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literaila · 3 months

Text

three things

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: a fun trip to the grocery store (how do you raise children?)

warnings: a bit of anxiety, a bit too much of gojo

last part | next part

year one.

"no, satoru."

how many times have you said that today?

how many times has satoru pouted--like he's doing right now--and put back whatever he'd plucked off the shelf, grumbling something about how you hated him or you weren't his mom or how he was the one buying everything?

oh, too many times to count. you stopped after five.

megumi rolls his eyes with you, already familiar with this routine, looking at everything in the cart again with the same analytical eye he's had since you all walked into the store. you're pretty sure he's counting the total cost.

it might be cute--the way his frown deepens just a little bit after each new item is added--if it didn't worry you completely.

because it's the first time you've taken the two of them to the store, and the first time you're trying to recall everything their eyes trail over, the things they want but neither of them will say.

you're trying to remember yourself as a kid--if you begged your parents for anything you could possibly want, or if you stood there and stared longingly. but your childhood has always been a dull memory you keep hidden in the attic of your mind.

so you're not sure what to expect.

because neither of them has asked for much, since the first night. tsumiki requested a notebook she could draw in, and megumi asked if you could get gojo to stop talking to him.

the first which you did immediately, even letting gojo get her some expensive pencils to draw with, the second which you... tried.

it hasn't been easy, the past few days. settling two kids into a dysfunctional house didn't exactly fit into your schedule for the week.

"why not?" satoru demands, walking right along slide you, pushing the cart because you'd forced him to. "we need dessert."

"there are seven different types of dessert already in there. i'm hiding at least three of those, by the way."

"i'll find them," satoru grins mischievously, but waves a hand. "we've got two extra people in the house now. i'm not just shopping for me. do you want them to starve?"

you roll your eyes, again. then pull on his hair, which he squeaks at. "you're only shopping for you. i've seen your pantries, you know. and i lived with you for three years. we all saw your grocery lists."

satoru is about to say something, but tsumiki giggles. maybe at the stupid way his face looks.

the way he's almost smiling, even in denial. how his eyes show from just behind his glasses, his brows moving like a separate entity on his face.

you haven't really talked to him, the past couple of days. nothing beyond a question about megumi's technique, or where the two of them went to school.

how long will it take before you finally ask him--

you look over to tsumiki, shaking your head at satoru and smiling back.

"megumi doesn't like sweets much," she adds to you, easily.

you add it to the mental list of things you know about them.

you look at the little boy, and he nods, looking straight ahead. his shoes catch on the ground every couple of steps like they don't fit right.

satoru gasps like this is an outrage. because not drinking straight sugar is offensive to him.

"what?" he asks, stopping all three of you so he can grab megumi by the shoulders. "were you cursed?" he inspects the boy carefully, peering over the glasses on his face.

megumi seems to sink back with each glance of his eyes, his face turning red.

"cursed to deal with you, maybe," you tell him, pushing him away from megumi. the boy fixes his hair--which had been pushed over his eyes--and glares at satoru.

"he doesn't like sweets?" the man repeats, mouth open, glancing at all three of you like he's not sure that any of you are sane.

"you say that as if you don't eat enough for all four of us."

"i need the calories," satoru whines, fluttering his eyelashes at you. you ignore him--and the funny way you feel about the gesture.

you look at both of the kids, observing the two of you closely, and give them a look. a look as in, he's crazy.

megumi swallows. "i like dango."

"great!" you nudge satoru to keep walking. "we'll get some."

"that's it?" satoru prods. "what about--"

you pinch his hip and shake your head, glaring at him when he pouts at you again.

you step on his heels as you walk through the aisles, still watching the kids with sharp eyes, trying to figure out anything they might want.

tsumiki murmurs something to megumi every once and a while, but beyond that, they only walk alongside you and satoru, stepping out of the way of any other adults that pass by.

honestly, you might as well have taken them to the park. they don't even glance at any of the shelves--except when satoru pushes one of them away to grab something. at least at the park, they'd be getting some fresh air.

after you sigh in--what? frustration? disappointment?--for the fourth time, satoru gives you a look, raising his brows. you shake your head.

he nudges you with his shoulder but doesn't say anything. whistling while he sneaks more sugar into the cart.

after the fifteenth minute of this, megumi falls in stride beside you and you look down at him. his eyes evade yours, focusing on the necklace you're wearing instead.

"um, i have to use the restroom," he says to you, soft and embarrassed.

"okay," you place a hand on his back, gently turning him around, "i think it's just over here," you say, listening as satoru follows along idly.

"me too," tsumiki says, trailing on your other side.

the store is almost completely empty, so you tell the two of them that you'll wait right outside the door, and lean against the wall, watching the both of them disappear.

satoru is already looking at you.

"what?" you groan, glaring at the doors.

"what what?"

you sigh. his voice is annoying. "why are you looking at me?"

satoru is too close for comfort, his arm brushing against yours--uncomfortably of course because he is the worst--without a care in the world. "what's up?"

"what do you mean?"

"why are you acting weird?"

"i'm not acting weird," you look at him, frowning.

he's wiping his glasses on his shirt--like he can actually see out of them--and looking at you quizzically. "oh, so you staring at tsumiki and megumi like they're a science experiment isn't weird?"

you ignore him and his stupid blue eyes.

"if i was doing that you'd push me down a flight of stairs, but okay..."

you sigh again, rolling your eyes. and then again. and then you relent because satoru's silence will inevitably break you. "they haven't asked for anything," you say, almost whining to him. "you told them they could pick out whatever they want."

satoru shrugs. "so they don't want anything."

"everyone wants something, satoru. especially kids."

"everyone?"

"yes. i'd expect you to know better than anyone," he laughs but you frown. "it's a human trait."

he smirks, leaning down towards you. "what do you want, then?"

you scoff, flicking his forehead. "i want them to feel comfortable. and i want you to stop bugging megumi."

"but he makes it so easy," satoru says, pretending to be innocent.

"you're the adult, here," you say, even though you don't really believe it--nor should you. "act like it."

"all the kid does is scowl," satoru complains. "i'm just trying to make him comfortable."

"by invading his space?"

"you stare from far away, i stare from up close."

"you antagonize."

satoru grins, crossing his arms, very pleased with himself. he's silent again.

the past year has almost made you forget that satoru knows you like this. he's always known how to keep you talking, how to read your face and your hesitant glances.

it's not like time could make him forget. it's not like you've forgotten anything about him.

"you aren't worried?" you ask, after a second.

"about the kids?"

"yes," you say, obviously, "that we're already messing something up."

he gives you a dubious look. "it's been four days."

and he's right. you can't expect to understand either one of them after seventy-two hours of merely knowing about their existence. but you don't know how to treat kids like these, because any mistake you make--anything you say--will inevitably come back to haunt you.

"it's--" you shake your head. satoru doesn't worry about anything, so you don't even know why you're bringing it up. "it's like when you play with someone else's kid and feel like you're breaking some unspoken rule. except this time we're the ones making the rules. there's no one to tell us if we mess up."

"i think megumi would tell us," satoru answers, almost sarcastically.

"he's the kid, idiot," you groan. "he doesn't know."

"rude," satoru is still grinning. "what could you have messed up, at this point? all you've been doing is asking them questions. that's pretty straightforward."

"maybe it's too much, too fast."

satoru snorts, shaking his head at you. "grocery shopping?"

"everything."

satoru raises a brow at you, watching as you deflate. you feel like each move you make takes a little more air out of you, and who's to say when you'll finally run out?

how many mistakes do you have to make to finally get it right?

and you know--and you know that he knows--that it's not just about them, but about you. is this too fast? is this too much?

satoru rests a hand on your head. "you're too in your head about this."

"well, i have to do it for the both of us."

he ignores that. "if they need something, they'll ask," the words are soft, genuine. he's completely sure like he always is. "you made it clear that we're just here to help. it's been four days."

you sigh, nodding reluctantly.

"we'll figure it out," he says, simply. "you don't need to worry about anything. i mean, i'm here, so..."

you push his hand away, glaring. "megumi doesn't even talk to you."

"hey, yes he does."

"to call you a freak, maybe. or tell you to shut up."

"don't be jealous of my relationship with megumi. we're bonding."

you roll your eyes but find a laugh making its way out of you.

he's always been good at this, too. making everything seem easy.

when tsumiki comes out of the bathroom door, she smiles at the sight of the two of you still there--both talking animatedly, with similar glares in your eyes. she settles in beside satoru, copying him as she leans against the wall.

"you think i'm great, don't you tsumiki?" satoru asks her, goading.

she nods immediately.

you snort and look away while tsumiki giggles when satoru leans down to smack a kiss on her cheek.

something inside of you warms, just briefly.

and then megumi comes out, rubbing his hands together. unlike tsumiki, he glares at satoru and chooses to stand beside you.

"okay," satoru clasps his hands together. "are you both ready to go?"

"um," you turn to him. "satoru we haven't--"

megumi nods immediately, looking a bit brighter at the prospect, and tsumiki furrows her brows, questioning.

"great! both of you pick out three things that you want and then we'll leave."

megumi glowers.

"three things?" you clear your throat. "they need more--"

"three things," satoru repeats, looking right at megumi while he says it. some words pass non-verbally between the two of them. you might have to tell satoru not to talk to megumi about anything without you. "we'll get everything else we need."

tsumiki runs alongside megumi and grabs his arm, which he allows, though you watch his eyes roll.

"go on," satoru shoos them away, smiling all proudly. when they're gone, he turns to you again. "there. now you don't have to worry about picking something they like."

and he reaches his hand to grab yours, as a simple habit.

satoru has never tip-toed around the line of physical contact. even with shoko, even when she would push him off.

something passes between the two of you. holding his hand is familiar; egged on by four years of standing alongside him.

you try not to flinch away from the contact.

and, sure, satoru probably just lost both of them in the store, and you don't actually have everything else you need, or know what those things are, but he's smiling at you.

he's trying to be reassuring.

so you smile back and let him hold your hand.

"we'll figure it out," he whispers to you, and you push the cart this time while the two of you try to find the children he just lost.

later that night--after forcing satoru to put away the groceries with the rest of you--megumi lets you sneak into his room with a (third) bag of candy that satoru grabbed last second, acting like you wouldn't notice.

"where's the best hiding spot for this?" you ask him, looking around.

it's pretty doubtful that satoru would risk going into megumi's room just to look for it. and, you're sure, that megumi probably wouldn't let satoru open the door, nonetheless go through his things.

the boy points at his dresser and moves some clothes so you can hide it at the bottom of one of the drawers. he doesn't even question your motivations.

as you back out of the room again, you make him promise not to tell, and, for a single second, megumi smiles back at you, crossing his heart.

next part

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merakiui · 1 month

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the birds and the bees.

yandere!riddle rosehearts x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, slight dub-con, implied stalking, age gap (riddle is 19 and reader is 29) note - you're hired to teach riddle about the birds and the bees. you need the money. he needs to get laid.

The Rosehearts’s Residence looks about how you expected it to after driving past houses of similar size and grandeur. Unlike you, they’re definitely not strapped for cash. It’s an impressive structure with its elegant wrought iron gates and expertly trimmed hedges. You’re immediately overcome with bitter jealousy when you step through the entrance, passing rose bushes in full bloom. If only your apartment could look and feel as nice as this place. You almost wonder if you should keep Mrs. Rosehearts’s contact in case she ever needs a gardener or a window washer…

But then that risks your cover, and the last thing you want is to get tangled up in trouble with the upper middle class.

Gathering your courage, you smooth invisible wrinkles in your pencil skirt, steady your balance in your Mary Janes—both at socially acceptable lengths and heights—and bring your fist down against the door. Seconds after the third knock, it opens to reveal a woman who looks as prim and proper as the landscape of her home. She takes a long moment, drinking in your formal features, and then smiles approvingly.

“Ah, (Name), you’re early.”

You soften your face into something polite and demure. “Better early than late.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

She steps aside, gesturing for you to come in. You meander into the foyer and are instantly reminded of those exquisite house tours on MagiTube. There’s a fine layer of modest Victorian wealth to the decor. Flowery wallpaper, a lofty ceiling, an aureate chandelier, a vase filled with fresh tulips of all colors… Oh, how you wish you could live here!

“Your home is beautiful,” you comment as you straighten your bow headband.

“Why, thank you.” Her eyes light up once more. “I’ve always admired this neighborhood. Everything is so well-kept. Speaking of which, where did you say you’re from?”

“Oh, I’m actually getting ready to move back to school at the end of the summer,” you explain, narrowly dodging her question. No way I’m telling her I live in a not-so-affluent neighborhood… She’ll totally kick me out. “I’m staying with my parents in the meantime and working a few jobs to support myself.”

“And what was it you’re studying again?”

You paste a hollow smile on, sensing her distrust. I already told you this when we met at the clinic. Do I really seem so suspicious?

“I’m studying to be an ob-gyn.”

“A wonderful profession,” she praises, nodding to herself. “Very wonderful indeed. And how old are you? I merely ask to confirm. There are so many miscreants nowadays. You can never be too sure.”

“I understand completely, Mrs. Rosehearts. I’m—” you almost falter, your real age on the tip of your tongue— “twenty-two. What about your son? You told me he’s also looking to get into the medical field?”

“Not looking. He will pursue medicine,” she corrects sternly. “Just like his mother.”

You swallow your disgust and try not to let it show so openly. Yikes… Talk about controlling.

Mrs. Rosehearts waves you onwards down the hall. “My Riddle will be leaving for his first year of college at the end of August. Though I’m certain he’s more than prepared, it never hurts to review.”

“Absolutely. So you’d like me to give him the talk?”

“Not just that. I’d like you to teach him well enough so that copulation and any other libidinous ideas are the last things on his mind. Stamp them out if you must. He’s to focus on his studies and make good decisions just as I raised him.”

Shouldn’t he already be familiar with this? Besides, he’s not a kid. Of course he’s going to think about sex. Most of us do when we’re horny.

But you can’t say that outright, so you settle for something vastly different.

“It’s important to stay on the right path and be responsible.”

Mrs. Rosehearts nods her agreement. Your stomach twists in discomfort.

On second thought, I don’t want to be upper middle class if these are the people I have to deal with. Is this guy going to have any chance to be social? To live his life? To make and learn from stupid mistakes? I bet he can’t wait to get out of here and go off to school.

“I apologize if this is rude in any way, but I just want to ensure I’ll be paid accordingly.”

“Of course. Good work must always be recognized and rewarded.” She stops at a door. “I cannot thank you enough for lending my Riddle your time. Teach him well.”

“I’ll do just that. You can count on it.”

Pleased with the level of maturity you’ve displayed, she raps her knuckles against the door and calls out, “Riddle, the tutor’s here.”

“Very well, Mother. I’ve just finished today’s readings, so you can send them in,” comes a muffled reply.

Today’s readings? you think, perplexed. Your gaze slides from the door to Mrs. Rosehearts. Does she have this guy doing summer school? That must suck! What a shitty way to spend your summer, cooped up inside filling out workbooks and stuff.

“I’ll be out running errands in the meantime. I trust you’ll be all right by yourself?”

“Perfectly all right,” you assure her, to which she hums and strides past you. You catch her perfume as she departs, and it reminds you of the types of scents worn by saggy, old ladies who have nothing better to do than sit around and complain about the state of the world and the way their children turned out.

In other words, a scent you associate with misery.

You wait until she’s out of sight before opening the door and stepping inside the study. There’s a mahogany desk in the center, and thick textbooks are piled high on either side. Beyond that, beside a big bay window with cream-colored curtains drawn to let in the sun, two large bookcases are packed with an array of tomes. At the front of the room, a blackboard has been built into a wooden frame. Chalk lines the ledge, situated within reach of an eraser. And sitting at the desk, his eyes glued to an open book, is a young man. A pair of round frames sit on the bridge of his nose, slipping ever so slightly down the slope of it when he peers at the page. He pushes them up when he finally lifts his head to greet you.

“Hey.” You wave awkwardly, easing the door shut.

He seems taken aback by your appearance. “Oh, yes. Right. Hello…”

Silence soon fills the space. You wonder if you should just save yourself this nonsensical waste of time and retreat.

“Sooo.” You fold your arms behind your back, rocking on your heels. “Your mother’s probably told you why I’m here.”

“I’m aware.” He shuts his book and stands from his seat. “My name is Riddle Rosehearts. A pleasure to meet you.”

You blink at his outstretched arm. “(Name). Likewise.” You grab his hand and shake firmly.

So stiff…

“So where’re we starting? The basics? You want the whole ‘when a man and a woman love each other very much’ version or—”

Riddle scoffs and yanks his arm back. “I’m not a fool. I’ll have you know I’m well aware of sexual reproduction and what it entails.”

“You can call it sex. No one’s forcing you to be all biological,” you tease. His body goes rigid, and his face reddens in what you assume is flustered annoyance. “Anyways, since you’re not as brainless as Mother Dearest wants me to assume, I’ll just get into it.”

Riddle stares at you, his arms folding over his chest. He looks like he wants to argue, but instead he huffs and lowers into his chair.

Wordlessly, you undo the buttons on your blazer and shrug out of it. Your blouse goes next, untucked from your skirt and shucked. Riddle’s eyes are so wide they nearly pop out of his skull when he spies the white, lacy false collar that just barely covers your breasts. You’re about to step out of your pencil skirt next when Riddle clears his throat.

“W-What’re you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No?”

“I’m teaching you the birds and the bees.”

“N-Not in that outfit! S-Surely not…” He averts his eyes, crimson crawling up to his ears. “You’re practically nude!”

“That’s the point of lingerie, silly.” Your skirt pools around your ankles to reveal the rest of your frilly ensemble. A black-and-white cupless bra and crotchless panties set, both with plenty of ruffles, held together with a pair of garters. Still wearing matching stockings and your precious Mary Janes, you bend down to gather your discarded clothes. They’re set aside on a nearby chair. “You can look.”

“A-Absolutely not!” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut. “Y-You… You’re not decent. It’s rude to stare.”

“Come on. You got past anatomy diagrams just fine.”

Riddle opens and closes his mouth, speechless like a beached fish. Eventually, he manages to gather his coherency. “You’re a tutor, aren’t you? Where’s your dignity?”

“Nonexistent. I lied.” His head snaps over to view you, and he seems so scandalized by your admission that it’s almost comedic. “No way I’m studying to be an ob-gyn. I’m not even in school.”

“What?! But you—”

“It’s fine. I looked the part, didn’t I?” you joke, waving your hand about dismissively. “C’mon, mama’s boy. You’re going off to college. It’s nothing like those stuffy anatomy courses.”

Riddle tries and fails to look at anywhere that isn’t you, his eyes lingering on your chest to the space between your legs to the thigh garter and then to the ceiling. He’s so red you think he might explode.

“You’ve been with a girl before, yeah?”

With lips pursed in a tight line, he shakes his head.

“Sounds about right.”

“And you’re so experienced?”

You flash him a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry about it, mama’s boy.”

“I’m not a mama’s boy!”

“No? So you just let your mother treat you like a little baby at your grown age? You let her pick out sex tutors for you?”

“I—” He stops himself from speaking to mull over your questions. “If it’s what she deems necessary…”

“Because our biggest fear is sexually awkward you knocking up some girl at school, right?”

“I… I would never! Safe sex is—”

“Very important when you’re not trying to conceive. Good boy. See? You know your stuff.”

Riddle’s eyes narrow into vicious slits. You brush his scorching vitriol off and turn towards the board. Procuring a piece of chalk, you scrawl words on it: Birds and Bees 101. Wholly unamused, Riddle folds his arms across his chest.

“Your mother told me you’re gonna study medicine, so you’re probably familiar with everything already. And I’m sure you know all about the baby-making process on a biological level.” You whirl to face him, your tits bouncing with the peppy motion. Riddle swallows thickly. “But just to make sure… Let’s review.”

“R-Review? You don’t mean—”

“What’s this?” Your hands close around your tits. Riddle’s enchanted with the way you squeeze them—the way they depress under your fingers.

“Um… Ahem. Well… T-The breasts. They’re a type of glandular organ located on a woman’s chest, and they’re made up of lots of tissue and fat. There’s the mammary gland—that’s what produces milk. Oh, and then there are the areolas right around the nipples. Those are—”

“You can call them what they are.”

Riddle blinks, shaken from his studious spiel. “W-What?”

“You know the word, mama’s boy.”

He flusters. “Yes, I’m aware. But…”

“No harm in saying it.” You run your fingers over your nipples and giggle sweetly like a schoolgirl. “Go on…”

He inhales a deep breath. “They’re tits,” he mumbles, desultory. “Y-Your tits.”

You clap, beaming brightly. “Well done! Moving swiftly on…” You run your hands down the expanse of your stomach, stopping just beneath your navel. “What’s here?”

“Your womb. O-Otherwise known as the uterus. It’s where a baby grows over the course of nine months.”

“Mhm. Good job.”

He pushes his glasses up his nose, clearing his throat. “There’s more to your reproductive system than the uterus. Lots of parts. Important parts.”

“Right. But I don’t need to quiz you on it. You obviously know your stuff.”

Again, your fingers inch lower until they’re prodding at your folds. Riddle’s breath audibly hitches.

“And this?”

“Your vagina. It’s where—”

“What’s the other word?”

Riddle avoids your stare. “It sounds so vulgar…”

“So what?”

“S-So there ought to be a term that’s more…flattering.”

“Like what?” You approach him and, with the grace of a swan, lift your leg onto the desk to give him a better view of yourself. Shamelessly, you dip your fingers inside to spread yourself. “A guy called it the honeypot once. That pretty enough for you?”

Riddle squeaks and flinches back in his chair, his face now even redder than it was before. “T-That’s fine…”

“Really? I’d have thought the implication in that one is much dirtier than calling it a pussy.”

It takes him a moment to connect the dots, but once he does he gasps. “Ah. Then…”

You press inwards with your fingers, exaggerating a pornographic sigh. “Yeah?”

“Can I… M-May I call it your flower?”

“Sure.” His shoulders slacken with a flicker of relief. Your next words shatter that and his pride in one fell swoop. “That one’s not as special as you think, mama’s boy. I’ve heard it all—every type of flower you can think of.”

“Even a rose?”

“Especially a rose.” His lips twist into a disappointed moue. You chuckle and add, “You can call it a rose if you want. I don’t mind.”

Riddle meets your eyes then, searching them for the joke. When one doesn’t present itself, he relaxes. “All right. It’s a very pretty rose. Soft…”

“Aww. Thanks for saying so. It’s softer inside, y’know. See?” Spreading yourself wider, you angle your hips to bless him with the full view. “My fingers slide right in. Wanna guess why?”

“B-Because the vagina naturally—” He stops himself, his brows knitting together in contemplation. When he speaks next, it’s with a determined sort of conviction. “When you’re aroused, your rose produces a natural lubricant during sexual excitement.”

“Mhm. We call that ‘feeling good and getting wet,’ Dr. Rosehearts.”

“Yes. Y-Yes, I know that.” He eyes your pussy, a ravenous glimmer in his intelligent blue-greys. “And the wetness—it’s supposed to make it feel better. To make insertion easier, I mean.”

“Right again.” You ease your fingers out but not before thrusting them deeper just so he can hear the sinful sounds. They shimmer with your essence, enticing in a forbidden way. “What about the other parts? How about this spot here?” You brush against the hood of your clit, circling it slowly.

Riddle watches, hopelessly spellbound. “The clitoris.”

“I’m impressed. Most guys don’t know about it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“But it’s your most sensitive erogenous zone! Just how uninformed does one have to be to neglect such a crucial part to your sexual anatomy?”

“Woefully uninformed, I’m afraid,” you mutter with a pout. Your fingertips drag your hood up to reveal that pretty, perky nub. “I think it’s dumb your mother wants me to talk you out of sex. You’re going to college. You’re an adult. You’re free to do whatever you want.”

“I…” Riddle frowns at that last line. “I have no interest in it. Besides, it’ll only hinder my studies. If I really need it, I’ll just masturbate. That’s healthy every now and then, and it doesn’t break any rules.”

“Really? No interest at all?” You shoot him a knowing look and run your tongue along your bottom lip. “Because your dick’s telling a different story.”

Riddle sputters, embarrassed, and squeezes his thighs together. His hands fly to cover his lap. “That’s because you’re—” He gazes at the floor. “Because you’re so pretty…”

Temporarily thrown off course, you gape at him. “What?”

“You’re beautiful.”

Gathering the remnants of your mask, you piece it together and laugh. “Not the first time I’ve heard someone describe it like that.”

“Not just your pussy.” Your gaze snaps to his. He smiles, impish. “I’m sure you know what I mean, Teacher.”

You exhale a short laugh. “Someone’s suddenly confident.”

Riddle rises from his seat. His fingers close around your wrist, gently pulling it away from your clit. He moves around the desk to stand in front of you and then, before you can comprehend his intentions, he’s pushing you down onto the desk. You yelp at the sudden change in position, your eyes blown wide when he presses his clothed hard-on against your bare pussy.

“You’re doing a poor job at dissuading me from wanting sex.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“Not in that outfit.” He grabs at the meat of your thighs and parts them. “If Mother knew you lied to her…”

You shake your head at him. “Please don’t tell her. I… I’m being serious. I need this money.”

“Desperately?”

Your lip curls into the beginning of a sneer. You hate feeling powerless more than anything, but the fiery glaze in his eyes is just as troubling. “I’m not going to beg.”

“I haven’t asked for that yet.”

You roll your eyes. “Not funny. I agreed to teach you about sex. We’re not actually doing it.”

“A shame.”

“You’ll find a nice girl at school. Don’t lose hope, mama’s boy. Lots of girls like the smart types who’ll give ’em a lecture on biology and stuff.”

“I think you misunderstand. I don’t want other girls.”

“Okay?”

“My mother’s paying for a tutor and I desire you, so unless you want to leave here as a lying cheat…” He hums, seeming awfully haughty to hold the only thing that tethers you to him above your head. “You need the money, right?”

“Yes. Sure, of course I do. But—” You shift on the desk, silently horrified when he rocks against you. “We can’t. Your mother—”

“Weren’t you the one saying I should live my life? That I have the freedom to do as I please?”

“That doesn’t mean—come on; listen to yourself. You can’t honestly think I’d fuck you.”

“No? And yet you came wearing this outfit, parading around the study with your pussy and tits out.” He glances past you at the window. “And you didn’t even bother to close the curtains… How brazen.”

Your attempt to jerk away from him is made in vain. He pins you down onto the desk, one hand squeezing your breast, while the other works to fish himself from his trousers. Now hard and leaking, his cock rests against your stomach. It’s not a terrible size. If anything, it’s perfect. Just right for your tastes.

“W-Wait! It’s not safe. You can’t—” You inhale sharply, bucking up towards his hand when he presses his thumb against your clit. Biting your lip, you fix him with a glower. “If you pay me… If you promise not to tell your mother—”

Riddle leans in close. “No one needs to know. No one but us.”

Your eyes flit about the room. With a withering sigh, you submit to his touch. “You’d better pull out in time.”

Riddle rolls his hips once and his cock drags along your folds. You hiss through your teeth at this new friction, a sinful delight more dizzying than any type of alcohol consumed in excess. “Do you want to be a mother?”

“What I want has nothing to do with you. I’m just—ooh—t-trying to survive. You wouldn’t know what that’s like, so don’t poke fun.”

Riddle hums, kneading your breast and rubbing you to the edge all at once. It’s so very obviously his first time, his zealous nature trumping any sort of experienced technique. It still does the trick, though, sending little bolts of pleasure up your spine.

“My mother wouldn’t just choose anyone. Her standards are very high.” His eyes flick to your face, drinking in your expression as it shifts with restrained bliss. “Somehow you’ve earned her approval.”

“Lying’ll do that.”

“Maybe.” His fingers replicate the motions you did earlier, though with a singular objective in mind. He’s so focused on succeeding in this endeavor that it makes him look so stiff. Under any other circumstances, you’d find it cute. “Mother always knows what’s best for me. Obviously you’ve met her criteria if she’s hired you.”

“Spoken like a true mama’s boy.” Seeing as this is now your unavoidable fate, you reach up to touch his shoulders. He jolts, his initial glare softening. You tamp down another giggle and massage up and along his arms. “Relax a little. Don’t rush so much.”

Or do. Let’s get this over with before your mother catches us.

Riddle traces two fingers along your labia. He’s quiet as he takes all of you in, and when he sinks three fingers into your gooey heat his breath catches in his throat. “Are you… D-Do you feel good?”

You reach for his unoccupied hand and guide it to your clit. Riddle understands the suggestion well enough, for he massages you slowly. Sucking in another breath, you nod at him.

“Not bad. You’re getting there.”

His neglected cock throbs at the praise, and so you wrap your fingers around it to give it the same amount of attention he’s currently giving you. Riddle grits his teeth at the contact.

“You can move your fingers. Don’t just focus on my clit.”

“Ah. Right. Of course,” he babbles dumbly, so swept up in everything that you are, so very eager to please.

You’re like a work of art pinned to his desk, a delicacy more forbidden than anything from the bakery. Sugary-sweet, adorned in skimpy ruche, you’re a temptation laid bare. Delicately, as if you might shatter, he curls his fingers to press up against your insides. Riddle watches you arch up towards him, your hand working his cock maddeningly slow and steady. It feels good—better than anything he could have ever imagined.

His eyes trail from your lips to your tits to your pussy stretched around his fingers. “Do you have any plans for this summer?”

The sudden question catches you off guard. You were expecting something related to sex, not whatever this new shred of curiosity is. Still, that doesn’t stop you from dragging him closer to the edge of ecstasy with every tug of your fist.

“Why?”

“I… I’d like to get to know you.”

“Me?”

“Of course. You’re more than a body to me.”

“How charming. I just—” You frown, unable to follow where he’s going with this. “Why?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” Even though he says it like it’s a fact, he looks shy. “I want to know you.”

“Uh… Yeah… Okay.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Not that… It’s just hard to imagine you having any girl friends.”

Riddle rolls his eyes and grinds his thumb into your clit. You bite back a whine as his fingers pump in and out of you. “Is that space open or closed?”

“You know which one.”

“You could be the one to close it.”

You meet his eyes then. For a short minute, the two of you hold each other’s stare. And then, breaking free from his hypnotic hold, you squeeze his length gently. He shudders, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

“And what about you? You excited for your first year?”

“Mm, yeah,” he murmurs, rutting into your hand. His fingers spread you open, scissoring gently.

“Just make sure to take time for yourself. Have fun. Live.”

“What did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you were at school—how’d you manage?”

“I never went.” He opens his mouth to interject, but you beat him to it. “Couldn’t afford it.”

“Oh…”

“It’s fine! I’ve got plenty of experience in other things. I don’t need school for that.”

Riddle doesn’t believe your feigned optimism for a second. “If you could’ve gone, what would you have studied?”

You release his cock from your hold and reach up to pull his glasses from his face. Gingerly, minding the fragile frames, you set them aside. You lift your index to your lips, effortlessly coy. “It’s a secret.”

Before he can protest, you tap the hand at your cunt next. Riddle’s fingers, wet and shiny, slide out with a slick squelch. “I think you can do it.”

“What?”

“Go to school and study what you want. I believe in you.”

A wooden laugh tumbles from your lips. “Thanks for the encouragement, mama’s boy.”

“I have a name, you know.”

You smile easily. “You want me to call you something else? How does ‘good boy’ sound?”

Even though he tries not to let it show, his cock betrays his reticence with a small twitch. He’s an open book. Not wanting to give you the satisfaction, he lines himself up instead. Your fingers slip down to spread yourself for him.

“S-Slowly…” you whisper, stumbling over your breath as the head of his cock presses inside. Shallow at first before more inches fill you.

Riddle heaves a shaky gasp, his eyes wide with amazement. “I… I’m inside you…”

“How’s it feel?” “Warm. Soft. Snug. R-Really good.” He bows his head and digs his fingers into your hips. You think he has a dozen more adjectives on the tip of his tongue, each one just as fluffy as the last. “D-Do you feel good? It doesn’t hurt?”

“I’m fine.” You wind your legs around his waist to pull him closer. Your hands come to rest upon his shoulders once more. “Move your hips.”

Riddle does just that. His pace is awkward and inexperienced, every motion unsteady and jerky, as he searches for the right rhythm. He falls into it surprisingly fast, and it isn’t long until he’s smoothly rutting into you. You grab at his shirt, your breath coming in reedy huffs.

“Good. You—haa—good. You’re doing good.” Praise pours from your lips like a waterfall, plentiful and refreshing. It invigorates him, fills him with a confidence that wasn’t there before.

The soft slap of skin on skin fills the room. You keep your voice in check, lest you lose yourself and alert Mrs. Rosehearts. Riddle seems to be doing the same, even though it’s obvious he’s struggling much more than you are. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth to suppress his groans.

“You can touch me,” you whisper, petting his cheek. He blinks at you, his face aflame with a bright blush.

Nervously, he reaches for you and then pauses. Contemplation passes over his features. “What feels better? I want you to—no. I will make sure you cum. I’ve studied it, actually. I know how long it takes.”

“Look at you, doing your research like a diligent student. You want extra credit?”

Riddle chuckles and pinches your clit between two fingers. The rest of your teasing tapers off into a lewd squeal. “What was that about extra credit?”

“You’re awfully bold for your first time.”

“I’m not clueless.” His hips press inwards, plastering you to the desk, and his cock brushes that special spot within—the spot that has you seeing stars, your every nerve tingling with pleasure. You choke around a delighted gasp. Riddle, feeling victorious, places his hand against your stomach, as if searching to feel his cock thrust up inside you. “Will I see you again after this?”

“If your mother wants me to come back and give you another pointless lecture on celibacy and safe sex, sure.”

“No, not that. Outside of this.”

“Don’t you have friends you’d rather hang out with?”

“I…do.”

“So spend time with them.”

Riddle doesn’t dignify that with a retort. With the way his eyes gloss over, you wonder just how many of these friends are within physical distance. The conversation stalls out into silence.

“You’ll make lots of friends at school. So many you’ll probably forget all about me.”

Riddle yanks your hips to meet his, driving himself deeper into your pussy.

“A-And you’ll find a nice girl to love if you’re looking for that kinda thing.”

“I am,” he confesses, breathless. “I want to get married and—mmh—start a family one day… I want to study law—become a lawyer… Mother thinks medicine suits me, but I can’t agree. Law is fascinating. It’s a perfect fit for me. Far better than medicine.”

You drag your thumb over your mouth, wetting it with your lipgloss, and then press it to his lips. The indirect kiss sends a tidal wave of arousal over him, darkening the tips of his ears in striking vermillion. You offer him a gentle smile while he recovers from that devastating flirt.

“I’ll make sure to hire you as my lawyer if I ever get into legal trouble.”

“You’d better not!” He laughs and shakes his head in amused disbelief. “But if you do, I’ll be there for you. Always.”

“Thanks, Riddle.”

Maybe I judged him too harshly. He’s not so bad.

In that stuffy study, just as the late afternoon gives way to red-orange streaked across a purple-pink sky, Riddle fucks you against that desk in all manner of rhythms. It’s when he finally picks up speed that you realize he’s nearing his end. You mirror his enjoyment, strung along by titillating touches and whispered words drenched in sweetness. You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve reached rapture alongside him, your pussy now brimming with cum. There’s so much it leaks out of your slick hole when he draws away, only to burrow his cock deeper to stuff it back inside.

The room reeks of sweat and sex. You think, if not your disheveled appearance, the smell will definitely tell Mrs. Rosehearts all she needs to know.

“I love you,” Riddle murmurs, and you’re about to ask him what he means—maybe he’s caught up in the moment and doesn’t realize what he’s saying—but then he lifts your legs up to fold you into a mating press. Coherent thoughts are knocked out of your head when he spills over, filling you up for the nth time that day. You shiver beneath him, eyes rolled back into your skull and tongue lolling out. You feel so stupid, fucked submissive by some inexperienced, upper middle class mama’s boy. Which isn’t even an insult with real heat to it, but in your hazy mind it’s all you can think of to describe him.

He grinds against you in the aftermath, panting from the exhilaration and adrenaline.

“We need to…open the window,” you mutter, your heart thumping wildly in your chest.

Riddle admires your fucked-out expression in his sex-drunk daze. He slides out just as he feels himself going flaccid. Cum drips onto the desk below. Briefly, you struggle to recall whether or not you took your birth control today.

Something to consider later. Definitely not right now when you’re still clinging to the vestiges of your orgasm.

— — —

Mrs. Rosehearts knocks on the door, opening it to find Riddle sitting at his desk, jotting notes and occasionally pushing his glasses up. You’re standing at the blackboard, writing a list of the consequences of unplanned pregnancies. The room smells pleasantly of roses.

“Pardon my intrusion.”

You gaze at her and smile, wearing the clothes you arrived in. Nothing’s amiss. It’s perfect—thankfully. “Welcome back, Mrs. Rosehearts. We’re just about finished here.”

“Is that right? I assume all went well?”

“Very well. Your son’s a fast learner. Extremely talented.”

“I would expect nothing less.” She withdraws an envelope and hands it to you. “Thank you again for explaining it in realistic terms. Of course I doubt that my Riddle will act senselessly while he’s away, but as his mother I’m prone to worrying. Boys his age are so easily influenced.”

“O-Of course! That’s a very valid concern.” You force a chuckle.

If only she knew.

“Your pay is in that envelope. Should I ever require your assistance again, I’ll be sure to call.”

“Right… Thank you.” You hold it close to your chest. “I’m happy to help.”

You follow her out the door. She pauses to address Riddle. “Do continue reviewing your notes. We’ll convene for dinner in thirty minutes.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Mrs. Rosehearts walks you to the gate. “I wish you luck in your studies. If I don’t see you again at the clinic, have a pleasant summer.”

“Thank you. You as well.” You smile, fidgeting slightly. A bead of sweat tracks a path down your leg from between cum-spattered thighs.

Finally! With this I can pay my rent and still have enough for a treat from the bakery.

It’s worth it, or so you continue to tell yourself.

— — —

From the window, Riddle watches you make the walk to your car. He lifts his phone to fit you in the camera and snaps a secret photo. He continues to watch you until you’ve driven off and turned the corner, disappearing from his sight.

A tiny smile tugs at his lips.

Within his phone, put under a password lock, a special photo album exists. It’s filled with pictures taken from your social media—all of them. Every. Single. One. He’s resourceful when he wants to be. He can play the parody of a tech genius when he sets his sights on something.

And you’re just perfect.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere riddle rosehearts #yandere riddle x reader #yandere riddle #yandere riddle rosehearts x reader #n/sfw #tw: age gap #tw: dubcon #tw: pregnancy mention

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alpaca-clouds · 6 months

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Schrödinger's Disability

"Stop using your autism/adhd as an excuse!" I cannot tell you how often I got to hear that. Because here is the thing: Most people do not perceive either of those two diagnosises as "real". Even if they know they are real. Even medical professionals do not quite... understand it. Even those working with neurodivergent people.

Of course, if someone is the kinda autistic person who has also some sort of mental impairment, people perceive it as a disability - but if it does not come along with that kinda stuff, a lot of people treat it, as if we make an active choice to do or not to do something.

I told this story yesterday: When I was a kid, the following thing would always happen. When we would have art class, some of my pencils would drop from the table. Most likely because of dyspraxia. Now, when that happened I was simply not able to stop what I was doing. Because my brain cannot handle "stopping one thing to do another thing even for just a moment" very well. And it could handle it even worse when I was a kid. But also, I do not have object permanence. So, if an object does not exist within my field of vision, I just... forget about it. So, I often would just forget to pick the pencil back up. And teachers would be: "Oh, this boy is too lazy to pick up his own things." Which was not at all what was happening.

Another thing that happened to me too often is a very typical autism thing: Someone tells me something. But they do not tell me this in plain words, but rather imply it. So... I very much just not understood it. So, for example, I got told on a Discord Server by one user: "I have muted this channel." Which I understood as: "They muted this channel (maybe because it is very active)". What they said was, though: "I do not wanna see this channel, stop tagging me in this."

And mind you, this happens at work and university, too. A good example is the good old question of: "When are you done with this?" Which I usually understand as: "When are you done with this?" But what they mean to say is: "Hurry up, I need this now."

Last semester I had this happen at university even. Basically I misunderstood the final assignment, because it was not spelled out. Thankfully the professor was less of an asshole about it, than most people. I explained it to him, he understood, still got a good grade. But that tends to be more the exception than the rule.

As I said, this is a thing that even medical professionals do not really get. Even therapists do again and again fail to just communicate with autistic people clearly. They do not think about us usually being unable to understand implied meanings. We only understand the literal meaning for a lot of stuff.

And again: This is especially harsh with people like me, who superficially seem to function well in society. Heck, I have been told by professionals that I could not have ADHD or autism, because I archived a master's degree at university. Because they cannot comprehend that both ADHD and autism are a spectrum. It is not something you "either have, or have not" but it is a wide spectrum of symptoms that are differently strong in different people.

In Germany this also shows harshly when it comes to disability benefits. Because autism on its own rarely ever qualifies for disability benefits at all. Mental disabilities that might be linked to autism do. But autism on its own? No. Same goes with ADHD. And this... is kinda silly, right? Because we have studies upon studies that people with autism and ADHD often cannot work fulltime - at least not permanently. And we also know that generally neurodivergent people are more likely to be fired for a plenthora of reasons. So, yeah, we should kinda be treated like disabled, right?

And the worst part? In the parts where you get legally discriminated because of disabilities? Yeah, we still get that. We cannot immigrate into all other contries. Like, I cannot immigrate into New Zealand, for example, even though I would like too, because New Zealand discriminates against people with autism when it comes to immigration.

So... yeah. No, this sucks.

Nobody would tell a blind person overlooking a visual sign: "Stop using your blindness as an excuse". But with autistic people? It is the norm.

#autism #adhd #audhd #actually audhd #disability #disability rights #neurodiversity #neurodivergent

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clovestreet · 1 year

Text

let me- ethan landry

an: i am absolutely FERAL for this man atm...😨i just had to write something abt him..

summary: you have been super stressed about exams lately and ethan knows the best way to make you feel better. (also this is DEFINITELY more soft ethan??) but i like that.. lol

warnings⚠ SMUT (16+), oral (f receiving), strong language

Hell on earth was organic chemistry.

Your absolute fucktard of a professor had scheduled your exam on the same day as two of your other exams. This man had it out for you.

You massaged your temple as you drummed your pencil on your notes. Your brain wasn't functioning anymore. You had been sitting at this godforsaken desk for three hours now. You needed a break.

You forced yourself out of your chair and faceplanted on your bed next to your boyfriend in defeat. You sighed into the mattress and tried to gather your thoughts.

"Something bothering you baby?" your boyfriend laughed as he rubbed small circles into your back, clearly amused by your frustration with trying to memorize aromatic compounds.

"I can't do this anymore E, "I'm actually so exhausted."

"I wish someone would just kill the stupid bastard." you groaned into your palms.

Ethan gulped and immediately froze in his movements and you weren't sure why. But then he was comforting you again like nothing had happened.

"I'm sorry baby. If it makes you feel better, I just failed my last exam."

You laughed as he pulled you closer, the grasp of his arms melting away your stress.

"Honestly, I don't know if anything could make me feel better at this point.”

“Unless you can teach me the structure of carboxylic acid." you said with your hands on his chest staring into his dark eyes.

His chest shook with laughter and it was music to your ears. Ethan was so comforting and even being in his arms took you to a place far away from your worries.

"Definitely can't do that, but I think I can take your mind off it for a little while." he murmured into your lips.

"Oh yeah? How's that?"

"Well it usually starts with my head between your legs” he says in a low whisper.

You immediately feel your cheeks flush with warmth and squeeze your legs together.

You completely froze and waited for him to finish his sentence.

“ ..And ends with you screaming my name or something like that." he says with a devilish smirk.

He grins like a lovesick bastard at your embarrassment and tilts his head down to connect his lips to yours. He smiles into the kiss and you can feel your pulse weakening at the way his tongue explores your mouth.

His lips travel down your neck and you know exactly where he's going. You pull him off of you and look him in straight in his hazy brown eyes.

You and Ethan had been together for a little over a year now and you had been intimate more times than you could even begin to remember. You still got nervous before he went down on you and you just couldn't help but feel insecure sometimes, but Ethan always made you forget about all of it when he touched you.

"E, are you sure? You really don’t have to, I-”

He immediately stops you with a confused expression on his face.

“Baby are you kidding? I live for this shit.”

“I should probably get back to studying E, I just-"

He cut you off again, this time taking your head into his hand and made sure you met his gaze.

"Fuck studying. Let me make you feel good babe."

His thumb gently brushed over your cheek as he searched your eyes for an answer.

"Ok, fine." you said softly with a shy smile on your face.

"That's my girl." he said with a grin spreading over his face as he placed the softest kiss on your lips.

His fingers danced their way over your ribs under your shirt and his lips were placing gentle kisses on your hipbones. His fingers made their way down to the waistband of your shorts and his eyes quickly glanced up to yours asking for consent. You quickly nodded your head, becoming more and more eager for him to touch you by the second.

He pulled down your shorts gently and tossed them behind him. He hooked his fingers under your lace panties and pulled them down painfully slow. Once they were off, he grabbed both of your legs and put them over his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around your legs and pulled them open.

He looked up at you through lustful eyes while licking his lips.

"I got you. Always." he said in a low whisper placing a kiss on your inner thigh.

You brushed a gentle hand over his curls and offered a weak smile to him. You could feel your anticipation for his touch becoming stronger and your legs were shaking before he even touched you.

You could feel his breath on you and you couldn't take it anymore. You wrapped your fingers in his curls and guided him onto you.

He licked up your slit as you sucked in a shaky breath. Your thighs immediately clenched around him, but his strong hands pulled your legs right back open. His tongue started to circle around your clit and your fingers were already tugging on his curls. He groaned into you and the vibration had you letting out a choked moan.

"Right there E." you gasped.

He looked up at your face contorted in pleasure and started to grind his hips onto to the bed. Ethan was the kind of boyfriend who genuinely could get off from pleasuring you and have absolutely no shame about it.

He was lost in the taste of you and you were lost in his touch. You couldn't even remember what you were stressed about in the first place. Your mind was consumed by the feeling of his tongue sloppily tasting you and swirling around your clit, the tight grip of his fingers prying open your thighs, his dark eyes peering up at you through hooded lids occasionally rolling back into his head every time you moaned his name.

His hand slid carefully down your thigh as he slipped his middle finger into you, pumping in and out at a deliciously slow pace.

Your fingers tugged harder on his curls and he practically moaned into you.

"F-feels so good E, you're so good" you whined.

"I know baby I know, I'm gonna get you there I promise." he murmured into you, pressing wet kisses on your clit.

His words made you toss your head back and your back arch off the bed.

He slipped another finger into you, pumping a little faster this time.

Your fingers loosened from Ethan's hair and slid down his bare shoulders. His fingers started to curl inside you, purposefully hitting the spot he knew would send you over the edge. You moaned loudly and your nails dug into his back.

He groaned into you so loudly it almost caught you off guard. If you hadn't known better, you would have thought you hurt him. But you knew better by now. His sounds sent you even closer to the edge.

"Come on babe, let go for me." he breathed into you.

You could feel yourself impossibly close to your high with Ethan's gaze trained on your face. The second Ethan's nose rubbed your clit you were done for.

All you could do was moan his name over and over again, your nails digging into his back sure to leave marks. He fucked you all the way through your high until you were practically dragging him off of you.

You put your hand on the back of his neck and guided him toward your lips. God, he was so beautiful, even with the taste of you glimmering all over his features. You pulled him down into a breathless kiss and brought him closer by draping your leg over his waist.

He drew back and cupped your jaw looking down at you.

"I really hope you're not thinking about studying anymore tonight, because all I want to do-"

"Shut up and kiss me Landry."

#ethan landry #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry imagine #scream 6 smut

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drewsbuzzcut · 3 months

Text

Standing On The Sun And I Don’t Feel A Thing

mat barzal x model!fem!reader

a visceral in doses fic

warnings: hospitals, miscarriages, mentions pain, nausea, and blood, mentions abortion, mentions panic attacks, grief, anger, some angst, and mat being kind of mean, also mentions trying for a baby and I think that’s all (pls let me know if I missed any)

this takes place september 2030

“Where are the kids?” You ask, voice hoarse and eyes puffy.

“Shhh shhh. The kids are with Bev. Baby, what happened? I got a call from the hospital and I went straight to drop the kids off, thank god Beverly was home,” Mat takes a seat next to the side of the hospital bed. He brings your hand into his and you can tell he’s been crying.

“I-“ you start but stop as you start coughing.

“You need some water,” he presses the call button that alerts the nurse.

After a few sips of water, you close your eyes to try to gather your thoughts about all that you could remember.

“This morning, after I got to the photo shoot, I started feeling nauseous and my lower back was in a lot of pain. I just thought I was about to start my period. I don’t really remember anything after that. I think I remember seeing blood and then everyone started freaking out. Eventually everything went black,” you recall the foggy events that led you here.

“Do you know what happened? Did the doctor come to talk to you?” He asks but tries to hide his frantic state.

“I just woke up. I’m still in pain. I don’t know what’s going on. I’m scared, Maty,” you grip his hand really tight, bringing his palm up to your cheek for warmth and comfort.

“It’s going to be okay, baby. I love you. I’m here and you’re going to be okay,” he whispers against your forehead, willing his tears to go away.

A knock sounds on the door and Mat tells them that they can come in. The look on the doctor’s face makes you go pale.

“Is everything okay? Am I okay?” You ask warily.

“It’s nothing too serious, but I regret to inform you that you’re miscarrying at the moment,” the words fade out, your head fuzzy and heart pounding.

“I’m sorry what?” Mat says in shock.

You try to take deep breaths but everything feels shallow.

“Mrs. Barzal, you’re going through a miscarriage which is why you are experiencing severe pain and were bleeding earlier. We do, however, want to perform an ultrasound to confirm,” the doctor says in an eerie tone.

Tears spring to your eyes and you shake your head. This cannot be happening. The nausea returns and twists at your abdomen.

“That’s not possible,” you whisper.

“It’s what your blood test is telling us. We’re going to take you to a different room for your ultrasound,” the doctor says along with some other information before they leave the room.

“Oh my god,” you cover your face with your hands and throw your head back.

“I love you,” Mat kisses your forehead.

“This can’t be happening,” is the only thing you say.

An hour later it’s confirmed that your body is going through a miscarriage, and you feel like everything beneath your feet has been taken from you. You feel so empty and you didn’t even know you were pregnant.

You close your eyes and force yourself to fall asleep, but even then your mind still reels at the events of the day. Not even Mat’s hesitant touch can help you feel better.

“Y/n, wake up,” you hear Mat whisper softly in your ear a couple hours later.

You blink your eyes, the blinding light of the room making your head hurt.

“The doctor said that you will be discharged in about an hour,” he informs you, but you honestly just hear static.

Everything from that point on is a blur of unshed tears and horrific thoughts. The shrill sound of your babies wanting to be in your arms when you get home momentarily distracts you, but that emptiness lingers. You try to distract yourself with being a mom and setting up dates with your close friends. You move throughout the house, cleaning every surface over and over again to keep you sane. You go through about 4 wooden pencils as you write and write until you’re snapping each pencil in half with your strong grip. You take extra long showers to wash away each trace of grief that may be left on your body.

After a week of feeling like a robot, you start to feel every emotion you’ve been trying to push down come back up. It doesn’t help that Mat pulled himself away from you. You don’t remember the last time you had a full conversation that didn’t revolve around your kids or random topics that warranted a 30 second talk. You cancel all plans and lock yourself in the guest bedroom.

The empty feeling spreads from your stomach all over your entire body. How could you not know you were pregnant? Why wasn’t your body strong enough to keep them alive? Why did you feel so alone despite Mat being a father and a mother all while he’s trying to help you?

You sob your eyes out and twist in agony, because each time you feel like you might be okay, you’re reminded that your body failed you. No one prepares you for what it feels like to lose something you didn’t even know you could lose. You hate yourself for feeling this way, because it’s selfish when you already have kids and a husband. A family that’s already felt complete, but now it just feels broken.

It takes several phone calls to your therapist before you feel like you can function without your heart aching every second. You realized that you need your babies’ hugs and kisses. You needed to feel some kind of love.

You attempt to put back all of your broken pieces by playing with your children or napping with them. Simply just being around them puts a smile on your face. You start to feel yourself come around more. You start hanging out with friends again and laughing and feeling anything but sadness. You try to be more positive in situations you’d automatically become upset with.

The only thing that’s keeping you down is Mat. He’s become really good at being just a roommate. He’ll work with you when it comes to the kids, but other than that the space between you both feels like miles rather than inches. You’ve let him keep to himself, because you’re not sure how he’s coping with what happened- especially because you’ve locked yourself away for the past week or so.

Eventually you get tired of his silence and pressure him into talking to you.

“What’s going on?” You ask one night when he’s just getting out of the shower.

“What are you talking about?”

You stay silent for a minute and just watch him. His face conveys nonchalance, but his body is rigid.

“You know what I’m talking about, babe. Why have you been so distant with me? Is it because I’ve been sad? I’m better now and even if I wasn’t, you can still talk to me,” you say, walking up to him and putting a hand on his shoulder.

His body stiffens and he slowly moves away from your touch.

That really hurts.

“It’s not about that, Y/n. Believe it or not, I’m not feeling this way because you were or are sad,” he blurts out.

He continues to move around the room, getting dressed and putting on lotion.

“Okay. So what’s wrong? Why are you being pissy with me?”

“Like you don’t know,” he says.

“Obviously I don’t. Why do you think I’m asking?” He’s really starting to make you mad.

“How could you not tell me?” He finally asks.

“Not tell you what? I’m so confused right now,” you tug on your hair and shut your eyes, trying to come up with the missing details.

“How could you not tell me that you were pregnant? I had to find out by seeing you in the hospital because you were having a miscarriage,” he just about shouts and it makes you flinch.

“I didn’t even know I was pregnant. I was just as in the dark as you were. I would’ve told you if I was pregnant. I can’t believe you’d think that I’d keep something like that from you,” you explain with your voice and head low.

“Shit. I- I’m sorry. I just assumed that you knew and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. I love you,” he gathers you in his arms and just holds you.

“I’m sorry I pushed everyone away. I just needed some time to think about things and to be sad,” you say through tears.

“It’s okay. I love you,” he kisses your temple.

“I love you.”

Later that night you’re both in bed, cuddling and basking in the comfortable silence.

“Mat?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I think you should get snipped,” you voice your most recent thought.

“What?” He questions because he’s not sure if he’s hearing things.

“I really think you should get a vasectomy,” you reiterate.

“Wait… why?”

You adjust in his grip so you can fully face him. Your hand goes to rest on his cheek and you thumb at his skin.

“I think I’m done with having babies. We have 3 and I think that’s enough,” you say.

“No. That’s not what I meant. I mean why do I have to be the one to get the procedure done?”

“Well why not?” You ask back.

“I can’t get that because I have to be sharp for hockey. I can’t spend weeks just lazing around during a recovery period, you know that. You should get your tubes tied,” he explains and you let out a scoff.

You move away from him and get off the bed in favor of pacing around the room.

“I’ve held each of our babies inside of me for 9 months. I breastfed all of them. I just had a miscarriage for a baby I didn’t even know existed. My body is constantly changing. That’s not always an ideal situation for my career, especially because my body is an important aspect of my job. Hell, I’m practically art! So, no, I’m not going to be the one to get my tubes tied,” you rant, eyes squinted and a frown wrinkling your forehead.

“I thought that’s why you started taking classes at Pratt, so modeling wouldn’t be the only thing you have going for you?” He replies, subtly putting words in your mouth.

Your every feature turns down in a sad and disappointed pout. You honestly didn’t see this conversation going in this direction. The whiplash is unreal.

“That’s not what I was aiming for when I decided to take some classes. You’re being a real ass right now,” you bite.

“I’m being an ass? What about you? You just assumed that I don’t want any more kids. You know, I want you to at least want one of them, because if you haven’t noticed you really didn’t want either of them,” he spits out, face red as a tomato.

That makes you cry. That assumption that you never wanted your kids makes you die on the inside.

“At first, you wanted to get an abortion with Nolan,” he says when you stay silent.

You cross your arms over your chest and cock up an eyebrow, daring him to continue.

“You didn’t really want Angel. I remember you saying that you didn’t want any more kids after Nolan,” he adds.

You glare at him in return.

“Lastly, you said you didn’t really like the timing of Sloane and I can’t blame you, because you went and broke up with me and then hid it from me. No wonder I thought you hid this one, too,” Mat rips into you, voice laced with venom.

“You listen to me, Mathew Barzal, if I really didn’t want to have our kids, I wouldn’t have had them. Believe me when I say that. Of course I wanted our kids. Was I scared out of my mind each pregnancy? Yes! Would I take them back? Hell no. I love our babies, so for you to say that really sucks,” you respond, wiping away your tears.

He just shakes his head in return.

“I’m scared of pregnancy. I just lost a baby and you expect me to want to try for another one? I don’t know if I can do that for you, for us,” you correct your last couple of words before he can turn them into something else.

He watches you, staying silent as you fall apart at his feet.

“Is this going to be the end of us?” You ask.

“Why is it always a breakup with you? Is that what you really want? Deep down, do you really not want to be with me?” He accuses.

“No! I just feel like you don’t love me, so I’m not going to beg you to stay if that’s not what you want. I can’t even give you a baby, so there’s that,” you admit.

“I lost the baby, too,” Mat points out.

“I know that, Mathew. I know, but you don’t understand what it’s like as a mother to go through a loss like that. My body should be capable of growing a life. Then you go and say that I didn’t even want my kids. You don’t know what it feels like to feel so utterly empty and alone. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t know that they existed, because as a mother, I should’ve known,” you whisper as your voice starts to become strained.

You feel your chest start to cave in on you and the lack of support makes your knees buckle. You go straight to the floor, tucking your knees into your chest for some kind of stability. You’ve never seen Mat so upset. You’ve never been on the receiving end of it. Part of you is mad at him for the way he’s talking to you, but another part of you understands. This whole miscarriage has turned your world upside down. You’d be naive to think that it wouldn’t affect him too.

“Baby, don’t cry. It wasn’t your fault. I love you, always. I promise it’s going to be okay,” he wraps you in his arms and squeezes you to his chest. He beats himself up for the way his words caused you to crumble. Seeing you break after already being broken down snaps him out of his anger. His word vomit just spewed out, but maybe it was a good thing because everything was out on the table.

You don’t blame him, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

He doesn’t know it, but the beat of his heart does wonders to calm you down before you can have a panic attack.

“Do you hate me?” You lock your hands behind his neck, desperate to have him pressed to you in any way possible.

“Never. I’m sorry I made you feel like I did. I swear I would never hate you,” he rubs your back.

“You said I didn’t want our babies,” you get out through the remnants of your cries.

“Do you really feel that way? Be honest,” you speak again.

“Part of me used to feel that way, but every time I see you with our babies, I see how much you love them. You’re the best mama bear to our little loves. I wouldn’t have had kids with you, if I felt certain that you didn’t want them. I was just being an asshole,” he whispers into your temple.

You sniffle at his response, feeling another bout of tears ready to fall because you never knew he felt that way.

“Are you sad about the miscarriage?” You need his feelings to be transparent.

“Yeah. A lot more than I thought I would be. I’m also angry, because you shouldn’t have had to go through that. I should’ve known you were pregnant, maybe things would be different,” he answers honestly.

“It’s not your fault either. This is just a really sucky thing,” you try to comfort him, but you can see the tears in his eyes and the way his bottom lip wobbles.

“I’m sorry for being mean. I can’t take it back, but just know that I love you so much,” he finally cries.

You pull him closer, hand caressing his neck and back and you kiss his cheeks.

“We’ll work through it. We always do. Do you really want another baby?” You look into his eyes.

“I do. One more baby barzal, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to because I made you feel bad about an insecurity I have,” he admits, thumb wiping away your tears. His forehead leans against yours and for the first time in a couple of weeks, you feel whole.

“Insecurity?” It’s the first you’re ever hearing about it and it shocks you to your core. For as long as you’ve known Mat he’s always been the secure and stable one.

“I sometimes thought you were just having kids to please me and not because you were ready to have them. I guess I was feeling insecure about our age gap. I finally got somewhat of an understanding of what you used to feel like,” he explains and you feel guilty for never realizing.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me? I could’ve soothed your worries a long time ago. Like I said, I had our babies because I wanted to.”

“I thought I could get away with it, but I guess it just bubbled up until I couldn't hold it in anymore. I promise to come to you whenever I get an insecurity, or just any little problem really. You’re my wife, I need you all the time,” he pulls you in for a kiss. You try to kiss every single one of his worries away.

“I would like to purposely try to make a baby, but I don’t know when I’ll be ready. Just have some patience with me,” you say into his mouth.

He shakes his head.

“I don’t want to pressure you into having another baby if that’s not something you want to do.”

“Mat, baby, you’re not pressuring me into anything. I’ve been having some baby fever lately. Miss Sloane is getting older, so it’d be nice to have another baby,” you assure him.

“Whenever you’re ready, I’m ready,” he says, pulling you into a kiss.

“I love you. We’re going to get through this,” you promise him. And you will,, no doubt about it.

Being riddled with grief and guilt- that can only come from the way you both acted towards each other- will make you both stronger in the end. Stronger as individuals, as a couple, and as parents. You’re just glad you’re going through it all with your husband by your side. It’s Mathew or no one, and it’s safe to say that he feels the same way.

a/n: Looks like mat and model!reader have some therapy and lots of talking to do before they fix everything. As always, hope y’all enjoy!

#mat barzal #mat barzal fanfiction #mat barzal fluff #mat barzal angst #mat barzal blurb #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal smut #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #new york islanders #visceral in doses

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bangchansgirlsblog · 3 months

Text

Bending over back

Warning: kissing? A bit of angst, it’s not traumatizing I promise

Pairing: Chan x reader

Summary: Basically your in love with him but your his assistant.

-A/N: i don’t know how I wrote this, it’s quite boring idk. Prolly gonna do a part two. I don’t like this one. HELP.

"Chan?" Her footsteps followed quickly behind him trying to keep up with him as we walked into the dressing rooms.

"Yeah?" He replied dryly as he sat into the makeup artists chair after saying a quick hello.

"You have a meeting with Eunwo and the PR tea-"

"Y/n honestly I don't have time for this right now. You see I have a show in a few minutes and you decide to tell me all this now?" He scoffed and looked up from his phone.

"No Chan it's just that-"

"Just that what? Look your a great assistant and all but your sometimes so uncoordinated. Do you really expect me to remember all the meetings I have?" He glared up at her.

She was wearing her usual knitted sweater, tight pencil skirt and some lofers. Her hair was up in a bun and she held her IPad and Chan's bag one in each hand.

"I'm sorry, it won't happen again," she hung her head low and looked at the floor.

"Good, now go sit on the couch and sit there looking pretty," he stated and went back to scrolling on his phone.

Y/n was so confused because he would be so nice to her and then be the worst person to her at the same time. It was so confusing-

"oh and for God's sake Y/n what do I say about your sweater? It's ugly, I can't have my assistant walking around in such. Get rid of it. You know what, I'll even take you shopping,"

There it was, his sweet and sour side. Y/n was slowly getting tired of the abusive but at the same time she really didn't mind because she had the biggest crush on her boss. The biggest crush ever since she had join JYP and she walked into their first rehearsals as stray kids.

She basically watched him grow up and her feelings grew even more because of all the time she spent with him. Same hotel, same flight, same car, same house, same office. They were together 24/7 and not once did Chan ever try to make a move on her. He just became more and more bratty and even though she was okay with it, it hurt because she thought that maybe one day he would see her as something more but-

"Y/n get me water please," she heard his voice call for her.

Nope. He wouldn't see her as anything more. She accepted it and she was getting exhausted.

The rooms were all lit and they all had different people in them doing different things so it was very confusing for her to note where what was.

The crowded hallways and the lack of space was slowing her down from completing her task and it was frustrating her. Everyone was busy doing their own thing and wasn't bothering to help her out at all. It was almost like she was invisible.

"Can someone please show me where the water dispensers were set?" She asked anybody that could possibly hear her. No one dared to respond so she finally gave up and went into the other guys' rooms hopeful to find that they had accidentally set all of them there and low and behold a whole box of water was sat in Hyunjin's room.

He was getting his makeup aswell so she quickly slipped in then out. Making sure not to distract anyone and she run down the corridor and back to Chan's room where she found him done with his makeup and was now dressing up.

"Thank you love just drop it over there," he instructed. "Can you go pick up one of my friends from the backstage entrance. Her name is Min-Ji. Giver her this so they can let her in," he passed her another backstage pass with her name on it. His smile was very visible. Was this his new girlfriend?

Who was she? Was she pretty?

These thoughts run through her mind as she walked down the same corridors once again until she made it to the backstage door. She gave one of the body guards a high five with a bright smile and handed him the pass.

"I'm here to pick up Chan's friend," she smiled as she told one of the popular and most familiar guards.

"Oh, Chan has a new friend now?" He teased.

"Yeah I geuss, I've never met her before. Do you see her anywhere out there?"

"I'll have to make a call, one second," he Smiled and made his way back outside making sure to lock the door behind him for safety purposes and after what felt like hours but were actually 10 minutes, he came back with a girl. A really really skinny, pretty girl. Her eyes were perfectly shaped, he body was shaped like an hour glass, her skin was made of glass, her lashes were long and she had such beautiful lips.

She was dressed in a two piece and really looked/smelled good. Y/n was comparing herself so hard. The way she dressed was no way compared to the way this girl was dressed and her beauty was no way near the way this girl looked. Her heart was beating at a fast pace and now she knew that she had no chance against her. She knew Chan would never go for a girl like her when he was right next to whoever this was. It made her sad thinking about it.

"Hey! You must be Chan’s assistant," ouch, assistant? Was that all she was? "I'm Min-Ji but everyone calls me Jiji," she smiled and put out her hand for a shake.

"I'm Y/n. The assistant," she shook the hand quickly and led her to Chan's changing room.

"This is really such a big place," Min-Ji commented as they where making their way down the corridors.

"Yeah it is,"

"How long have you been working for Chan?" She asked trying to make conversation.

"About 6 years,"

"Do you have any advice? You know...for me?" That made Y/n start to slow down her pace because what was she trying to say?

"What do you mean?"

"Well you know...I have a big crush on him and he invited me here tonight. Do you know how i can be different? Like catch his eye?" Her cheeks were red from all the blushing she was doing. Probably thinking about all the possible ways her and Chan could be together.

Oh.

"Well, I don't know really. Just be yourself I geuss," Ofcourse such a hot girl like her wanted Chan! It was Chan after all! Ugh! The hot tears started to build as she thought about the situation over and over again.

"Chan she's here," y/n knocked on the door and slowly pushed it open.

"Ahhh, great! Min-Ji! Hey love," he smiled and moved away from the stylist to give her a hug,

"Hey Channie! Long time no see," she giggled.

"How are you? Please take a seat, I still have a lot before I get ready. Y/n please, get her a drink," Chan said.

"Ofcourse," she smiled through her teeth. Deep down she wanted to die as she watched the two interact and be all touchy. That should be her but..

She's just an assistant.

The show was great, everyone was happy with the outcome. Everyone had fun! Everyone enjoyed their time there and now it was wind down time. One of the trickiest parts of the day because everyone was shutting down so everyone was everywhere.

"Y/n you can go now, wait for us outside," Chan said shooing her away. She was shocked at this action. He wanted to spend some alone time with Min-Ji and it was so obvious. The both of them had been whispering and giggling with eachother for the past 30 minutes. It made sense for him to want her out. She wouldn't be surprised if they fucked.

The pain that she felt in her chest turned into anger and the tears that threatened to leave her eyes were not making it any better. Why? Why did she have to go and fall in love with her boss? Why her?

"Y/n!" Someone yelled for her making her jump a little, "what are you doing outside?! Get Chan and let's go!" One of the managers yelled as he walked up the corridor towards her.

"Sir? Sir he’s in there with someone-"

"Did we hire you to be standing around all day?! I told you we're on a tight schedule! We should be in a bus right now because we have a flight in less that 4 hours," he run a hand through his hair as he continued to yell at the poor young girl.

"Sir I tried to tell him, but his with-"

"Get him in the bus now. I don't want your excuses," he shoved past her making sure to hit her shoulder. Her hand automatically rub the area. Her feelings were now even more emotional than before.

She had tried warning Chan but instead of understanding Chan yelled at and now she got yelled at again. Was anyone going to actually be nice for once?

She quickly knocked on the door and prayed that Chan wouldn't be pissed off. Maybe he would be in a good mood to be rushed.

"Chan we really need to go! Please just come out," she begged.

"5 more minutes!" He replied.

"Chan we need to go! Mr-" the door swung open and cut her off. Min-Ji came out with her hair a mess and her lipstick everywhere. Her cheeks were flustered as she quickly made her way out and past her. Seeing her like that was the last draw for Y/n as tears slowly started to roll down her cheeks. She looked back inside the room and saw that Chan was fixing himself.

The tears wouldn't stop as she looked at him, analyzing him and trying to find some type of reason to run away and hide.

"Hey, do you think that..." he trailed off as he turned to look at his assistant. Worry quickly filled him as he made his way to her. "Hey? What's wrong?"

Why did he care? Y/n thought.

"Did someone do something? Why are you crying?" He looked down both sides of the corridors and saw that no one was there, so what was really going on?

"N-nothing," she shrugged his hands off her body and made her way inside but was stopped by a hand grabbing her arm.

"I've never seen you cry before so something has to be wrong-"

"I'm just your assistant," she sobbed. Chan was taken back because yes she was his assistant but that's not what she was to him.

"What do you mean?" He asked. His feelings now getting worked up but he couldn't help but ask why? Why was he getting so worked up after seeing her upset.

"Chan just let it be, we're going to be late," she wriggled her hand out of his tight grip and put her iPad inside her bag. She grabbed everything and made sure everything was left in place before grabbing his bag but was quickly stopped again.

“Y/n, love. Tell me what the matter is, I won’t tell anyone,”

The tears were heavy as they fell but nevertheless she still had shit to get done and Chan was shocked as to why she was still able to get shit done when she was having a mental breakdown. He felt bad.

"L-let's go," she breathed. Her chest pumping up and down at a high pace.

"Can we talk about what's made you upset?" Chan asked softly.

"Chan not now, please..."

"Later?" He asked hopeful and he got a head shake in response but he was satisfied with it.

"Can you atleast calm down for me? Just breathe," he took a few steps closer until he was towering over her. His hand land by her arms and he rubbed them trying to calm her down. It was working but the intense eye contact he was holding with her was scaring her. Her brain was foggy as she silently got lost into his eyes. Little did she know he was also getting lost in her eyes. He slowly analyzed her facial structure….he found her beautiful? The tension grew as he kept whispering encouraging words so she could calm down

until she did it.

She got on her tippy toes and kissed him he instantly kissed back and when she realized what she was doing she pulled away. Adrenaline run through her body as he looked at her shocked.

“Woah,” was all he was able to say to her.

Embarrassment grew in her chest before she knew it she was running out with door. She run to fast that she couldn't hear Chan's calls for her.

She entered the bus and sat in one of the empty sits and covered her head with her hoodie and pretended to sleep.

What the hell was that?

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emptyjunior · 4 months

Text

I'm rewatching Starstruck in the break, can I say I DESPERATELY would have loved to have seen this intergalactic chase across the stars from the Other Side😭

Like okay, campaign where you're a crew of kooky spacers on the run, classic, fun, oh the adventures we had.., can you Imagine what this story would have been like from the pursuers side? From Lucienne and UFTP?

You're Lucienne and you just got SCREWED on the corporate ladder and are already dealing with some rich trust fund kid DYING yet also leaving you in Charge of an insane company.

And during that you find out oh my god the world might be destroyed?? And there's a Princeps who has a super special computer that will decide the fate of the universe? So you stash them away to keep them safe and go back to covering up the murder you might be to blame for, because universe destroying computer is like priority TWO right now.

And then you find out?? Your ex lover friend has become a pirate???! And has STOLEN the princeps??! AND THE WORLD ENDING COMPUTER??! And quit??! And posted Nudes to the world??! And they look amazing?

So okay okay new priority is FIND THEM right NOW so you send all the resources in the world to go snatch them up which should be easy enough because you've seen them run, they're literally a weak and flailing office worker in a pencil skirt.

Welp! Next report comes in and they exploded a building with sex putty??? And decimated a fleet of the best fighters you can hire? And had time to go to a dogshow in between???

Fine, okay, it's fine because you KNOW they'll slip up again and they do! They show up,,., in a live stream? Partying with the ceo of space uber?? In a casino? That they just OPENED? WHILE THEY'RE ON THE RUN?!

So you go to that planet and go to contact the sheriff and his Head is on a Fucking Spike because your Friend absolutely wasted him? And kicked every police officer out of town so the whole town could go super super hard for space burning man?

And have escaped Again.

So now you're in some kind of room with like 20 screens and probably two blackberries in each hand, going full manhunt. Face recognition software, algorithms, zooming in on photos and yelling Enhance.

And you find them! And they👏 are👏 at👏 Disneyland👏! What! The! Fuck!

You send your best guys again! (And also??! These 'best guys' maybe have a space slug in their skull that's going to end the world! Can't even focus on that rn!). And then when they get back, happy and proud they show you the Princeps that they've captured and it's god damned thin air! Because it was a hologram and this dumb sonuva bitch is zonked out of his mind from a fish psychic. Great, of course. Of Course.

You're being hounded by your company, you still don't know where your 'dead fiance' is, you're running out of time. How are you ever going to find them- You check your phone they are doing a hunger games at Las Vegas. And a rival company has made them influencers. And they're famous.

Of course.

But you do pull it off in the end! You get them! You imprison them! And their one fatal flaw? They decided to reunite one of their crew members with their birth mother while being wanted criminals.

So that's the chase you got them (they escape again of course they escape, and the birth mother turns out to be a Hell of a business woman and maybe just did a masterful corporate maneuver on you.)

And it's so important to know that this entire time you've been chasing a Big Hot Dog.

#dimension 20 #a starstruck odyssey #lucienne rex #margaret encino #d20 #dnd #stody #d20 starstruck

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distorted59 · 8 months

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I need Danish Gremlin Lars headcanons so bad right now plsssss

Hi!!! first of all, I'm sorry it took a little while, hope you enjoy!! <3 and again, thanks for asking!

Loves it when you play with his hands! we all know this man has incredible hands, esp with all that tape around his fingers, lord have mercy.

Would absolutely love to teach you to play the drums

He WOULD tease you with his drumsticks, i fucking know it, this man is a kinky mf.

Like, he would slide one over the inside of your thigh and the other one over your neck and breasts.

THE TAPE AROUND HIS FINGERS STAYS ON!!! (need i say more)

He’d whisper sweet things to you in Danish, whenever he’s proud of you or when he tells you he loves you.

ALSO, during sex???? and he’d go all crazy cus it all just feels so, so good???

I feel like he’s quite dominant, maybe in his early years (‘81-‘84) he’d be a little bendable (not literally, but who knows?). But, in the 90’s he’d be FERAL.

Like I said earlier, I feel like he’s a kinky mf. Exhibitionism, he likes to get freaky in public. He loves getting praised, he wants to hear how good he is at something. Pleasing you, playing drums, cooking, mowing the fucking lawn. He doesn’t mind, please fulfill his ego.

Small dick, but the energy is BIG.

Has stamina for DAYZZZZ!!!

He would fuck you on his drumset, i can just imagine him eating you out and hitting the kickdrum while doing so. (IM SORRY I HAD TO)

I feel like early 80’s Lars is a real sweetheart, maybe still a little shy but definitely runs his mouth. 90’s Lars has no fucking filter, he’s cocky, arrogant, gets whatever he wants and takes whatever he wants.

Loves to just be around you, showing you he’s here. You’d watch him and the boys rehearse and he would squeeze your hand or your thigh, flashing you small smiles and giving you kisses here and there.

“You still with us, darling?” He squeezes your thigh, smiling with those adorable dimples of his.

"Hm?" You dozed off a little, but his fingers sliding to the inside of your thigh keep you very awake.

“Are you enjoying watching us, babe?” Lars grins.

“Oh, yeah.” You nod. “You’re doing great, baby.”

“You think so?” He smirks proudly, his fingers tracing circles over your soft skin. “You like watching me play?”

“Mhm.” You hum and smile down at his hand. Already knowing what you two will be doing later.

He would take you to Denmark, showing you his hometown and places he went to as a kid. His childhood home (which is now a fertility clinic I believe, lol) and his school, where he played tennis as a boy.

He loves art so he would take you on little museum trips and years later to these auctions where he would sell the pieces from his home for millions of dollars, (SKOM docu).

Loves bragging to people about you. “My girl is great, she’s the prettiest woman i know.” and "Well, my girl loves playing the drums with me." <3

You know those bandanas he wore in the 80’s? Yeah, tying your wrists up with them or putting it in your mouth to prevent you from moaning too loud <3.

He is a little fruity tho. (so threesome with Kirk maybe? yes/no?)

Load/Reload era, this man wore some heavy eyeliner. I can see him asking you for a little help.

He’s in the bathroom, trying to figure out what the fuck to do here.

“Babe, could you help me out here?” He holds up the pencil and gives you puppy dog eyes.

“With what, baby?” you walk into the bathroom and look at him, slight confusion written over your face. “Is that my eyeliner?”

“It’s for the new album!” He protests. “We got a new look, ya know?”

“What, cutting your hair wasn’t enough?” You tease him and sit on the sink counter.

You take the eyeliner from his hands and pull him closer by his shirt, you wrap your legs around his waist and make him look at you by holding his chin.

“Okay, close your eyes.”

He obliges and you softly apply the liner just above his lash line. He squints a little and breathes out through his nose.

“Don’t move, baby.” You scold him.

“Sorry, It feels a little weird.” a wide smile spreads on his face.

“Look up for me.”

He does what he tells you, looking at you before he looks up entirely. You apply some under his waterline, smudging the edges gently with your fingers.

“All done, babe.” You kiss his lips softly.

He smiles into the kiss and murmurs a “thank you” against your lips. He checks himself out in the mirror behind you and grins.

“Wow, I look sexy!”

“Larzy Poo” - James Hetfield, 2023

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theapangea · 11 months

Text

Hawkins High Confessions

Characters/Pairings: Steve Harrington x Reader, Billy Hargrove, Robin Buckley

Summary: You accidentally confess your feelings for Steve Harrington in front of the whole school.

Warnings: None, Embarrassment??

A/N: I really really like this fic so I hope you do too!!

Request me anything in my bio <3

Hawkins High.

Home of the Tigers.

The typical middle American high school, stuck in the suburbs, decaying away as the years continue to pass. The weather stained panel ceilings and worn outer bricks hold the next generation of citizens practically begging to not be there.

The bell blares through the speakers of the hallways and courtyard, signaling to all students the beginning of the 7 minute long passing duration to get to first period. Suddenly the school becomes overwhelmed with laughing, shouting, shuffling kids trying to move their way through the cramped, long hallways.

Eyes wandering along the dozens of passing faces that you’ve known for most of your life. You and Robin maneuver your way through the herd of students. Saying your goodbyes before parting ways, counting down the minutes until you can regroup again at lunch.

Strolling your way to the front office, taking up as much of the passing period as possible before your inevitable morning with the one, the only, Billy Hargrove. Your face contorting in disgust at the sheer thought of him.

Hawkins Morning Announcements was not your first choice for extracurriculars. You would have much preferred photography or theater or literally anything else besides having to do this silly little talk with Billy every morning. But you guessed this is what you get for getting caught smoking behind the bleachers. Though the punishment could be worse. The foul taste of Billy sitting by you every morning for 180 days out of the year makes you want to barf.

Well actually has made you barf. Beginning of the semester, right after he tried to kiss you, right into the principal's trash can. Not a pretty sight.

Walking through the open double doors into the front office area, minding your own as you observe your shoelace becoming loose.

And then it hit you.

Stumbling back, your textbooks suddenly falling all over the floor.

He hit you. Your mind racing at the abrupt collision.

“Shit, sorry.” The voice says, just audible enough not to be considered a whisper.

Regaining your balance as you follow his movement to the floor, piling the textbooks and loose papers. Racking a hand through his brown locks as he straightens up, handing you the collection of school supplies.

Steve Harrington hit you.

“Y/N, right?”

Steve Harrington is talking to you.

Nodding your head in affirmation to his question, eyes immediately darting away. You haven’t had much interaction with Steve other than giving him a pencil in math class when he forgets (which is almost every other week) or a quick smile while passing in the halls.

He shoves his hands into his front pockets, rocking back on his heels. His demeanor is friendly, his lips lifting up slightly in the corners. He wasn’t as cold as you had imagined. And oh did you imagine being this close to him often . “I’ve got to go.” He utters after a couple of silent moments, flashing another sweet smile before walking past you.

“Yeah.” You breathe as he is already gone.

Pathetic .

How pathetic can you really be is all you can think. To basically have Steve Harrington standing right in front of you and barely be able to speak a single word to him. Slumping your shoulders as you continue on the way to your final destination.

The chatter filling up the space as the room is full of middle-aged women attending to students and daily duties. Your mind is still floating as Steve Harrington swirls through your thoughts. Turning the handle of the door marked Announcement Studio , flicking the lights on in the enclosed room before placing the messy stack of books in your hands on the table where two microphones and a switchboard station sit on top.

Overhearing giggling coming from the front desk area, you stick your head out to investigate, only to see Billy Hargrove, in all of his unwanted glory, flirting with the office secretary. You really can’t believe these women fall for his act.

You watch as Billy winks to the secretary before walking your way, the light giggles still follow even after he is standing right in front of you. His walk is confident and maybe, just maybe, if you were completely drunk you would give him a chance. But sober you has full control now and doesn’t want anything to do with him.

He is irritating, persistent and overall probably the most annoying person you have ever met. And for some reason he seemed as if he enjoyed sitting in the cramped room with you every morning. Shoulder to shoulder for the first 10 mins of the school day.

Leaning against the door frame as he passes you. Walking closer than he should have been, pressing your back against the cold metal that seeps through your shirt. The heat radiating from his body, your noses almost touching

“You love me.” He whispers, his breath of pure cigarettes. His mouth pulled into his annoying signature smirk.

“Let’s just get this over with before I barf… again .” Your voice follows him into the room. Plopping into his designated seat while pulling your seat open for you. His arm finding its final resting place along the back.

“ Baby ,” the words falling so easily from his lips, “how about you just stop with this whole act of you not liking me and we go take a trip out to my car after this little party.” His pointer finger waving in the air as if he is trying to cast a spell on you. You smile and then laugh. Really having to hold in any amusement that you were having at Billy trying to make advances at you again .

Sitting down in the empty seat, prepping the switch board and microphones as the seconds grow closer to morning broadcast across the school.

“You’re killing me.” His head tilts back, the subtle whine in his tone as the word drags, echoing more in the small room. “Come on, you know you want me.” His fingers play with the ends of your hair that fall down your back.

“That’s definitely a negative.” You shake your hair, wiggling out of his grasp.

“Fine then who do you like?” He crosses his arms over his chest. Puffing that his usual tricks weren’t working on you.

You straighten up at his words, side eyeing as he watches, “None of your business.” You freeze for a moment, just a moment , hoping that it wasn’t long enough for him to tell.

Oh but he did . He can tell how anxious you got over the little question. Could tell how you swallowed abruptly, your brain going a hundred miles per hour trying to think of a good answer. Any answer to get him off of your case. Leaning forward, his head resting on his knuckles as his elbow rests on his knee. Studying your face. “Tommy Hagan.”

“What?”

“The guy you like, Tommy Hagan.” He sounds almost proud of himself.

You’re now looking directly at him. “ Ew , gross. No.”

“Patrick…” He stops to think for a moment, snapping his fingers hoping that will somehow make him remember, “Patrick Wright.” His pointer finger aimed in your direction.

“No.”

Then it was as if a light bulb had switched.

“Steve Harrington.”

“Ok we’re so not doing this.” You basically snap, fixing the pieces of paper with the announcement script in front of you.

“So you do like Harrington.” He laughs. Laughs . At you for liking Steve. How could he laugh? How could he not realize that before his sorry ass got to Hawkins that literally every girl would pay anything to sleep with Steve.

“I-never-said-that.” You say right away. Barely any breath between your words.

“You didn’t have too.” The melody of his words string your lies together.

“Shut up,” was all the comeback that you could think of.

Billy leans in close, “Just admit it.” Grabbing one of the microphones to plug it in. Adjusting it to side perfection by his mouth.

“I will not,” speaking through your teeth.

“Can’t say he’s my particular taste.”

“Well no one asked you, did they?” Rolling your eyes.

The bell blares again through the now empty hallways. The hundreds of students packed neatly within the closed classrooms.

Steve finds his normal seat in the back of the full class. Sliding into his desk as he lets his backpack hit the floor. His fingers lightly tap against the wooden desk as he glances at the clock.

Another dreaded Monday morning. His tired eyes fall heavily as the conversion between the two of you fades quickly. The chattering of the students falls silent as the intercom comes to life. The static filling the classroom before Billy’s voice plays throughout the school.

Billy: Good Morning Hawkins High. It looks like it’s going to be a great day in paradise. Please stand for the Pledge of Allegiance.

The class of students stand, lazily placing hands over their hearts as they all face the flag near the door. The groggy voices follow along to yours and Billy’s voices.

You and Billy: I pledge of Allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the republic for which it stands. One nation, under God, individual with liberty and justice for all.

You: You may now be seated.

The students shuffle back into their desk. The squeaking sound of the metal stoppers against the panel flooring sounding through the small room.

You: This is a very special week for Hawkins as the winter formal is just around the corner, do you know who you’re asking yet?

Billy: I sure know who I’m going to ask. Say, Y/N, any idea on who you’re going with.

You: I guess it’s still too far out to know yet, Billy.

Billy: I can surely think of someone who should ask you.

Kicking him instantly after his comment. The words shut up following just under your breath before you continue.

You: Principle Coleman wanted us to remind you all to remember to throw away all your trash in the yard after lunch.

You and Billy: Let’s keep this school clean!

Billy: We also want to give it up to the Tiger’s Basketball Team for a great game last Friday. Though we lost 3-7, it was still a great game.

You: I agree with Billy. Our Tigers are not ones to miss.

Billy: Especially a certain player.

The inaudible words of I am going to kill you towards Billy fall from your lips. The speakers hold the moment of silence as the hundreds of kids can hear some kind of commotion on the other end.

You: Well that’s all the news for today.

Billy: We hope you have a great day Hawkins High

You: I’m Y/N Y/L/N

Billy: And I’m Billy Hargrove,

You and Billy: Signing out. Go Tigers!

The static immediately disappears as the switch is turned off.

The teacher stands from his deck, chalk in hand as he begins to write on the board. The class settling in for another uneventful history lesson. This was definitely not going to help Steve stay awake.

But just as the words of some war were leaving the teacher’s mouth, the intercom comes to life. The static quickly fading as Billy’s voice fills the hallways and classrooms once again.

Billy: Ok, seriously just admit it.

Dozens of students are looking between each other trying to figure out what is going on.

You: Admit what?

Billy: That you like Steve Harrington and maybe I’ll leave you alone.

The class practically gasps in union as all students, including the teacher, turn to look at Steve in the back of the classroom. His face washes white, hues of soft red forming on his cheeks as he sinks lower into the plastic seat.

And as much as he was embarrassed by the whole interaction, he had to admit that he was a little bit curious. He hadn’t talked to you much in the past but he couldn’t say that he didn’t at least find you a little attractive.

You: I’m not going to admit anything if it isn’t true.

Billy: Baby, It’s just you and me here. No one's gonna know outside this room.

You: Ugh, fine.

There is a pause. The entire school on the edge of their seats as they wait for the next words to come out of your mouth

You: Yeah, I like Steve Harrington.

—

“Happy?” You question. Almost happy yourself to finally get that secret off of your chest, even if it was to someone you despise.

But before Billy could answer, the door frantically flies open to showcase a heaving Robin. Her face bright red, her body heaving from the loss of breath as she points towards the dashboard.

Following her pointer finger across the room to the small table where the dashboard sat. Realizing then that the small red light signaling that your microphones were on. The small red light signaling that the private conversation that you and Billy just had was broadcasted across the entire school.

The color in your face completely washing away at your realization that Steve just heard your confession.

“More than ecstatic.” Billy’s grin overcomes his face, his teasing laugh playing in your ears.

And all you could think about at this moment is Oh shit.

~~~

Part 2???? Let me know what you think!

#Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington fanfic #Billy Hargrove x reader #Stranger Things x reader #Reader insert #Stranger things #Robin Buckley #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x fem #Hawkins High Confessions #Theapangea

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lonleydweller · 8 months

Note

Hi Dwell! Is it ok if I call you that? (Please let me know)

I'm the anon who requested brittle bones darling with scarecrow and riddler

(Which was amazing as I've mentioned before ♥️)

and I was wondering....

Could you write yandere platonic scarecrow and riddler (again..sorry 😅) with a teenager that they want to make their protégé / and or heir to their work/ villain persona?

Like maby they knew the teen in the past?

(PLEASE Take your time. Remember to stay hydrated and well fed and take breaks regularly your writing is improving so much! Your one of my favourite blogs ♥️♥️)

🥀Platonic Yandere Arkham Knight Riddler and Scarecrow with a teen protégé🥀

Of course!! Also don't be afraid to give yourself a proper anon name if you want! Assuming by your wording as well that this most likely a kid they snatched off the streets or someone else in this case! And don't worry, I'm probably overhydrated than anything else.

!Warnings!: this content contains, toxic family dynamic, platonic yandere trope, alluded kidnapping, controlling behavior, emotional manipulation, emotional abuse, gaslighting.

Yanderes are OK in fiction. They should stay fiction. They are not example of healthy relationships. These behaviors are NOT okay in real life. This is for entertainment purposes

-----------------------------------------------------

Riddler

●Welp hope you enjoy being trapped in a bunker full of strewn about scrap metal, machinery, robots, and random shit. An absolute mess. It's a surprise he can even meet your basic needs. Your room is most likely a small extra storage closet he emptied out. It's decent, probably the only clean part of the base, granted you're the only one who uses or maintains it. However you barely get privacy.

●He'll force you to be beside him for a good chunk of the day, berating you and lecturing you about topics you barely understand. Forcing you to help a bit with schemes. You'll need the experience after all if you are to take after him aren't you? Maybe if you do something right he'll give you some fatherly praise and encouragement. Otherwise don't expect much from him.

●Correction. You are going to take after him. There is no if. He fully expects you to do so and will drill it into your head. If you have any dreams, any aspirations, any careers you want, he'll shoot them down. Get that nonsense out of your head. No doubt you two get into shouting matches about this topic and the fact he's not your real dad.

●You're allowed very few personal items. A notebook, pencil, puzzles, rubix cubes, crosswords. Things that he believe will help challenge your brain. Maybe if you're lucky he'll gift you something you actually want. No electronics however. Under any circumstance. Nothing that allows you to communicate with the outside world. He isn't a fool.

●Oh, yeah, and he dosen't allow you outside. At all. He says it's for your own good. Which is debatable. All of this is. You should be grateful he didn't leave you on the streets where your brain would inevitably melt from the stupidity! Not to mention the various thugs, criminals, the bat, and other rouges that are just waiting to snacth you up. Really it's safer with him.

●He will absolutely look through your notebook, journal, or any personal belongings while you sleep. Looking around your room to make sure you aren't hiding anything.

●He has many precautions to make sure you can't go sneaking out and running away. Him keeping an extremely close eye on you isn't enough. His robots are stationed at almost every door, roaming around, camreas placed just outside the base, throughout the city, and more than likely a tracker on something you own. Say maybe a pair of shoes or a shirt.

●Overall you're stuck with a controlling, brash, overprotective, overbearing narcissist as a barely father figure.

-----------------------------------------------------

Scarecrow

●With Dr.Crane at least you get a proper decent room, and a home that's not full of tripping hazard. It's actually somewhat barren. Your needs are met all the same, but don't be mistaken, you're still surrounded by manipulation and villainy.

●He'll let you have more freetime compared to Edward. He'll show you bits of his work here and there. He wants to try and get you interested on your own accord, but he'll give you a nudge if need be. The more your young minds curiosity is peaked, the more he'll teach you about his toxins and work.

●It may seems nice, but of course it's only manipulation. After all if he forced you to do it, you'd resent him, resent his work. Once he was gone, you'd just move on as an adult. If he gets you interested at a young age, ignite the passion for fear in you and engrain it, you'd be more willing to carry on his legacy wouldn't you?

●You're mainly gifted books, art supplies, or other things if you request them and he's deemed you've earned them. However he's strict on electronics as well. Maybe if you prove you aren't going to run away or snicth on him anytime soon he'll give you a phone or laptop. It won't be able to connect to the internet and will be heavily monitored.

●He won't let you outside too much either. Unless you're monitored by him or his men. Even then you won't go far from his domain. He fears Batman or another member of the Rouges Gallery might snacth you up if they realize your association with him.

●He won't really root through your personal belongings unless he feels there a sudden shift in your behavior or some cause for concern. He trusts he's manipulated treated you fairly well enough to where you aren't scheming behind his back.

●He still has security in place. It's Gotham city, many things can go awry. Camreas here and there, thugs, maybe a tracking device if need be. If it really calls for it he'll get the help of the Arkham Knight and his army.

●He'll hides his manipulation under a calm, reasonable, and collected demeanor.

-----------------------------------------------------

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thisismeracing · 2 months

Note

bonnington-schumi kiddos

pls include the bono-schumi mood board i sent ya over email in your response

ok i’ve mentioned them enough, lets dig into the bonnington-schumi kiddos

history has a funny way of repeating itself and for bon and mick it manifests in their kids birth order and gender

because much like when corrina had gina and mick, bon had her daughter first and son second. and both came out looking like two more schumacher clones to add to the collection

but bon isn't complaining because how could she be mad when her two babies share those unmistakable blue eyes

their first born is named: Eloise “Ellie” Suzanne Bonnington-Schumacher

and their second born is: Mike “Mikey” Sebastian Bonnington-Schumacher

imagine bon and mick introducing little ellie to susie in the hospital and when susie asks what her name is and bon goes “eloise suzanne” susie just melts because this little bundle of joy is named after her.

and the same goes for sebastian when mikey is born

the f1 crew just going though the cycle of watching another kid grow up in the paddock start up again with miss ellie. but this time it’s the kid of the original kid you watched grow up, and this time around there’s two of them because mikey is born a few years after

and everyone jokes about how “oh ellie is going to be an engineer like her mama” and “oh mikey is a future f1 champ like his papa”

but the opposite happens where ellie is the driver, and mikey is an engineer

And imagine the timelapse of the headphones to protect their little ears and how they look so giant on them cause they’re so small, but give it a few years and now they look proportionate to their bodies

(i feel like that would make a lot of people just so soft and heartbroken because their favorite little kids are growing up and so fast, like pls make it stop 😢)

[also the people who watched bon grow up just get deja vu whenever they are interacting with ellie, because wow does she act just like bon when she was this age]

and best believe these two are championship babies. you can't tell me no on this one.

When they announced they were pregnant with ellie, people both in real life and online are so quick to do the math on when she could’ve been conceived, and they all land on the fact she was conceived around the time of abu dhabi

and after mikey is born, toto sits the both of them down and says “i love that the team is winning championships with mick, and i love the kids. but next time you two do it after winning a championship please for the love of god put a condom on. because two little kids are going to be enough with them running around the paddock.”

and mick is just mortified, while bon is laughing her ass off and she’s the one to reassure him that they wont be having anymore kids anytime soon

[i told myself i had to finish this before showering and i did! also it breached the second page of the google doc so quickly]

☕

skjgksdjg OMG I LOVED LOVED IT!!! <3<3

totally agree on mikey engineer and ellie driver!!! espec bc I think ellie is more of a social butterfly while mikey is a bit shy like mick, he's funny and friendly, but usually he'll only talk if you talk to him first (the paddock experience helps it a little with this, but he keeps a bit of the shyness, its so cute and bb loves it bc he's such a momma's boy - its makes up for ellie being dada's girl)

adding more: ellie's first word will be angie while mikey's will probably be something from bb's work because she'll work with him on her hips sometimes so his big blue eyes are always watching the engineers go around and listening to everything, she'll only connect the dots bc he says it right after a meeting (to which he was silent throughout it all, only munching on a pencil and grabbing things from the table to curiously analyse)

#☕ anon #bonnington!reader #millies inbox #ms47 #thots #f1 x reader #mick schumacher

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moonswolfie · 10 months

Text

Infamous artist

Ushijima x gn!reader

Yet another instalation in this series! I think ushijima as a clueless awkward father is the cutest thing ever (sadly, you aren't as present in this one as the other ones)

It was really hard for me to imitate a five year old child's artstyle because I'm a pretty good artist and as other artists know, when you're good enough at art, it becomes hard for you to draw something wonky or "ugly" on purpouse, but I tried 😅

"Today is father's day, kids. How about we create something for our dads?" the caretaker asked the kids as they were sat around in a circle.

"Here, me and Shota-kun will give each of you a piece of paper, draw your favourite memory with dad, okay?" she said as she and Shota started handing each of the kids a piece of blank paper. Then she brought a box full of colored pencils and placed it in the middle of the circle of children.

All the kids scrambled to the center of the circle to grab their desired colors and went back to start drawing.

The sound of scritching and scratching of pencils against paper filled the room, and the two caretakers left the kids to themselves for a bit, only staying in the vicinity in case of another fight.

Soon, the kids were yelling that they're done, and Shota came over. "Alright, how about we share the memories? Hanako, what did you draw?" he asked in a gentle tone.

"It's me and my dad at the playground!" the little girl proudly showed off the image of her and her dad on the swingset.

"That's lovely! You're a great artist! Kazuhito?" the teacher encouraged the young boy to show his work. "It's m-me and my dad going fishing." he holds up the image of him and his dad with crudely drawn fishing poles and a big bucket of fish next to them.

"How nice! Himari?"

"I drew my dad playing princess with me!"

"Oh, you look very pretty! How about you, Rin?"

"It's me and daddy at the theme park."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"And last but not least, Ryohei. Go ahead." Shota smiled happily at the boy.

Your son lifted up the drawing, happily saying "It's me and my dad playing volleyball!"

"O-Oh, so it was a game of volleyball. H-How nice." Shota sighed in relief. He thought it was something worse, something much worse.

"If I may ask, why does your dad look so angry?" Shota asked with a worried smile. Ryohei instantly answered "He always looks like that."

"Oh, a-alright. And why do you look so worried in your drawing?" Ryohei answered "Because dad sometimes hits me in the face and it hurts."

"He does what?" Shota's smile faded away completely, and he urged Ryohei to a more private place, Ryohei following him, a bit confused.

"Tell me, where does your dad hit you?" he kneeled to Ryohei's level, asking gently and placing an arm on his little shoulder.

"Sometimes when he hits the volleyball, it hits my face. So, riiiight here." Ryohei drew a circle around his entire face with his tiny finger. Shota sighed in relief again, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"You should've said so... I got worried there. Come on, let's go back." Shota gestured for Ryohei to come back to the other kids with him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Wakatoshi, can you please go pick up Ryohei from kindergarten?" you asked on the phone.

"Sure." he replied simply. Usually, you go to pick him up but you were held back at work today and his coach just happened to be on leave for the week.

"He's in group A, the door with the ladybug on it. Thank you, I love you~" you told him, and he said "I love you too." before hanging up.

He put down his phone, pausing the volleyball game on TV to get his jacket and put on his shoes to take Ryohei home. The kindergarten was close, so he could just go by foot.

Out of habit, he ran all the way there, shortening the already short walk. He opened the door, and walked to the door with the ladybug, knocking on it.

"Hello. I'm here to take my son, Ushijima Ryohei home." he said politely, looking at Shota. Shota looked him up and down with a worried expression, making Ushijima raise his eyebrow in confusion.

So this was Ryohei's dad. He did look kind of scary, Shota will admit. And his hulking figure didn't help at all in that regard.

"O-Oh, okay. Ryohei, come here! Your dad came to pick you up!" Ryohei stopped playing with Hanako and ran over to Shota and Ushijima.

"Dad!! Why are you here?" Ryohei hugged Ushijima's leg, looking up at him. "To pick you up." he simply replied. "No, I don't mean that! It's not usually you!" Ushijima told him about your work situation, not dumbing it down.

"I don't know what that means, but okay! Oh! I made you a drawing for father's day! It's us playing volleyball!" Ryohei said, pulling out the dreaded drawing, Shota nervously sweating at the sight of it. What will Ushijima say?

Ushijima took it from Ryohei's hands, studying it with a blank expression for a couple of seconds. A slight smile danced on his lips, and he curtly thanked Ryohei. He was really unsure of what else to do, but you told him that he must always praise Ryohei when he gives him his art, even if it sucks, so he added on "It looks good."

You were not willing to have a repeat of the time when Ushijima's honest nature shone through a little too much and Ryohei ended up sobbing in your arms about how dad said his drawing looked horrible.

Shota stood there all frozen as Ushijima lead Ryohei to the shoe shelves, Ryohei excitedly telling him about his day, closing the door behind him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Soon, you arrived home to Ushijima listening to Ryohei ramble on about his friends and their adventures as super heroes. He looked as if he really wanted to watch a game of volleyball instead, but he was a patient man, so you knew he would sit through it.

"I'm home- What is this?" you asked, picking up the infamous drawing.

"I drew it for dad! Do you like it?!" Ryohei jumped up from the couch, running to your side.

Instead of the usual "It looks great!" both Ryohei and Ushijima would expect from you, you started laughing.

"What?! What's funny?!" Ryohei asked, offended. You desperately tried to hold in your giggles as you reassured him the drawing was great.

"Then why are you laughing?!" he yelled, hitting your leg. "I'm sorry- It's just- Someone might take this drawing the wrong way, you know that? Oh my god, this is gold-" you knew it was a depiction of the little one on one matches Ryohei and Wakatoshi have, but you also saw the other version that someone with less knowledge of your family might see.

"What wrong way?!" Ryohei didn't understand at all.

"Nothing, nothing." you broke out in little giggles. Ryohei huffed angirly behind you, sitting on the floor.

"Oh man, Wakatoshi. I told you to be a little gentler with Ryohei." you said in a lighthearted tone.

Ushijima looked at you, confused. "I am." he said matter-of-factly.

You should have probably realised earlier that Ushijima's definition of gentle was a little skewed since he's a professional volleyball player, and a very powerful one at that.

Didn't help that he wasn't exactly a gentle person to begin with.

"What do you see when you look at this drawing?" you asked, handing it to him. "Me and my son playing volleyball. What else?" he replied, looking at you like you're strange for even asking that.

"Well, it also looks like you're angry at him and about to hit him." You pointed out. Ushijima narrowed his eyes, further inspecting the drawing.

"But that's not happening."

"I know. But if a stranger sees this, they will think that's what's happening."

"Hmm. I guess you're right."

You got up, gently taking the drawing back. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be putting this artistic masterpiece on the fridge." You walked away to the kitchen, leaving Ushijima and a pouting Ryohei alone.

He didn't know what to talk about, so he did the thing he knew best.

"Want to play volleyball with me?"

"No." Ryohei crossed his arms. This reaction surprised Ushijima. Ryohei always said yes immediately. What happened?

"Why?" he asked, genuinely confused. "I don't feel like it." Ryohei said, not moving away from his spot on the ground, hmphing.

Was this because he was too rough with Ryohei up until now? That's the only reason he could think of.

(In reality, he's just mad you laughed at his drawing)

"I apologize." he said, making Ryohei turn his head around, confused. "Why are you sorry?"

"I'll be more gentle from now on." Ushijima clarified, getting up from the couch to sit beside Ryohei. "What are you talking about?"

"You don't want to play volleyball with me because I'm too rough on you."

"What? I don't care about that. I jus' don't wanna." this didn't make any sense to Ushijima. If he didn't care, then why does he not want to play? You told Ushijima something else. If he doesn't understand Ryohei's behaviour, it's best to leave him be.

So he takes your advice and simply gets up, moves to the couch and finally resumes the match on TV.

"Hmph." he hears Ryohei, but doesn't think anything of it and keeps watching.

"Hmph!" No response from Ushijima.

"HMPH!" Ushijima finally turned his head to find Ryohei staring at him, cheeks puffed out and eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

"What's the issue?" Ushijima asks him, curious about his son's grumbling. "You don't get it!" Ryohei wants to be comforted about his drawing, but Ushijima is the worst at understanding children.

"I really don't. Please tell me so I can fix the issue." he admitted, as serious as ever.

"Is my drawing really that bad?" he asked, tears welling up in his little eyes. "No, it looks good. You did a great job." Ushijima's voice was monotone, yet reassuring. Like a captain encouraging his team during a game.

This seemed to calm down Ryohei a bit, and Ushijima didn't know what else to say, resorting to his default option once more.

"How about some volleyball now?"

Ryohei got up, wiping his tears and running to Ushijima's side. "O-Okay. Just don't hit my face."

"I'll do my best." he promised, going into the backyard with Ryohei.

You stood in the kitchen, smiling to yourself at your family's interactions.

#ushijima x y/n #ushijima x you #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima x reader #x reader #x you #gender neutral reader #fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyū!!#haikyu!!#˗ˏˋ ★ ☁︎ 「Wolfie's works」 ☾ ★ ˎˊ˗

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deskgoblin · 7 months

Text

Her Cold Hands (NerdMiguel! x BullyReader!)

Unfortunately have to split this up because Tumblr is scared of a wall of text.

NSFW Warnings: Degradation, teasing, forced orgasm, edging, manipulation.

MNDI

Her Cold Hands

You’ve always had colder hands during this time of year, and it grazed just the right way for Miguel to redden under your touch all throughout class. Your slender finger tips graze again the hem of his shirt, his veiny hands tighten and make the pencil in his grasp creak from the pressure. It seemed like his whole body stiffened from your merciful touch, and he was pawning for more, more teases, more shivers. He looks up at you with lust and obedience as his legs tremble in anticipation. He looks up at the front of the class where the professor continues his lengthy lecture, but desperately tries to keep up with writing both his and yours notes you’ve requested from him. He rests his head against his hand as he tries to stay focused, his body disobeying his efforts. You look down to notice a girth forming in his slacks, tightening to the point the zipper tips up into a surrender flag for your tedious pleasures along his nerves. As the class begins to pack up he eagerly packs up and tries to flex his leg to absorb the blood from his pulsating dick. He arranges around his pants and looks up at you through his glasses edging the tip of his nose. You slide his glasses up the bridge of his nose and smirk kindly, “Did so good for me, so quiet and productive~” “I tried my best..” You hand him your book as he starts packing both of your bags, taking care to make sure your bag is well organized in your preference. “Let me reward you, come to my place tonight. I am destined to have you weeping on the edge of your seat for me.” “I have club tonight, I can’t..” The softness sharpened in your eyes as your eyebrows furrowed and your lids lowered. “You don’t say no to me, Miguel..” “My love, I can’t. Just this once, please..” You scoffed in his face as you shoved him back down into his seat so you could leave yours. How dare he reject you? Or a reward after all, he must know what that means right? Disgusting. The shrilling munch pig you let devour you after every well-graded assignment was just that. A pig. As you arrive at your dorm, a plan twisted and unraveled into your hands and soon into your fingertips across your screen.

A rolling rumble of knocking erupted the silence of your room, checkmate. You saunter over to your front door, opening it slightly before a red-in-the-face Miguel shoves it fully open before slamming it behind him. “You fucking bitch.” “One could say you could’ve done that if you just-” “Stop.” He towered over you, backing you against your desk chair before you trip into it, his rough hand meeting your shoulder to slump you into your seat. “You cannot overpower me this way without expecting some backlash. Seducing everyone in my club so they cancel on me? Are you kidding?” Although his stature swallowed yours, not an ounce of fear or submission filled your blood. “I told you not to say no to me, I am not sure what you expected when I made you swear to sole subserviency for me..” “I didn’t expect you to backstab me after I trust you to you know..” “I think I understand. But in my definition of you agreeing was I became your first priority to serve and nothing less.” “Oh..” His shoulders slumped and his eyes shifted to the floor as he pondered for a moment. He got down to his knees before you and rested his head between your knees. “I can see how that might’ve been confusing..” “So are we continuing our usual then..” “Mhm.. Please. I will listen to you to the ends of the earth and bring you back every flower I see on my journey through it.” “Good boy. I can reward you but not as luxurious as I was before..” You lift his chin up with your fingertips to make him rise to his feet. He looks at you with a curious and complex look but it soon disappears to surprise as your fingers pull on his belt loops to bring his button to your lips. You lick through the fabric while making eye contact with the trembling man before you. His breath berates his sensitivity and your beauty in hushed words of his tongue. “Mi amor.. Please..” Your teeth find his zipper and your hands explore the seams of his pants, pulling them to reveal something much larger than your imagination.

Part 2

#miguel smut #miguel x you #miguel o'hara #fanfic'#fanfic smutg #fanfic writing #fanfic smut #smut #fanfic #atsv fanfic #atsv miguel #atsv x reader #smut fic

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flowerpotmage · 3 months

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Tight Grip, Broken Dam (15)

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You don’t question it anymore, when Miguel appears in your bed at night. He’s not there for sex, no, you’ve never even kissed—though you would be lying if you said you weren’t open to the idea of kissing him. He’s there for comfort. For rest. If only it could stay so simple.

Pair: Miguel O'Hara & GN!Reader

Notes: for chapter: poorly written in-universe journalism, friendly sparring, miguel in his feelings

Word Count: 2.9k

Read this chapter on Ao3 here. If you like my work, please consider leaving kudos there as well! You do not need an account to do so.

Our City Spider, a new column by Karen Page

Speculations that our friendly neighborhood Spider had been taken off the playing field permanently, either due to disabling injuries or death, have been put to bed. It’s official: Spider is back.

The vigilante hero was seen early Wednesday evening near Crosby Street, with photos and videos of the web-slinger posted soon after to social media and trending locally shortly after. It had been just over two weeks since the hero’s last sighting, at the now infamous Club Scorpion slaughters where they had been seen with a large torso injury before disappearing.

“They saved me about a year or so back,” Twitter user hawkeyestan69 said in a quote-Tweet of another user’s photos of Spider. “I’m glad they’re still kicking.”

Although Spider has maintained a nearly five-star reputation amongst the people of the city, they remain notoriously elusive to the press and have yet to endear themselves to our police force.

“I’m grateful for their work in saving lives,” one member of the force has said on the condition of anonymity. “Especially at Club Scorpion. That could have been so much worse, and we all know it. But they’re still a civilian, and I worry about what that means.”

“The Spider has done work for the people of this city,” Captain Stacy, the captain on duty the night of the Club Scorpion slaughters, said in a recent press statement. “But they are still a vigilante. We cannot become reliant on them to protect this city—their absence, whatever the cause, reinforces that fact.”

Despite the difference in opinions across officials and the public, this reporter is glad to see our Spider back, alive and well.

Gwen flips over your head, arms tucked into her chest and body straight as a pencil. You duck and watch her, crouched low to the floor.

“Doing great, kids!” Peter calls from the side.

“Feel free to join whenever,” you say, launching yourself to the side in a roll and sprint when Gwen fires off two quick webs at you.

“I’m good over here with Mayday.”

You jump, doing your own flip off a wall and firing back your own webs at Gwen who dodges just as easily.

Open space sparring practice is weird for the both of you, but presents a unique challenge to you and the rest of the Spider-People (and sentient non-people) used to terrain filled with nooks, crannies, and surfaces to climb and jump off and hide behind.

“You're avoiding hand to hand,” a new voice says.

Miguel-209.

“Yeah, they’re really half-assing it,” Peter comments, half-sarcastically.

“Oh, you can do better?” Gwen says, standing and placing a hand on her hip, all banter.

Miguel-209 stands with crossed arms by Peter. He raises an eyebrow, looking from Gwen to you and offering a small smile when he sees you already looking at him. One that you return.

“I think I can, yes,” he says.

“Have some confidence man,” Peter says, tapping Miguel-209’s arm with the back of his hand.

You smile wider at the little glance Miguel shoots at Peter—not quite a glare—and nod at him to join you on the mat when he looks your way again.

“Alright,” he says, and walks towards you.

Gwen raises her eyebrows at the two of you and walks off to stand next to Peter, effectively trading places with Miguel-209.

“Are you much of a hand to hand person?” He asks.

You shrug. “I wouldn't necessarily say that.”

He nods. “But you know the basics.”

“Enough to get by.”

“Let's work on that then.”

You shift into a ready stance, and he scans you over and mirrors you.

“Go ahead.”

You hesitate, fists raised, and then shoot a web at him. He dodges by leaning far to the side, looking at you and then shifts back.

“That’s not hand to hand.”

You shoot another, and this time when he leans out of the way he grabs the long strand of web still attached to your wrist, pulling you closer. You stumble, ducking under the swing of his hand and finally shaking the web free from the spinneret in your wrist, balancing on your hands to swing a leg out at his ankles. Miguel-209 jumps back, landing with his finger pad talons extended—you watch as he retracts them.

“Pretty good recovery,” he says, smiling warmly. You catch a flash of his teeth, of a fang, before he closes his lips again and lunges for you.

It goes on like this for a few minutes. Miguel-209 attacks, you dodge and try to counter, he dodges, and it starts again. Attack, dodge, attack, dodge. You finally gain the upper hand when you use your webs again, landing one on his ankle and pulling hard. He topples, foot yanked out from under him and landing on his back with a soft oof from his lungs.

“You went easy on me,” you chuckle, catching your breath as you stand over him.

His eyes twinkle as he looks up at you from the mat. “So did you.”

You offer a hand, helping him back to his feet. “Again?”

He nods, the two of you retaking your starting positions. “Let’s kick it up a notch.”

This time you start, bolting towards him before the anticipation can build too much or he can prepare himself too well. Instead of going to block you, he swipes—big arms going to grapple you. You drop, sliding under his grasp and past his legs, swinging on the floor to kick at the back of his knee.

It buckles under the impact and Miguel-209 nearly drops to the floor, catching himself on his hands before his knee touches the mat. He spins, turning to face you and lunging again—

You barely blink before you’re on your back and Miguel’s got your thigh pinned to the ground under his foot, his palms pressing each forearm to the floor. His fingers aren’t wrapped around your limbs, and when you look you see it’s because the sharp points in his fingertips are out and piercing the gym-mat under you.

You look back up at him, and blink. “Damn.”

He laughs, and you catch a glance of his teeth again.

“Best of three?” you ask.

“Let’s call it a draw,” he says, pulling his hands back with a small tug, lifting his foot off your leg. He offers an outstretched palm to help you up, and you take it. “You did pretty good, I’d hate to embarrass you more in front of your friends.”

You laugh, dropping his hand now that you’re standing. “Sounds like projection to me.”

You switch with Gwen, who’s eager to give it another try after a short rest.

“He’s good,” Peter says when you lean against the wall next to him.

You hum in agreement, watching Gwen and Miguel-209 spar. His style is different from your own Miguel’s, and your mind wanders to the thought of sparring with him. He’s stronger than you by leagues, that’s a given, but you’re faster. If you put your all into evasion, would he be able to catch you? Maybe. He’s clever, afterall. What would that be like? Would he pin you, like 209 did just then? He’s comfortable with you, he’d probably get closer, crowd you in. Would he be less afraid to manhandle you? You hope so—

You blink, jolted out of your quickly devolving daydream, at the slam of Gwen hitting the mat, face hot.

“Good job,” Miguel-209 says, pulling her off the floor with an offered hand.

“Thanks,” Gwen grins, cheeks flushed and breathless from the exertion of the quick fight. She turns to you and Peter. “Anyone else hungry?”

“I could eat,” you nod.

Miguel-209 nods with you, and then the four of you—plus May—go to the cafeteria. You each take turns holding the baby so everyone can eat in peace, without her reaching hands in the way. While Miguel-209 answers Gwen’s stream of questions, Peter watches you bounce May on your lap, eyes scanning over your half eaten meal, and the little to-go box sitting next to your plate.

“Bringing food to the boss again?”

You look at Peter over his daughter’s head, his face one of carefully crafted and open neutrality. You don’t reply—but your face must say enough, because Peter looks at Miguel-209 next to you, then pointedly back at you.

You shake your head, not in response to his question but in response to… whatever that look was, and look back at Gwen.

“I was wondering if I could crash at yours again,” she says. “Things are stirring up in Hobie’s dimension, and I stick out like a sore thumb over there.”

“Of course,” you smile. “You’re welcome any time.”

“You can always stay with me and MJ,” Peter adds.

You make plans for Gwen to come by yours later that night, before everyone finishes eating and goes their separate ways.

You bring your to-go container to Miguel’s lab.

“Hey,” you call into the shadows.

No response. Not entirely unusual, so you forge ahead.

“I brought you some food, in case you haven’t eaten,” you say, and then you see him.

He’s on his platform, the one with all the golden holo-screens and files and reports. His back is to you, tension in his shoulders and spine slightly hunched—microscopically, but you notice all the same. You’ve seen something similar enough times to guess at what’s happening.

A quick thwip of web from the spinneret in your wrist and you’re on the platform with him, setting the little takeout container to the side.

“Hey,” you say again, softer, quieter.

Miguel takes a breath.

You close the gap, walking slow enough for him to turn or stop you, and rest your hand on his back. He turns his head to look at you now, frustration and hurt in his eyes. You don’t lift your hand when he turns his body to face you, instead letting it slide from his shoulder blade around to rest on his upper arm.

“You okay?” you ask.

His eyes drop from yours, brow furrowing slightly more, his chest rising with a deep and steadying inhale.

“Yeah,” he says.

It’s automatic, the way your hand squeezes his arm in reassurance, the way something in the back of your mind flips at the size of it under your hand, the way you step forward to wrap your arms around his middle. He hesitates, stiffening slightly, and you start to pull back, but then his arms are around you—engulfing you—and you’re pulled back in.

He’s still tense. Still… off, somehow.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” you ask, cheek against the muscle of his chest. You can hear his heart like this, the cartilage of your ear against his suit. The red glows slightly, and you close your eyes against it.

It thumps steadily, kicks up and chugs along when Miguel shakes his head, face against the top of your head.

“Okay,” you say. “I’m here, though.”

Your heart stops when he kisses the top of your head, pulling away and unwrapping his arms from around you.

“You brought me food?” he asks, struggling to meet your eyes.

You clear your throat, turning and picking up the takeout box to hand it over to him. “I had a feeling you’d forget lunchtime, so…”

He accepts it, gloved fingers grazing yours. “Thank you.”

You swallow, tamping down the zing that races up your arm. “Want some company?”

He actually smiles a little, now. It’s tight, but it’s something. “Sure.”

You settle into your usual spot, leaning back against an infrequently used area of the console and watch him close out a task on his holo-screens. With his back to you he turns his attention back to the food you’ve brought him. You watch as he turns and mirrors you in resting his weight on the console—though its height is too tall for you to casually perch, it’s perfect for him to half-sit, half-lean on. You watch as he pulls his glove off with his teeth, your breath catching.

He looks at you at the small sound of your inhale, the glove still in his teeth and paused mid-pull.

You stare.

His eyes flick across your face, and then he continues, slowly pulling his hand fully out from the tight blue and red fabric. Once his hand is free he takes the glove from his teeth and sets it aside.

You swallow. “I always assumed you could just…” You gesture vaguely, the movement of your hand indicating sweeping something back from your face. “The mask thing. But that’s the second time I’ve seen you take your glove off like that.”

The corner of his lips twitch, looking down as he opens the takeout food container. “The shape of a hand is more complicated for the nano-fiber technology,” he explains. I need it to be tougher there than on my face, on account of…” he pauses, rubbing his fingertips together, before spreading his fingers and allowing the sharp points hiding in his fingertips to emerge.

You nod, looking at his bare hand. “I see.”

He retracts the sharp points—you briefly wonder at the correct terminology. Are they talons? Claws? Something else?—and begins eating.

“You know,” you begin, watching his hand. “I don’t think we’ve ever sparred.”

Miguel raises an eyebrow at you. “No, we haven’t.”

You meet his gaze. “Do you spar with anybody?”

“I get my practice out there,” he says, and you know he’s referring to his city.

“Mm. I see.”

He eats in silence for a moment, and you consider asking if he would ever spar with you, images your mind had conjured earlier returning to present themselves. You squash them own, and instead say:

“Gwen’s going to stay with me again for a little bit.”

Miguel looks down, and nods.

Miguel hates his apartment.

He lives in what amounts to a penthouse at the top of the Spider Society Headquarters building, and it’s just as sterile as every floor below. Sleek white walls and counters, gray furniture. He gave up on trying to keep a plant months ago, after seeing how healthy yours were in comparison to his sad attempts. The couch is bare with the exception of two stiff throw pillows—a slate blue-gray.

He passes the living room, the kitchen, and goes straight to the bedroom.

“Lyla, start the shower.”

“You got it, boss.”

The dull white noise hum sound of the shower starting reaches his ears as he strips, shrugging off the torso of his suit, pulling his arms free of the tight fabric like a snake shedding its skin.

The bed in the center of the room—overly large for just one person, even a man of his stature—looks all wrong. The bed sheets are too smooth, the blanket crisp and set as if ready to be photographed for an online shop listing.

He huffs a breath out of his nose, turning his attention back to shedding his suit.

He leaves it in a puddle on the floor, straightening up with a roll of his shoulders. The still air on his bare skin feels… odd. Almost unpleasant, even.

He leaves nearly all the lights off, and Lyla lets them be as well, as he leaves the room and makes his way to the bathroom—one light is on in here, dim and warm, soft on his sensitive eyes.

His shower is better than yours. The water pressure, the size, the quality of the water itself. But even so the enjoyment—and the sudden memory of the last time he was in here thinking about you, getting off to a wet dream—is muddied by an undercurrent of something he can’t name. He rushes through his shower as the water runs rivulets and rivers over his skin, helping lather and then clear off the soap he uses to clean every inch of his skin.

It comes back when he’s out of the shower, meeting his reflection’s eyes. He tries to rub it away as he moisturizes, as he returns to his room and dresses. It trots at his heels behind him through the hall and to the kitchen, rises up higher still at the sight of his pathetically bare fridge. He hasn't been spending enough time here to get groceries, so it's no surprise. He’s been putting more focus into your fridge, back home—

“Shock,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut and covering his face with his palm. His fork clatters to his half-empty dish.

Even though he can't see it, eyes covered as they are, he feels the empty space around him. Too empty. The air is closing in—

He takes a shuddering, deep breath. This is fine. He can manage to exist in his own home for one night.

When was the last time he actually did, though?

He’s barely there as he puts the remainder of his food in the fridge (he couldn't bring himself to eat the rest, the unease in his stomach is too vivid, too large) and places the dish in the sink. He’s miles—no, universes away as his body walks down the hallway to his room and slides under his bedsheets. The walls are too empty, he thinks while laying on his side.

He shuts his eyes and sighs as he rolls onto his back—then huffs a frustrated breath and rolls over onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow. The smell of it is wrong, but the pressure on his chest is better.

He can do this. He can sleep in his own room.

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#x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x gender neutral reader #miguel o'hara x you

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lilacgyuvin · 4 months

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STARGAZING! ━☆ﾟ.* a kim jiwoong smau

⊹₊ ⋆ chp. 2: beautiful stranger

word count: a little under 1k

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“and that’s basically it. does it make a little more sense now?” jiwoong sets his pencil down as he awaits the high schooler’s answer.

“it makes a lot more sense! taught me more than my actual teacher ever could,” gunwook says, mumbling the last bit because according to him, ‘she’s always lingering!’

jiwoong can’t help the smile that makes its way onto his face amidst seeing the boy pout. “that’s good to hear, and just in time too.” watching the clock hit 4:15, he looks out the doorway where guardians of the tutored high schoolers were instructed to wait, as if gunwook’s would appear out of thin air.

taerae and hanbin’s kids had gotten picked up at earlier times, and just to his luck, gunwook managed to stay throughout the whole session. despite their kids being gone, the two decide to wait for jiwoong to finish up, making themselves comfortable at two desks by the window.

“are you gonna tutor here all the time? if you do, can you ask them to pair us up again?” gunwook sounds absolutely smitten with the idea of being tutored by jiwoong again, and if he weren’t so ready to go home, he would’ve felt bad.

“ah, to be honest, probably not. needed to do this for a class of mine.” jiwoong doesn’t miss the way gunwook’s face drops— now he feels bad. “oh. well can we exchange numbers?”

if there’s one thing jiwoong has learned about this kid in the past two hours, it’s that he is persistent. he’s clearly works hard towards the things he wants, and him simply being at this tutoring sessions shows that. and while he admires his drive, jiwoong would like to not have a high schoolers number in his phone.

“i’m go-“

“gunwook!”

a voice calls out from the entrance of the classroom, grabbing the attention of them both.

to jiwoong, taken aback was an understatement.

this person— whoever she was— was absolutely breathtaking. jiwoong’s seen a fair share of girls in his days, and he can confidently say that she was truly like no other.

“wow, you’re actually on time for the first time ever.” gunwook genuinely says as he starts to pack up his belongings. the beautiful stranger pouts eerily similarly to gunwook, making her way into the classroom. “i’m always on time.” when she receives nothing but a humorous chuckle, she rolls her eyes and brings her attention elsewhere, ultimately locking eyes with the man next to her brother.

jiwoong almost stumbles over his words until he realizes taerae, hanbin, and a high schooler are in the room with them as well, there is no way he’s going to mess up in front of them.

“hey,” he says in the calmest voice he can muster up, throwing in his award winning smile. he can hear his friends starting behind him already, but he’s already locked in. she seems to be surprised by his sudden hello, her eyes light up ever so slightly before she greets him with a hello of her own. “hi! i hear you guys are tutoring for free?”

raising his arm on the table, jiwoong rests the side of his head into his palm before answering, “yeah, i love helping the youth out whenever i can, y’know.” behind him he hears his friends; someone slapping their hand over their mouth, and the other slamming their head onto the table.

he could care less about what they think at the moment, as the girl in front of him was clearly touched by his semi-true statement, currently bringing a hand to rest atop her heart. “that’s so sweet. thanks for helping my brother, he’s been having a hard time with math lately.” she averts her gaze for a second to ruffle gunwook’s hair, earning her a mean glare.

jiwoong then turns to the boy next to him, and sees that he’s more than ready to go— he’s running out of time. jiwoong seizes the opportunity before it can slip away. “gunwook, you never told me you had a sister?”

“we just met-“

“and let me get your phone, i’ll put my number in right now.” he holds his hand out as gunwook slowly starts to realize what’s happening, breaking out into a smile as he reaches his front pocket for his phone.

“i’m gonna get so good!” he exclaims, and jiwoong can’t help but genuinely smile, peeking a look at his sister to see her doing the same at the sight of her brother. jiwoong mindlessly puts his number into gunwook’s phone, not thinking about the fact that he will in fact have to tutor gunwook one of these days. he can’t really seem to care when the potential love of his life is standing right before him.

she waves at him one more time before redirecting her attention back to her brother,not even waiting for him to get up as she turns around to leave. “okay let’s go! your bestie’s waiting for you in the car,”

gunwook practically springs out of his chair at the sound of the nickname, screaming ‘MATTHEW!’ at the top of his lungs as he runs out behind his sister.

as soon as the two are out of sight, taerae and hanbin burst out into an explosive laughter that they’ve clearly been holding in for a while now.

jiwoong only rolls his eyes, packing up his belongings and starts to make his way downstairs. “let me know when you guys are ready.”

a/n: likes + rts are very appreciated!!

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bangchansgirlsblog · 2 months

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The assistant.

"Chan?" Her footsteps followed quickly behind him trying to keep up with him as we walked into the dressing rooms.

"Yeah?" He replied dryly as he sat into the makeup artists chair after saying a quick hello.

"You have a meeting with Eunwo and the PR tea-"

"Y/n honestly I don't have time for this right now. You see I have a show in a few minutes and you decide to tell me all this now?" He scoffed and looked up from his phone.

"No Chan it's just that-"

"Just that what? Look your a great assistant and all but your sometimes so uncoordinated. Do you really expect me to remember all the meetings I have?" He glared up at her.

She was wearing her usual knitted sweater, tight pencil skirt and some lofers. Her hair was up in a bun and she held her IPad and Chan's bag one in each hand.

"I'm sorry, it won't happen again," she hung her head low and looked at the floor.

"Good, now go sit on the couch and sit there looking pretty," he stated and went back to scrolling on his phone. Y/n was so confused because he would be so nice to her and then be the worst person to her at the same time. It was so confusing- "oh and for God's sake Y/n what do I say about your sweater? It's ugly, I can't have my assistant walking around in such. Get rid of it. You know what, I'll even take you shopping,"

"Y/n get me water please," she heard his voice call for her.

Nope. He wouldn't see her as anything more. She accepted it and she was getting exhausted.

The rooms were all lit and they all had different people in them doing different things so it was very confusing for her to note where what was.

Who was she? Was she pretty?

"I'm here to pick up Chan's friend," she smiled as she told one of the popular and most familiar guards.

"Oh, Chan has a new friend now?" He teased.

"Yeah I geuss, I've never met her before. Do you see her anywhere out there?"

"Hey! You must be Chan's assistant," ouch, assistant? Was that all she was? "I'm Min-Ji but everyone calls me Jiji," she smiled and put out her hand for a shake.

"I'm Y/n. The assistant," she shook the hand quickly and led her to Chan's changing room.

"This is really such a big place," Min-Ji commented as they where making their way down the corridors.

"Yeah it is,"

"How long have you been working for Chan?" She asked trying to make conversation.

"About 6 years,"

"Do you have any advice? You know...for me?" That made Y/n start to slow down her pace because what was she trying to say?

"What do you mean?"

Oh.

"Chan she's here," y/n knocked on the door and slowly pushed it open.

"Ahhh, great! Min-Ji! Hey love," he smiled and moved away from the stylist to give her a hug,

"Hey Channie! Long time no see," she giggled.

"How are you? Please take a seat, I still have a lot before I get ready. Y/n please, get her a drink," Chan said.

"Ofcourse," she smiled through her teeth. Deep down she wanted to die as she watched the two interact and be all touchy. That should be her but..

She's just an assistant.

"Y/n!" Someone yelled for her making her jump a little, "what are you doing outside?! Get Chan and let's go!" One of the managers yelled as he walked up the corridor towards her.

"Sir? Sir he's in there with someone-"

"Sir I tried to tell him, but his with-"

"Get him in the bus now. I don't want your excuses," he shoved past her making sure to hit her shoulder. Her hand automatically rub the area. Her feelings were now even more emotional than before.

She had tried warning Chan but instead of understanding Chan yelled at and now she got yelled at again. Was anyone going to actually be nice for once?

She quickly knocked on the door and prayed that Chan wouldn't be pissed off. Maybe he would be in a good mood to be rushed.

"Chan we really need to go! Please just come out," she begged.

"5 more minutes!" He replied.

The tears wouldn't stop as she looked at him, analyzing him and trying to find some type of reason to run away and hide.

"Hey, do you think that..." he trailed off as he turned to look at his assistant. Worry quickly filled him as he made his way to her. "Hey? What's wrong?"

Why did he care? Y/n thought.

"Did someone do something? Why are you crying?" He looked down both sides of the corridors and saw that no one was there, so what was really going on?

"N-nothing," she shrugged his hands off her body and made her way inside but was stopped by a hand grabbing her arm.

"I've never seen you cry before so something has to be wrong-"

"I'm just your assistant," she sobbed. Chan was taken back because yes she was his assistant but that's not what she was to him.

"What do you mean?" He asked. His feelings now getting worked up but he couldn't help but ask why? Why was he getting so worked up after seeing her upset.

"Y/n, love. Tell me what the matter is, I won't tell anyone,"

"L-let's go," she breathed. Her chest pumping up and down at a high pace.

"Can we talk about what's made you upset?" Chan asked softly.

"Chan not now, please..."

"Later?" He asked hopeful and he got a head shake in response but he was satisfied with it.

"Can you atleast calm down for me? Just breathe," he took a few steps closer until he was towering over her. His hand land by her arms and he rubbed them trying to calm her down. It was working but the intense eye contact he was holding with her was scaring her. Her brain was foggy as she silently got lost into his eyes. Little did she know he was also getting lost in her eyes. He slowly analyzed her facial structure....he found her beautiful? The tension grew as he kept whispering encouraging words so she could calm down

until she did it.

She got on her tippy toes and kissed him he instantly kissed back and when she realized what she was doing she pulled away. Adrenaline run through her body as he looked at her shocked.

"Woah," was all he was able to say to her.

Embarrassment grew in her chest before she knew it she was running out with door. She run to fast that she couldn't hear Chan's calls for her.

She entered the bus and sat in one of the empty sits and covered her head with her hoodie and pretended to sleep.

What the hell was that?

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