two heartbeats instead of one. Two souls so closely intertwined, even the stars paused to marvel.

From the very beginning, everything was shared. If your twin had something, you had it too–just in a different color. Matching dresses, different shades. One pink, one blue. Two bikes, one red, one green. There was never a favorite, never an ounce of favoritism. Your mom made sure of that. Her only rule? Share. Or, if that wasn’t possible, make sure you both have what you both want. Fairness wasn’t just a principle in your house, it was the foundation.

Your sister understood that. So did you. At least, at first.

But growing up meant growing into yourselves. Clothes? You liked comfort, she liked style. Food? You went for savory, she had a sweet tooth. Hobbies, sports–your paths started to diverge in subtle but definite ways.

You were different, and that was okay.

Until you realized there was one thing you both still shared, something that never stopped aligning, your taste in men.

And for some time, you wondered, what happens when fairness isn’t so easy anymore?

It’s summer break. Every person you know from college is either posting stories from a beach halfway across the world or floating through hazy, half-lit parties, chasing highs before fall drags them back to textbooks and lecture halls.

Meanwhile, you're here. At home. Sunk into the deep cushions of the living room sofa, a slight breeze drifting in through the open window. You have plans but vague, tentative ones, and the thought of just doing absolutely nothing today feels like a gift.

“The other set of twins are coming, by the way!” your sister yells from the kitchen, the clatter of dishes echoing her voice.

“The Maximoffs?” you call back, lazily scrolling through your phone before setting it down on your chest.

“Yup! And I heard Pietro has a new rideee.” Her voice lilts, trying to fish a reaction out of you.

You let a soft smile tug at the corner of your lips. “Well, if I'm in the mood,” you murmur, stretching like a cat, “then let's bless that ride.”

She flops onto the sofa beside you, both of you quiet for a moment, the hum of summer laziness settling in again.

Then you glance down. “Hey, where’s your bracelet?”

She pauses, surprised, instinctively brushing her wrist as if expecting it to be there. It’s not.

The gold bracelets, identical, save for the names engraved on them: Chloe and Y/N. It had been with you since you were seven. A joke turned tradition after the world kept confusing you two. Only your mother could tell you apart on sight, so she gave you those tiny golden markers, glimmering proof that you were each your own person, even if the world didn’t always see it.

“I must’ve left it upstairs,” Chloe says quickly, but there’s something clipped about her tone. Dismissive.

You study her for a moment. “You never take it off.”

She shrugs. “Maybe I’m changing.”

Maybe. But something about her answer doesn’t sit right.

Before you can press further, a pair of familiar voices rings from outside, followed by the unmistakable purr of a souped-up engine pulling into the driveway.

The Maximoff twins have arrived.

And suddenly, doing nothing all day doesn’t feel like the plan anymore.

Wanda's face suddenly appears in the window, hands cupped around her eyes like binoculars. “What’s up, whore!” she calls out with zero shame, grinning at Chloe like it’s a warm-up for whatever unhinged things she’s about to say next.

Chloe grins back. “You’re late.”

Wanda shrugs, unbothered. “Fashionably. I brought snacks.”

Then her eyes flick to you, catching your slower movement on the couch. Her tone softens. “Hi, pretty Y/N. Coming to join us?”

You sit up slightly, hair tousled from the couch cushion, blinking against the sunlight that follows her voice into the room. “Might. If you’ve got actual snacks and not just a bag of Flamin’ Hot air.”

Wanda gasps like you’ve just insulted her ancestors. “Excuse you, Hot Cheetos are the fuel of summer legends.”

You smirk, but it fades quickly as you stand up and glance back at Chloe, who’s busy smoothing her hair in the hallway mirror, already in host mode.

You’ve always appreciated Wanda and Pietro. They were the first ones to welcome you and Chloe into the social ecosystem back at the dorms. Two wild cards instantly curious about the “new twins on the block.” But even then, the connection tilted. They clicked with Chloe faster. Louder laughs. Inside jokes. That natural twin-speak flow you never quite found with them.

Not that they don’t love you. They do. Just maybe not in the same way.

But you try.

You throw on a hoodie and follow the sound of Wanda’s laugh toward the front door, just in time to see Pietro leaning against his new car–sleek, shiny, and way too expensive for a college student unless he sold something illegal or charmed someone rich.

He spots you and smiles, something lazy and sunlit in his expression.

“Well, well,” he says. “The elusive twin emerges.”

You roll your eyes, tugging your hoodie sleeves over your hands. “It’s summer break, not a red carpet.”

He shrugs. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Chloe laughs from behind you, slipping past to greet him like it’s her cue.

And just like that, you’re back to walking three steps behind a trio you kind of belong to.

Chloe practically launches herself at Pietro, arms thrown around his neck like this is the reunion of the century. He catches her with practiced ease, laughing, the kind that makes people watching think oh, they're close.

And they are. No denying that.

But then Pietro shifts his arm, glancing at you over Chloe’s shoulder. “Come here, you too,” he says, and it’s not just polite–it’s easy. Like he means it.

You hesitate, just for a second. But you step in, your face pressed against Pietro’s shoulder for the briefest moment as his arm pulls you into the hug too. It’s warm. Secure. Nice.

Chloe’s eyes flick to the side. You feel it more than see it. Just.. that little tick in her expression. The way her jaw shifts. Like she didn’t expect to share that moment.

“Well, Wanda,” she chirps, voice bright with a little too much sugar, “I call shotgun!”

Before Wanda can even breathe a protest–technically, it’s her car too. Chloe’s already in the passenger seat, flipping the visor down like she owns it. You blink, lips twitching into a soft, almost apologetic smile as you turn to Wanda. “Sorry you have to sit with the boring one.”

Wanda snorts, instantly looping her arm through yours like the two of you are conspirators in some harmless crime. “You’re not boring, Y/N. You’re just a calm soul.”

She leans in, nudging your shoulder with hers. “More calm than your sister, for sure. Like, a dangerous amount more. I respect that.”

You chuckle under your breath, but you don’t miss the way Chloe’s looking back from the front seat. Not glaring. Not angry. Just watching.

You climb into the back with Wanda, who’s already kicking her shoes off like it’s her personal limo, and Pietro starts the engine. The music's loud, the windows are down, and the sun is baking into the seats. Everything about this should feel light.

But there's a little knot twisting in your stomach. Because even if the day is perfect, you know one thing for sure:

Chloe definitely didn’t like that hug.

You know your sister better than anyone else in the world.

You know the voice she uses when she wants something. The way she curls her hair when she’s feeling insecure. The difference between her real laugh and the one she saves for people she wants to impress. You’ve lived her whole life right next to her–of course you know her.

And you also know that the rule your mother instilled, fairness above all, only really applies when your mom’s around.

When she’s not? Chloe changes. Not in big, monstrous ways. Nothing you could point to and say, “That. That’s the line.” It’s smaller. Sharper.

Like how your clothes start disappearing from your side of the closet, showing up on her Instagram stories. Or how she “borrows” your bracelet without asking your bracelet, the one with your name engraved on it, and then acts like you’re being dramatic for noticing.

She wears your favorite earrings on the night you were finally going to debut them.

She gets closer to your friends than you ever manage to. Laughs louder, pulls them in faster, and suddenly you’re on the outside of your own circle. But it’s Chloe. So you say nothing.

Because you love her. With your whole life. There’s no question about that.

At first, you told yourself it was just typical sibling stuff. Just the cost of being twins. She steals your clothes, you roll your eyes, and that’s the end of it. But it started to twist. To hurt.

Because when you try to wear her stuff? She reacts like you’ve crossed some sacred boundary. Gets defensive. Emotional. Sometimes even begs for it back, like you’re taking something essential from her.

Or when you get too friendly with her friends, the mood shifts. A quiet tension laces her tone. Subtle jabs disguised as jokes. A reminder that you’re trespassing, even when you didn’t mean to.

You gaslight yourself. Tell yourself she doesn’t mean it like that. That this is just how she shows love. That maybe you’re too sensitive.

Because Chloe would never hurt you. Not on purpose.

And you'd never hurt her either.

So you push the thoughts down. Smile. Nod. Let her keep the bracelet. Let her take the seat up front. Laugh when she calls shotgun like she always does.

But deep down, you wonder if it’s always going to be like this, loving someone who doesn’t always know how to love you back without taking a little bit of you in the process.

The car ride is filled with music and laughter, Pietro and Chloe singing their hearts out in the front while Wanda joins in, dramatically belting out lyrics like she's on stage. The energy is electric, but you? You just watch the sun dip behind the trees, painting the sky in soft pinks and deep oranges.

You smile to yourself. This is what you love about summer, not the wild parties or the buzzing chaos, but the break. The feeling of not being buried under textbooks, not having to measure your worth in grades and stress. Just existing, warm and weightless.

Then suddenly the car jerks to a stop.

Pietro twists in his seat, grabbing a pair of sunglasses from the glove box. “Welcome to the Carters,” he announces, sliding them on with a grin. “They throw the wildest parties ever. If I were you ladies, stay close to me or you’ll get lost.”

You glance outside. The house in front of you is massive like old money big. The kind of big that doesn't just say wealth but legacy. Windows spill colorful lights onto the well-manicured lawn, flashing with the beat of the music thumping from inside.

“Well, c’mon, guys! Move your asses,” Wanda urges, already stepping out.

Chloe wastes no time hooking her arm around Pietro’s, her smile bright, her grip possessive. She’s done it a million times before, but now you can’t help but notice the way she subtly presses closer to him.

You go to follow, but Wanda tugs you back, her hand firm on your wrist. Her voice is low but teasing as she leans in, eyes flicking over your hoodie.

“Okay, baby,” she murmurs, “You are not wearing a sweater inside.”

You blink at her, glancing down at yourself. “What? It’s comfortable.”

She scoffs, already peeling it off you before you can protest. “Exactly. And this is not a comfortable night! This is a ‘you look so good people regret their life choices’ night.”

The hoodie is gone before you can fight for it. You stand there, slightly chilled in the warm night air, and Wanda just grins, pleased. “Much better,” she says, looping her arm through yours like you’re her personal VIP guest.

Inside the house, the music gets louder, and the night ahead stretches long and uncertain.

The second the door swings open, it’s like stepping into another world.

Warm air, thick with the scent of sweat, cologne, and whatever someone's smoking in the next room. Music pulses through the floorboards, deep bass that vibrates in your chest, the kind that makes it hard to tell if it's the song or your heartbeat reacting.

The Carter house is packed. Bodies move in rhythm or stumble through rooms in search of their next drink or next mistake. There’s laughter, shouting, clinking glasses and flashes of neon lights that paint everyone in sharp reds, greens, and blues.

Wanda pulls you through the chaos, grinning like the chaos is home.

Chloe and Pietro disappear fast, blended into the crowd like they were meant to be the center of it. Chloe’s laugh rings louder than the music for a second, and you see Pietro throw his arm over her shoulder like he’s telling her something private. Something meant just for her.

You try not to read into it.

“Alright, drink first, survive later,” Wanda says, already handing you a red cup like she summoned it from thin air. You take it, hesitating just a little before sipping. It burns, in that warm, we’re-gonna-regret-this kind of way.

You wander a bit, sticking close to Wanda until someone pulls her into a dance circle. She gives you a “you good?” glance and you nod, slipping toward the edge of the crowd. You’re not ready to jump into the middle of it, not yet.

So you explore.

The house is insane. Tall ceilings, gold-rimmed mirrors, art on the walls that’s probably worth more than your entire tuition. You move through rooms where strangers are making out on couches, playing beer pong with champagne, or dancing like it’s the last night on Earth.

Then you hear your name.

“Y/N!”

You turn, and there’s Pietro. Holding two cups, messy hair, flushed cheeks, and that smile.

“I was gonna find you,” he says, handing you one of the drinks. “Didn’t want you getting lost.”

“Would’ve been tragic,” you tease, accepting the cup.

“You’d be surprised how many people get lost at Carter parties,” he says, his grin widening. “I’ve had to drag Wanda out of a closet once. She claimed it was Narnia.”

You laugh, more genuinely than you expected. The drink helps. Or maybe it’s the way Pietro’s looking at you. Really looking.

“Where’s Chloe?” you ask, careful to sound casual.

Pietro shrugs, sipping his drink. “She ran into someone she knew. Went off dancing. You know her, she’ll reappear dramatically.”

You nod, but there’s something in your chest that tightens. Just a little.

“Come on,” he says suddenly, tugging your hand, “let me show you the balcony view. Best part of this house.” You hesitate but your feet follow. 

The crowd swallows you both for a moment until the hallway clears and the air opens up. He pushes open a pair of glass doors and you're outside, finally able to breathe. The backyard glows with string lights. The sky is almost purple now, the stars peeking through the haze of summer.

“It’s nice, right?” he asks.

You nod, leaning against the railing. “I didn’t think you noticed I wasn’t around.”

Pietro laughs, nudging your shoulder with his. “I notice you more than you think.”

And there’s silence. Not awkward. Not loud.

Just still.

Inside the party roars on, but out here... something else is beginning.

“You know,” Pietro says, voice a little lower now, a little more honest, “I know you and Chloe look alike… but there’s this different glow about you.”

You laugh softly, your shoulder brushing his. “What, you a twin expert now?”

He grins, boyish and smug. “I am a twin, remember? I always tell Wanda I know more than her. I was born twelve minutes earlier, that gives me seniority.”

“Oh, of course,” you play along, eyes rolling. “The wisdom of twelve whole minutes.”

But then he quiets for a moment, gaze softening as he really looks at you.

“Can I?” he asks.

You blink. “Hm?”

He reaches for your hair, his fingers brushing your neck as he gently pulls the tie loose. The ponytail falls apart, your hair sliding over your shoulders like a slow-motion scene in a movie.

“There,” he says, smiling with something that doesn’t feel like flirting. “You’re beautiful that way.”

Your breath hitches just a little, not from shock, but from how gentle it feels. How safe. How unexpected.

The balcony air is warm, but the moment is warmer. And when you look at him, really look at him, you realize there’s nothing performative in his expression. It’s not a line. He’s not looking for a reaction.

He means it.

Inside, the music pulses louder, and you hear laughter echoing down the hallway, maybe Chloe’s, maybe not. But you don’t turn to check.

Because right now, Pietro is standing in front of you like he’s seeing you for the first time. And part of you wonders if this is what it feels like to finally stop standing in someone else’s shadow.

“There you guys are!” Chloe's voice cuts through the balcony air like a spark, all bright and sugary.

You and Pietro jolt ever so slightly, instinctively stepping a bit apart. Not guiltily, but not innocently, either.

She strolls up, practically glowing under the string lights, her energy big and breezy like nothing in the world has ever gone wrong. Her arms find Pietro’s waist like it's second nature, her chin hooking on his shoulder with that practiced kind of closeness that looks effortless but feels.. pointed.

“I can’t believe you left me, Pete!” she pouts, voice dipped in faux betrayal.

Pietro’s smile falters for a split second. “Sorry,” he says, casting a brief glance your way. “I came to look for Y/N too, you know.” His tone is light, but there's something underneath it. A reminder. Maybe even a nudge that She’s your sister, why weren’t you?

Chloe follows his eyes and lands on you. There’s a pause, like she's scanning for something she doesn't quite understand yet.

Then, she smiles. “Like the get-up, sis! You should really keep your hair down more.”

You offer a soft smile back. It’s meant to be kind. It is kind. But there’s this weird echo in it, like the words could mean “you look beautiful” or “who told you you could?”

Before you can figure it out, Chloe claps her hands together. “Well, they're doing shots! Let’s?”

She turns to Pietro, eyes wide and playful, clearly expecting him to come with her. He nods slowly, too slowly. Like his body says yes, but his mind is still back on the balcony with you. Like he doesn’t want to go. But he’s Pietro, and Chloe is Chloe, and saying no has never been the dynamic.

You watch as she tugs him gently toward the door, her hand still looped around him. Just before he disappears inside, he glances back at you. Not long. Not dramatic. But enough. He noticed the moment too. And now it’s floating in the space between the three of you, unseen but undeniably there.

You lean against the railing, cup in hand, and stare down at the glowing yard below, buzzing with students from colleges you’ve never heard of. You sip your drink slowly, letting the sharp taste settle on your tongue like it’s supposed to distract you. It doesn’t.

You’ve been drunk before. You know the haze, the heat, the sudden urge to sing and cry and confess your whole soul to a stranger in a bathroom. But tonight? You’re just floating in it. Present, but not in it.

There’s a hollowness that clings to your ribs. Not from the alcohol. Not from the party. From the fact that Pietro’s laugh still echoes faintly down the hall. From the way Chloe looked at you like she was complimenting you but also claiming her territory.

You’re not mad. Not even jealous, maybe. Just.. lonely.

“You lost?” a voice asks, light and girlish and unfamiliar.

You turn, slightly startled, and find a girl standing in the doorway. She’s blonde, with sleek straight hair tucked behind her ears and a surprisingly genuine smile on her face. She looks like she belongs here in a way you don’t, like this is her natural habitat.

“Oh uh no,” you answer quickly. “I’m not. I just like it here.”

She tilts her head, then walks out to stand beside you at the railing. “Yeah? You don’t think it looks too cliché?”

You glance around. The warm lights, the perfectly curated mess of a rich kid party, the air that smells like jasmine and cheap tequila. You think for a moment.

“I mean, I’m not exactly the ‘eat the rich’ type,” you say honestly, “But no. I don’t think it’s cliché. It’s really beautiful. Whoever owns this place must be kind. Letting people enjoy it like this, sharing the space. That says something, I think.”

The girl blinks, like she didn’t expect that kind of insight from you. Not here. Not at this kind of party.

“What’s your name?” she asks, a new kind of curiosity lighting her features.

“Y/N,” you reply. “You?”

She smiles, slow and a little amused. “I’m Sharon,” she says, reaching for your cup to clink it with hers. “Sharon Carter.”

You pause. And you blink. “You’re the Carter?”

She just grins and leans her elbow on the railing. “Guilty. Though technically this is my aunt’s house. She’s... well, she’s very generous when she’s overseas.”

You stare for a second, surprised but not intimidated. Sharon doesn’t carry herself like someone who wants to be worshipped, just noticed.

“Well, your balcony is stunning,” you tease gently.

“And your energy is refreshing,” she replies, tilting her head. “Let me guess, you’re not a party girl, but someone dragged you here?”

“Something like that,” you say with a small shrug.

Sharon nods knowingly, eyes flicking over your expression, reading it far too well for someone you just met.

“Well, stick with me,” she says, nudging you lightly with her shoulder. “You can ghost the party later, but for now.. I promise not all rich kids are terrible. Some of us even have snacks.”

Sharon leads the way, gliding down the grand staircase like she’s done it a thousand times. The sound of her heels clicking against the marble floors echoes in the large, open space, making everything feel important.

You follow behind her, trying to blend in with the crowd, but there's a noticeable shift. People don’t just glance at Sharon, they notice her. Eyes flick to her as she moves, some nodding in respect, others leaning in to say something. She’s a presence, and you’re suddenly acutely aware of how little you belong in this world of polished socialites and golden smiles.

You catch a few glances thrown your way, and it’s almost like you’re the shadow following someone’s spotlight. You want to shrink away, to become invisible, but you can’t. You won’t, not when Sharon is beside you, calm and sure of herself.

She doesn’t even break a stride. It’s like she’s used to this.

As you walk through the crowd, her head turns just slightly to check on you.

“There’s an after-party after this,” she says casually, like it’s no big deal. “You wanna come?”

You hesitate, unsure of how to answer. You’re not sure where this is going, if Sharon is offering out of politeness or actual interest in hanging out. Either way, you don’t want to feel like you're just tagging along.

“Really? I’m with my sister and two other friends,” you explain, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly. “I don’t wanna leave them, really.”

Sharon’s eyes flicker with a touch of understanding, but her grin remains unaffected, like she didn’t even think twice about it.

“Well, that’s fine,” she says with a shrug. “Bring them along! The more, the merrier, right?”

Well, why not? Right?

a/n: no bucky yet, wait 4 him pls!

[unsaidace]

when eddie points a finger he's an abuser? but what? when buck breaks eddie's ankle that's fine? just say you don't like eddie smh

Nah, nah, nah, we’re not playing this fucking game. Eddie is an abuser because he acts like one. Let me tell you a little fucking story.

My nan died when I was 20. I was with this guy, we’ll call him C. C wasn’t exactly good with emotions, never knew how to control his own. Loved trying to control mine, though. A few days after my nan died, C and I were supposed to go on a date. Naturally, I wasn’t in the mood, so I cancelled. Or, I tried to. C spent an entire fucking hour on the phone bitching about how it was such a hardship for him, about how he’d spent money on this date and how I didn’t care about how much he was looking forward to it, and that he wanted us to go out as planned. You know what we did? We went. I was fucking miserable the entire time. And C spent the entire time complaining that I was miserable. “Why’d you bother coming if you’re just gonna sit there with a face like a slapped arse?”. This was, what, four days after her death? I only showed up because he made me feel bad for trying to cancel, and I went home feeling even worse because he made me feel guilty for “ruining his night with my melodramatic bullshit”. Again, my grandmother had just fucking died.

In the context of 9-1-1, Buck cannot feel a single emotion around Eddie without Eddie making him feel bad for it. Buck can’t even grieve his father figure without Eddie twisting it into “but what about meee? Poor little me, I wasn’t there, I didn’t get to say goodbye!!”, as if it’s Buck’s fault that Eddie packed up and left for Texas. As if it’s Buck’s fault that Bobby is dead. In fact, scratch that, he directly implies that it’s Buck’s fault that Bobby is dead. When Buck says “you think I didn’t do everything I could to save him?”, what does Eddie say? “I don’t know, Buck. I wasn’t there”. How the fuck else is Buck going to take that? His so-called best friend just implied that he’s the reason his father figure is dead. That is textbook emotional abuse. And then he uses a 14 year old child to smooth it over, because he knows Buck will crumble the second he brings Chris into it. Another manipulation tactic; do the harm, follow up with the gift to ease the sting, cycle repeats.

Eddie isn’t an abuser for pointing a finger. Eddie is an abuser for constantly making Buck feel bad for having any kind of emotion that doesn’t benefit him and him alone. Eddie is an abuser for consistently using a fucking child to manipulate the man who’s supposed to his best friend. Eddie is an abuser because he’s a narcissistic asshole who thinks the sun shines out of his own ass. That is why Eddie is an abuser. And you can fuck off out of my inbox, you absolute fucking imbecile.

[senieni]

Park Sunghoon × Reader

Notes : angst, lovers to exes to strangers, bittersweet ending, idol!sunghoon, fast-paced, both have reasons, everyone gets hurt at one point, communication is the key people gosh, 10 to none dialogues, more on narration

a depiction of what's it like to lose the spark and slowly lose everything of what had been there in silence

How Can You Look At Me And Pretend I'm Someone You've Never Met ?

ENHYPEN MSTRLIST

Maybe it was your fault. Or maybe it was his. Honestly, you can't even remember anymore. Where it started, when it started, how it started.

"See, this is why I told you not to push it, you idiot!" You gently scold the boy, carefully putting ointment on his ankle. His fall on the ice had been a bit bad, the sprain was worse because it had already been hurting and he just had to push himself still.

He groans. "C'mon, it's not that bad—no it's bad! It's bad, so don't do it!" He pleads as your hand threatens to slap his ankle to prove your point.

You fake a scowl and brought your hand to tap gently at his ankle, his foot recoiling in reflex. "We'll have a movie and foodie night instead."

"As you wish, I'll make it up next week, love." He chuckles and leans it to peck your lips, earning a smile from you and a wider one from him.

the devil in your eyes,

2 years ago you would never believe you if you told her it would end up like it. She'd cry and he will console her, whispering how absurd it was and promising sugarcoated words that would end up nowhere.

"You... you're giving up figure skating?" You stared at your Sunghoon in disbelief. Was the world ending? There was no way in the seven pits of hell and seven thousand multiverses your ice obsessed boyfriend would ever stop skating.

He smiled sheepishly, but confident. "I figured I would try something new but sure. I think being an idol would suit me as well as good as figure skating too. It's interesting, besides, my looks alone already pass doesn't it?" He wiggles his eyebrows and smiles smugly.

Your eyebrows twitch. "You— that's not the point! Why now? You're almost at the peak, love, why turn it down now? Did something happen?" You know it's not a bad thing to try something new, and your boyfriend had every right to change his mind if he wants, it's his life, but figure skating had been his life since he was a child, your concerns go beyond what interests him.

He smiles fondly at your worry and ruffles your hair. "Nothing happened, love. This just... I don't know how to explain it. It's calling me, [Name]." He says with eyes full of determination and passion, and you can't disagree.

But something about it makes you feel uneasy.

won't deny the lies

But the present you couldn't even care anymore. At least that's what you forced yourself to do. You couldn't, because if you did, you'd end up ruining yourself. So you stopped.

"Holyshit, I actually got accepted." He shakes his head as he laughs, looking at the invitation letter in his hand.

The uneasiness inside you begins to clot again, but you force it down, not even knowing why it's there. "You say that after all the ego boost for yourself?" You pinch his nose.

He shrugs with a wide grin. "What can I say, charms through and through." You both share a laugh at his usual remarks.

You share his pain throughout the whole hell months of I-Land too. You shared his rants, his frustrations, his vents, his cries, his laughs, his improvements, his new friends, his determination, his persistence, and his passion. You've witnessed it all. His hardwork. The respect and spot he earned.

The smile you wore when he secured his final spot wasn't out of pure happiness for your boyfriend. Sure, you were happy and proud of him for coming and enduring this far, but there was something else.

Guilt.

As his time goes by in I-Land, your uneasiness grows with him. There was something about the thought of him becoming an idol that made you want to vomit. You couldn't place it. You couldn't think of any serious reason why. You tried placing it as just some worry because your dynamics will have to change, but something inside you knew something else was coming.

And it brought tears to your eyes as you clapped for him.

you've sold, i'm holding on too tight

Enhypen was a success. Their debut and overall current standing was smooth sailing and a huge hit. You were happy for them, really.

Belift and Hybe agreed to let you continue your relationship under the condition that you must never meet personally and continue being long distance. It was a hard decision to make, but it was your best shot, better than nothing, so you both took it, settling for calls and messages. You had no complains, everything was going smoothly.

You were happy. The uneasiness didn't bother you much anymore. It was still there, lingering, but wasn't a bother, so you dismissed it as just baseless worry for Hoon. Everything is okay afterall.

Until it proved you wrong.

There it was, the start. With Enhypen's growing fame comes with their growing schedules. Come one, well knew it was coming, inevitable, you understood that from day one. You didn't have any problem with your boyfriend's busy schedule as long as you'd still be together. You could deal with less calls and texts.

But that was the problem.

At first, you thought you were just overreacting because you got a bit used to always getting called after a shoot, Sunghoon would even bring along other members sometimes. The rowdy boys would always tell you how happy they were that this new brand and show collabed with them and how nervous they were. A few minutes later he would kick them out to have some alone times with you and he would tell you every fascination he had with his new idol life. He would tell you every ups and downs, you would see every tear that dripped from his precious eyes and you would console him and remind him of his hardwork. You would be his anchor.

You saw the stars in his eyes whenever he talks about his job, his passion, his newfound dream. Not even figure skating had him in this kind of chokehold.

Until those stories became summarized, the summarized became the name of the brand or the show, the names became 'another shoot', and the shoot became 'how are yous' and 'make sure to eats'. The first few times were easy to let go. You understood it came with their growing schedules, you couldn't blame him for being too tired because they were just starting to get used to being that busy. They don't have the original stamina to keep up with so many things to do. And so you left it alone. You hung up when he says he's tired, when his eyes drop, when he sighs, as a way of letting him rest.

It wasn't until your friend had asked how Sunghoon was that you realized something.

"I've been seeing Enhypen all over the city now too, gosh, you must be so proud!" Your friend gushes at you.

"Ofcourse I am, they've earned this. If they weren't all over the city I would've given them a virtual beating." You laughed and joked.

"In any case, how's Sunghoon, with all these, he must be really busy, huh?" Another asks.

You smiled at them and waved a hand. "Yeah, he's tired and busy."

"Not that, silly. Ofcourse we know he's tired and busy, that's common and usual idol stuff. I meant, any new particular stuff? How are the two or you going?" Your friend laughs and wiggles her eyebrows.

That made you pause.

"How would she know what's going on in his stuff, he's the idol, not her, duh!"

"Well, she's not just 'her', she's the girlfriend, duh! Besides, it doesn't have to be idol stuff, we wouldn't know anything about that anyway. I wanna know if there's anything new in their relationship with this new dynamic."

"Tone it down, girl! An idol's life is supposed to be private, she's not supposed to share anything, including their relationship!"

"Sorry, it's just that before, she always knew something eventhough she doesn't tell us. We would at least get bits and pieces, I got too nosy, sorry."

Everything they said was a jab to you. The uneasiness grinned upon you again and swam around your stomach. Your throat ran dry.

You knew nothing at all.

She wasn't wrong, infact, she was completely right. Before, you always knew something, you knew everything, so what now? You didn't even notice the change because you were so busy understanding and thinking Sunghoon was tired.

Everything suddenly came crashing down to you. Your mind was in shambles, critiquing, analyzing, asking, looking for answers.

When was the last time you knew what happened in his day? A month or two ago? When was the last time you knew what he ate for lunch? When was the last time he confided in you? When was the last time you told him about your day? When was the last time you had a proper conversation? When was the last time he had asked you about you? When was the last time he looked at you, said he loves you and looked liked he meant it? When was the last time you've had a conversation that lasted more than 10 minutes? When was the last time you saw him smile? Oh, that last question can be crossed out, afterall, you're seeing him smile right now.

In TV, at his fans.

You don't notice the tear that drops on your cheek. Your lips unconsciously form a smile, it was shaking. Your mind was spiraling around, thrashing, the relationship you've built over these year threatening shaking. But you keep the smile. How could you not?

He looks so happy.

His smile does not only reach ear to ear, it reaches his eyes. His eyes are smiling, they're sparkling. He's glowing with happiness, he's radiating success and hardwork.

So how can you feel anything but pride for him?

And so the pit in your stomach reaches and grips your throat.

while you let go, this is casual

"Sunghoon, how was today? I saw the meet, there were so many people. Must be extra tiring." You start, setting down a cup of coffee opening your notes.

And only now do you also notice the loss of the precious petnames that used to always make your stomach churn with butterflies. It makes you pause before turning the page as if it's nothing. As if this is nothing.

How long can you pretend your relationship isn't turning to nothing too?

"Mhmm..." You hear rustling against his mic as he hums, it echoes. He must be in the bathroom.

"Are you in the bathroom? Getting ready for bed?"

He hums again.

No matter how much you tried to recall the details, you can't seem to. It wasn't like there was much to remember. It had been quiet. Too quiet. Almost like your relationship hadn't existed in the first place.

Because there had never been an official break up. There had never been a confrontation. You both just slowly drifted from each other until there was nothing but silence and a ghost of what had been.

You can barely remember how it transpired. The thoughts that ate you away as you tried navigating through your relationship with him. How you didn't even know how he looked like until the release of their new song and comeback.

How you realized you were nothing more than a fan in a label.

How you stared and waited for him while he was out there living his dream, his life. And you were there, trying to wait for what? And so you realized no one and nothing was gonna wait for you.

So you kept yourself together until the one-sided relationship crumbled none.

The saddest part? Both of you didn't seem to care anymore.

You smile bitterly at the thought. It wasn't as if you just forgot and moved on from it. You were bound to never fully move forward from it when it was never settled in the first place. But you learned to live with it, and continued to live as you please.

Seems cold, no? But this is life, it's not gonna wait for anyone to get over something before it makes time fly again. It will keep spinning and going no matter what, you don't have a choice but move along with it. The bitterness is there, the pain lingers, it will still hurt at times, it was never bound to go away with the way things went, but there is nothing you can do live with the decision you made.

In your defense, what could you have done? Should you have confronted him and cried? Begged to fix what was already set? Make a mess of what's already a stack? The relationship once built out of laughter and happiness turned into eerie silence where no one wanted to address anything. You weren't sure you could bear to break that silence and turn it into a more painful series of words, you couldn't bring yourself to dirty the happy memories you once had. And so you kept your silence and just disappeared.

That silence haunted you 'till now, but you cannot bring yourself to care anymore. Let it be there, as long as you can go your life, because you cannot wait again. You cannot stare at someone living their dreams while you make that someone your dream, a dream built on blind faith.

Was it selfish and stupid that you neither broke up nor say anything to him and just left? Maybe. You were young and just lost your first love, you were tormented by the happy memories and torn between breaking up and becoming strangers once again, or risking it and try staying as acquaintances. But at the same time, how could you even have the choice to stay friends when you were already a stranger inside the relationship?

How could you choose to be friends when you've already been something more and ended in nothingness?

how can we go back to being friends when we just shared a bed?

And so you just left because either way, you'll be strangers with memories.

When Sunghoon sees you again in person, not in TV or billboards, he doesn't expect it to be emotional or dramatic.

He almost laughs, why would that even be an option when both of you were closer to horror than melodrama with the ghost of a relationship you had. A stupid thought.

When he sees you walking the same red carpet he and his members walked on earlier, the first thought that crossed his mind was how you ended up in a similar industry as his when you majored a different program. But he guesses people change, he was one of those people, afterall.

When he sees you getting flashed by hundreds of cameras as he did earlier, a sense of bitterness piles up again just like it does at times.

He once loathed the way he let his first love go that way, but he's learned to live with it. He doesn't blame you, not in the slightest, for what you did, for disappearing. Whether you did it for pettiness or whatever, he thinks it was deserved. When you disappeared, he didn't bother calling or texting, because he at least knows and realizes he was an asshole. You left for a reason and he wasn't gonna mess it up for you, he already messed up your relationship.

It was also that time when Sunghoon realizes he was a true Drama King, even taking the 'regret it the end' and 'realizing when it's already too late' trope in real life. He wants to laugh, can this be called dark humor?

Sunghoon didn't weep and beg God for a second chance. He cried when the bitterness seeps at times and lets himself drown with Sunoo's sad playlist at 1 am. Those times were rare because obviously crying at 1 am in bad for you and he's an idol, it's one of his jobs to take care of himself. And so he takes the silence left in the ghost and keeps it inside him.

Call him cringe and dramatic, but what can he do but keep it all in? It's not like he can cry it out every single time.

Besides, he's used to it. Keeping everything until he bears the consequences. That's what happened to him, and the consequence just unfortunately happened to be his first love.

It wasn't like Sunghoon had a sad backstory or childhood shit, but he doesn't need to have one to be able to feel the loneliness and pressure sink in as he tries to become the idol everyone expects him to be. The weight of months of training, and then Iland, debuting and having huge amounts of expectations because they came from a popular label and show. He's had cameras since he was a kid, he's had to keep up a facade since he started figure skating, he shared all of that with you. But the burdens he had when he debuted was something he decided he couldn't keep sharing anymore, he can't let the only person keeping him sane be tainted with his burdens. And so he stays silent until he got so used to staying silent that he forgets to let anything else out.

He carries and accepts everything inside him but how can he not feel anything when you're just a few steps away? A man's first love never dies easily.

But you greet them and walk away like it's nothing. Like he was nothing. Really, what was he expecting anyway? Maybe seeing you again had him go crazy. He laughs bitterly internally because he can't burden his members with this too.

But it hurts, doesn't it?

how can you look at me and pretend i'm someone you've never met?

For some reason though, you don't wish for another chance. You both don't wish or think of a what if. You both don't look back anymore.

Because you both know it will never be the same again, even if you hadn't disappeared. Because nothing was there anymore.

It will ache, but it will never go back again.

[puprdou]

Hii! I love your writing and I saw you wanted requests soooo, could you write the reader playing with Baji’s hair and he absolutely loves it, even though he was skeptical at first. When they stop he’s disappointed and wants them to do it again? ❤️❤️❤️

yes, yes, of course! sorry for the sort of late reply on this one, anon^^ this will prob just be a short drabble, but i hope you enjoy it!

his low groans and soft moans in content were muffled by the fabric of your shirt, his head buried into your tummy. he was laid between your legs on his stomach, arms wrapping needily around your waist as you played with the silky black locks of hair on his head. you were by far, the only person that baji keisuke would allow to touch his hair. he doesn’t even let his mom touch it!

his hair was just about the only thing on his body he truly cared about, as the rest was just average to him; despite his immense strength and muscles hidden beneath those hoodies and uniforms he wore constantly. but, you were his partner, and he could never say no when you pleaded to play with his hair with those doey eyes of yours.

so, now, here he was, laid between your legs as you played with his hair whilst sitting back against his bedframe. he had a particular hair care routine, so, of course, his hair was soft, fluffy and silky beneath your nimble fingers as they ran through the lucious locks, skin disappearing into the dark black of his hair.

baji was never too big of a believer on all of that kinds of religious crap, nor did he care, but, god, being in your arms like this, your hand running through his hair felt like a blessing straight from heaven. maybe he could get used to this; to your hand in his hair. but, you, and only you, he will allow it for.

of course, he was skeptical about it at first; and why wouldn’t he be? his hair was precious to him, and he’s never let anyone touch it since he was just a child, since those times when his mother was the one who was cleaning him in the baths when he was just a small boy with big hopes and dreams.

but, suddenly, your hand released those fluffy locks of his, making him whine out of displeasure. he lifted his head from your tummy, resting his chin on the little chub of your stomach over the wrinkles of your shirt, looking up at you with dark, lidded bronze eyes and a soft scowl.

“why’d you stop?” he complained, nuzzling and rubbing his cheek onto your shirt now. he used his canines to latch onto the fabric, pulling it up so he can rest his cheek on your stomach rather than the material of your top. this made you giggle, seeing how pouty and upset he got, all disappointed because you stopped petting him.

“awh, you want me to continue giving you pets?” you teased him, giggles erupting from your throat. he’s so cute, you thought. there were times where he was a big, strong, intimidating man, and there were times where he was just a small, needy boy. but, as you always said, a needy keisuke is a happy keisuke, right?

“don’t call it that..” he huffed, grumbling beneath his breath. he felt embarrassed when you called it ’pets’. it made him feel like he was just some needy puppy when you called them that.. he much preferred you to just call it head pats.

“well, what else do i call it..?” you inquired, a brow raised. you simply rested your hand on his arm, which was wrapped around you rather than continuing to play with his hair, gently rubbing the skin with your thumb.

“...head pats. call it head pats. now keep doing it, brat.” he sighed softly as he felt you rubbing his arm, making him nuzzle his face more against the soft skin of your tummy. you giggled in response, rolling your eyes and how pouty he is that you had stopped.

“okay, okay, fine.. just stop pouting.” humming softly, your other hand returned to the top of his head, scratching his scalp as you caressed the gentle black locks of hair. he almost immediately stopped pouting, closing his eyes in happy content.

he placed a soft kiss to your tummy, before just choosing to lay there with you. this was so comforting to him, and he truly would not wish for anything more.

© 2025 𝐏𝐔𝐏𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐔, all rights reserved. please do not copy, modify, steal or translate my works onto other social media platforms.

[dayaar-e-ishq]

Came accross so many posts saying "India is killing innocents" that I am absolutely tired of this app at this point To everyone saying India is killing innocents and the war is not a good thing, get your facts checked (aapka dimaag kaam nhi karta I understand but usse kaam karne pe thoda lagaiye) and go check the details and then come here crying if India is doing right or wrong and FYI which you are definitely lacking India just attacked the terrorist camps and if you are going to come on me about the child's death....remind me where were you people when pakistanis were celebrating on twitter when the children in Afghanistan were killed? Why don't you check it that the child was living in the terrorist camps(and yes the mosque was a Terrorist camp) and there are definitely chances that he was being trained to be a terrorist someday. Are you seriously this dumb or just brainwashed I really don't get it. Pehle jaake kitaabein padho phir aana rona rone ki "India is Israel 2.0" and "India is killing innocents". And before you come womping in the comments also be ready to get the replies. One more thing Pakistan started killing the civilians they bombed schools and hospitals why don't you people talk about that and THINK ABOUT IT HUH? Why is no one talking about Poonch? Where are your coldences? And jaha tak I remember after the pahalgam incident most of the Pakistanis shared stories saying they have nothing to do with it. It's all terrorist camps and now when India is taking them down (which actually you should've done) why are you all suddenly feeling sorry and crying.

Just leaving this here for the ones who were saying India started the war and India should have gone for peace. India itne saalo se peace treaty hi sign karta aya hai...or bardhast ki ek haad hoti hai...iss bar hadd aapne paar ki toh humne action liya abb aapka koi haq nhi banta ki aap India ko peace or shanti ke paath padhaye.

It's a simple thing even I don't want any innocents to be hurt chahe vo kisi bhi country ke ho....but where were any of you when our people were killed just because they were not muslims tab kaha soo gyi thi aapki insaniyat. Why does the cries for peace and humanity only echo when India retaliates. Isn't our blood red enough to stain the headlines.

And you were the ones who told "Go tell Modi" so they told Modi and now that man has taken stand for his country and if you think that's wrong move to the country you are supporting (vo bhi hoga toh nhi cause guess what you also know well ki waha kya hoga aapke jaane ke baad) This made me realize that no one cares about Indians except Indians. Yall are such hypocrites.

One more thing the people saying "we should not celebrate wars" agar aapko yaad nhi hai toh aapko yaad dila du most of the festivals in India are celebrated because good wins over evil after a war. Diwali? Holi? Dusshera? Our culture tells us to celebrate wars because war means the victory of Good over evil.

Just going to leave all of it here cause I was so done with seeing people victimize Pakistan. Be safe everyone near the border especially the people in Punjab Rajasthan Gujrat...Take care and take every precaution you can. Our Army is always going to protect us but we should also support them with taking safety measures. Take care Stay safe.