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indecisivemuch · 1 month

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The Pact

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: Seeing you yearn for a relationship and dejected over the lack of one, Luke Castellan proposes a dating pact. Little did you know, he was going to do more than just wait until the day the pact could happen (friends-to-lovers, fluff, pining, a lot of longing, lowkey jealous luke).

Note: Sort of inspired by Monica and Chandler's pact thing from Friends.

Word count: 3.4k

You were spending some time alone near the lake, trying to enjoy mid summer sunlight as well as the silence from the lack of campers and couples around. For some strange reason, the number of people dating at least tripled in the last three weeks. If you were honest, the sight of happy couples was starting to irritate you.

Your eyes glided through the lines in the novel you were reading, though you could barely get past a few pages before a degree of bitterness seeped through. You set the book down and sighed. Your head leaned against the tree behind you while shutting your eyes and furrowing your eyebrows.

Oh, if only someone could love you the same way love was portrayed in books.

Before the scowl could grow permanent on your face, you felt light finger tips setting on the crease between your eyebrows. Instead of getting scared, you remained calm. You knew immediately who it was because there was only one person who would do that. The person sat down next to you and you turned to see them already smiling at you.

To most, Luke Castellan was just the Hermes cabin counselor and best swordsman. But to you, he was a close friend and confidante. He has made it a habit to press softly against your scrunched eyebrows to prevent you from scowling further. It was somewhat sweet to you.

“What’s got you so bothered?” Luke asked, peering at you while tilting his head in a boyish manner. The look alone somehow made you blush. There was no denying that Luke was cute. You knew at least a handful of people at camp who would agree. It honestly surprised you that he was still single. Though you were somewhat relieved at that. For about a year now, you have had a little crush on the Hermes cabin counselor. It was not hard falling for his kind words and sweet actions.

“This is going to sound so stupid…” You let out a deep sigh.

“Oh, come on, since when have I judged you for being stupid?”

“Oh, so you do admit I’m stupid sometimes?”

“Yes, but is that really a problem, considering I find it endearing?” You hope he did not see the way your face heated up at his words.

Little did you know, Luke did notice it, just like he has always noticed little details about you. Knowing he was the reason behind your pink-tinted cheeks filled his heart with joy. In fact, throughout the last year, it got to the point where he would grow very bold with his flirty jokes, disguising his feelings in between them. Honestly, he was surprised you had not caught up to the truth yet.

“Okay, well, so many people have gotten together lately, and it’s got me a little bit annoyed.”

“Why?” Luke questioned.

“Because, I want that experience, you know? The teenage love thing. We already have a strange life, fighting creatures and going on quests that could kill us. I just want to at least experience an aspect of a normal teenage life,” you watched him nod and digest your words. “I didn’t want it, want it. But seeing everybody else experiencing it makes me wonder when it will be my turn, you know?” You sighed before adding, “To make matters worse, it seems like nobody is interested in me that way, so…”

Luke almost let out a chuckle of disbelief at your last remark. Oh, many Demigods found you cute. But if only you knew to look right under your nose. He has always been here. If only you could see him how he wanted you to and give him a chance.

Ever since the day Luke Castellan met you, he became a dreamer. During the night, every dream would be of you, while in the morning, he’d daydream of you until he would see you next. You filled in every thought, walking in his mind like it was your home. But even if it wasn’t your place, he’d still give you the keys without hesitation.

“So…you just want to experience teenage love?”

“Well, that, and ideally, to be loved too. I don’t just want some casual teenage love, but at the same time, I’m tired of waiting around.”

A lightbulb practically lit up inside Luke’s head as an idea popped up. The logical part of his mind was yelling that this was a bad idea, though the more chaotic side was pushing him to just give it a shot. Though, he spent little time contemplating.

“What if we make a pact? By the end of summer - so maybe in about a month - if you haven’t started dating anybody…let’s date each other,” Luke blurted out before his mind could talk him into backing out. It was stupid, and he knew it. But if that was one way to potentially date you, then so be it.

Luke’s heart squeezed when he saw you completely frozen. He started panicking. Maybe he made it too obvious, and perhaps you didn’t like him in that way and were trying to find a way to back out.

“I mean—just so the both of us could experience teenage love, you know? I think it will be great. We already get along well. We’re good friends. What could go wrong?” Luke tried in a more casual voice.

A lot could go wrong — you thought. A possible thing that could go wrong is that you would fall harder for Luke, and that feeling would absolutely destroy you when you two break up because he finally becomes genuinely interested in another girl. Or, it has you so hung up that you would confess to him, only for him to say that whatever you two had was just a pact. But Gods, your heart must actually be a fool to whisper to your brain, ‘I mean…at least you would no longer have to imagine how it would feel like to be his.’

“Sure,” you said before you could think twice about it. “Deal,” you grabbed his hand and shook it.

“Deal.”

Now…Luke just needed to do a couple more things in the meantime.

During the first week, you asked Clarisse to set you up with somebody. She introduced you to one of her friends, Dean. However, when you mentioned Dean to Luke, he clicked his tongue before warning you.

“I just think you deserve better, Y/N. I’ve known him for five years and have never seen him bring one person on a date twice. Last week alone, he went on a date with five people.” Since then, you haven’t spoken to Dean again, deciding that you don’t want to try and date a playboy.

Two weeks later, you asked this guy on a date. He came to the picnic you had set up with a bouquet of flowers. However, your smile faltered slightly when you realized they were the type of flowers you disliked. You shook the negative thoughts away. After all, it’s the effort that counts.

Things quickly went downhill as the guy started sneezing…a lot. His eyes were watering, and it seemed like he was borderline getting sick. You noticed him trying to stop sneezing. You could feel the guy trying—you really did. But the last straw broke when he turned away to sneeze mid-sentence but didn’t do it fast enough.

Three days before the day that marked the day the pact would be able to begin, you attended a party hosted by the Hermes cabin. You were honestly done with trying to find someone to date. Perhaps, this pact thing was not such a bad idea after all, even if Luke might not like you as much as you like him. But at least you knew he would treat you well.

However, your numbers must have turned because somebody had walked up to you and struck up a conversation. With similar humor, your jokes bounced off each other’s, and you almost started crying from laughing at one point.

The sound of your laughter caught the attention of the Hermes cabin counselor. Luke could feel his lips slowly curling up into a smile at the sound of your giggles and laughter. He has always found the sound so endearing.

However, when he turned his gaze over at you, his eyebrows scrunched at the sight of you conversing with another Hermes boy — Oscar, who was also one of his friends. Luke was no longer paying attention to the conversation in his circle right now. His ears were busy trying to make out what that boy was saying to make you laugh like that. However, he almost left his friends when you touched Oscar’s arm while giggling at another one of his jokes.

You always tend to physically react to Luke’s jokes, from small touches while laughing to you playfully slapping his arm at his cheekier jokes. They never fail to make the tip of his ears grow red while his cheeks match the same color. Though Luke swore he had never seen you this way with anybody else. Hence, he was less than enthusiastic at the sight of you doing the same with another guy right now.

You continued talking to Oscar, but your conversation stopped when somebody bumped into Oscar and spilled their drink onto him.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to trip…” the guy who bumped into Oscar apologized.

“Chris, it’s okay, don’t worry about it,” Oscar said, though a sigh quickly followed his words. “I’ll just go and wash the drink off, but I’ll talk to you in a bit, though?” Oscar looked at you. He smiled when you gave him a sweet nod.

“Sorry again, man,” Chris said before watching Oscar exit the cabin. He turned to you now. “So, how are you? Are you enjoying the party?” You answered Chris and started catching up with him. You and Chris met through Luke, though as the years went on you two became friends as well.

With your focus now on Chris, you did not notice the figure of the Hermes cabin counselor zooming past you two and outside, following a certain someone. However, your conversation with Chris didn’t last long because Clarisse swooped in and borrowed you from Chris.

“So, I saw you talking to Oscar. Give me the details,” she said, dragging you down to sit beside her.

“He’s great! It’s so easy to talk to him and be around him.”

“Easier than with Luke?” you gave her a warning glare. You might have told her about your little crush on Luke, though you confessed that to her out of the belief that nothing would ever happen and that it would pass soon. Fast-forward to a year later, your feelings have not changed.

“...No, but—”

“I’m telling you, Luke’s the best one for you.”

“He doesn’t like me like that.”

“If he doesn’t like you like that, he would have never made that pact with you." When you didn’t reply to her, Clarisse decided to bring something else up. “Alright, let’s move on and talk about something else then…another candidate. Dean told me you didn’t show up.”

“Show up to what?”

“He wrote you a note asking you to meet him?” the look on your face must have told Clarisse you had no idea what she was talking about. “He wanted to ask you out on a date in person after that talk you two had three weeks ago.”

“Where did he leave the note?”

“Apparently, he was planning to get me to give it to you, but he passed Luke on his way to me, who offered to give it to you.”

“Well, I never got the note. I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. Luke told me he’s quite a player.” Clarisse pondered on the information you just provided her. Dean was in no way a player. She knew he has only been on one date with another person at camp. However, the puzzle pieces quickly clicked for Clarisse and she leaned back with a smirk.

Before you could question the look on Clarisse's face, Oscar came back to the party.

“Well, if you don't mind, Oscar is back and I have a good feeling about him. So I'm going to go and talk to him,” you left Clarisse, walking in the direction Oscar did. Meanwhile, Clarisse only silently chuckled. She knew exactly what Luke was up to and it made her shook her head in amusement.

“Hey,” you touched Oscar’s arm, though the cheery grin on your face fell when he slightly flinched and shrugged your hand off. “Uhm, it’s good you got that stain off your shirt,” your eyebrows furrowed when you realized Oscar was not even making eye contact with you.

“So, tell me more about that quest you went on last year?” you asked, hoping to start a conversation again. However, Oscar quickly broke out the truth.

“Listen, you seem very lovely, but I don’t want to put myself in the middle of anything. I don’t want to cause any drama.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not the type of guy to steal girls my friends are talking to or having a thing with,” you scrunch your eyebrow in confusion. Just as you were going to question what Oscar was referring to, his eyes betrayed him and looked at someone. You followed his eyesight only to see Luke already looking at you while glancing between you and Oscar. Though realizing he had been caught, Luke looked away and back to his friends.

That was when everything made sense.

“Uh oh…” Chris’s voice snapped Luke from whatever his friends were saying. He followed his gaze to where Chris was looking, only to see you storming over.

“We need to talk,” Luke tried not to think too much about the way your hand felt on his wrist as you pulled him through the crowd and outside. As always, he blindly followed you to wherever you were taking him.

You released Luke from your grip and stood with hands on your hips. You took a deep breath.

“Are you kidding me? Have you been sabotaging me? You told me Dean plays around, but apparently he doesn’t. He also gave you a note to give to me, but you never did it. Then, Oscar, who I was getting along with, came back acting weird, wouldn’t even look me in the eye, and then told me we have a thing going on?”

Oh, Gods, you found out about what he has been doing.

“Listen…” Luke started off while rubbing his neck, though he was unsure what to say next because he was indeed guilty of every accusation you were throwing towards him. But how was he meant to trust fate that you would still be single by the time the pact would be able to come true?

So, he intervened in his own way. That included throwing away Dean’s note, having Chris spill a drink on Oscar to get the boy away from you so Luke could have a talk with him. He might have also suggested your date two weeks ago to get you flowers, despite knowing that the boy was allergic to flowers.

All he wanted to do was to make sure the pact could happen.

“Luke…why? You know I wanted this. I wanted to experience things and date someone.” You weren’t mad, but you were slightly disappointed and confused. You didn’t understand Luke’s intentions behind his actions.

However, Luke misinterpreted the look on your face. He thought you were genuinely upset, and that alone pinched Luke’s heart. He gulped at the idea that he might have disappointed you or made you sad. Screw waiting until the pact happens before confessing. What use would that be when you might somehow start hating him?

“...Maybe I wanted it to be me,” Luke confessed, watching your eyes widen. “You told me you wanted to experience teenage love and feel loved, and you’re tired of waiting until it’s your turn. But I have never told you what I want.” Luke took a step closer to you before starting.

“I want to be the one to take you on dates and give you your favorite flowers every single time. I want to be your personal hype man and be your shoulder to cry on if you ever need one. I want to sit with you by the lake while you read. I also want to read the books you read and those little annotations you make. I want to learn about the things you love and the things you don’t. I want to do things you love. I want to show and tell you just how amazing you are every single day. I want to let the feelings I have right now grow cause I really like the idea of loving you, and I want to get there someday.”

You stood there shell-shocked. This felt almost surreal, like something you read from one of your novels. You have always wished to have someone who practically walked out of a romance novel.

“I want you.”

And here he was, standing in front of you, begging for a chance to be yours.

“And I know you just want teenage love, and I could offer you that. But just know I’m also offering so much more, even if you don’t treat the pact the same way as I do and will only view it as a casual relationship. But I suggested that pact and chased all those guys away because I like you a lot, Y/N. And in hindsight, it was stupid and selfish. But I did it because I felt like it was the only way I could have you.”

“I like you too, Luke,” the words slipped out so easily like they were always meant to be said. “I want you to be my teenage love. I want you too.” You’ve been walking around asking when it would be your turn. If only you had paid attention and looked closer instead, you might have noticed he felt the same way. You wanted everything he has spoken of and be just the same for him — to be there for him and learn to love the things he does.

“And I look forward to every single one of the things you’ve told me, and be the same for you. I really can’t wait for it. However, there is one thing I really want right now,” you said as you walked closer to him, one hand taking his own into yours.

“What?” Luke rasped out, looking so tentatively at you. Gods, whatever wish that spills from your lips this second will have him scour the world for it—whatever guarantees your happiness.

“I want you to kiss me.”

Oh, you could ask him for a thousand kisses, and he would give you a million.

Luke’s cheeks grew rosy at your request. He stepped closer, tucking your hair behind your ear without breaking eye contact.

“Can I?” He whispered in a honey-like tone, and you knew right then that if he kept talking to you in that voice, you’d do absolutely anything he asked.

“Mhm,” your quiet hum granted Luke permission to his next addiction. Without hesitation, Luke attached your lips together with both hands caressing your face tenderly. In return, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled you both closer until your bodies were flushed against one another. Slowly but surely, you also tangled your fingers in his curls. Luke almost immediately melted against your touch, sighing in contentment against the kiss.

Luke was convinced this was now his new favorite thing to do. He wondered if you could taste it through the kiss—his feelings and borderline infatuation for you. Either way, he intended on making every kiss like this: wholeheartedly and as if it would be your last.

Now, if you were to ask Luke Castellan how to get the person of your dreams, here’s what he’d advise you:

Step 1. Be stupid and propose a dating pact (tick).

Step 2. Chase away every other potential candidate (tick).

Step 3. Confess (tick).

Step 4. Fulfill all those promises you have made about loving the person (To be continued...But, he’s intending to do this for as long as you’ll let him).

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thekissofaphrodite · 4 months

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I Grew this for you, Ives.

Luke Castellan X Daughter of Demeter! Reader

Summary: Your secret meetup with your boyfriend, Luke, might have been interrupted by Percy Jackson.

Warnings: MakeUp...MAKEOUT- I MEAN. Language (Tell me if i missed one!)

Author's note: It might be kinda weird that the title doesn't match the summary but trust me, it's worth reading. + If you saw a fic from another blog the same as this i requested it and decided i wanna make the fic myself.

___

New kid, New responsibility. You were known as being motherly towards every kid that stepped in Camp Half Blood. And Maybe, Just maybe, Percy Jackson considered you as his Camp Mom, It wasn't new for older campers seeing a new 12 year old boy follow you around and look up at you with big puppy eyes along with Grover's confused look, but oh well.

Ever since your Godly Mother, Demeter has claimed you, Luke has called you Ives since then. It all happened when three years ago, you ended up in Camp Half blood after your mortal father has been killed by a chimera, much to his sacrifice, You might have offered some small offerings to your Brother In Law, Hades, to watch him in the underworld. Your first week into camp half-blood, Chiron had announced that Capture the Flag will be the first game for the day, you were teamed up with the reds (Much to your disappointment) you were near the cabin fire when two boys from the blue team had cornered you (One of them was luke) you raised you hands to cover yourself but then, Two ivy vines sprouted out the soil and blocked them, horror washed over you when one of the vines that you 'accidentally' summoned strangled one of the boys, Luke was able to escape and still..Blue team one.

While they were celebrating, The red team started ranting angrily about how you made them lose, You sat in a corner, your head leaned against an oak tree as you sobbed, then, a bright greenish-yellow light appeared with gold sickle with a few sheaths of wheat above your head, No one was there, not until a group of campers saw you, they ran and moments later, almost dozens of campers were in front of you, including chiron.

"All Hail Y/n Y/L/N, Daughter of Demeter"

Bunch of flowers started sprouting near you, The forest and plants looked much more healthier in your eyes as every one knelt down, Including Luke, Who gave you a mischievous wink.

"....And this is the mess hall, You're always designated to sit with your cabin mates but that depends, most unclaimed kids just sit with their friends" You said, Glancing at Percy, The young boy just nodded shyly and coughed,trying to hide his blushing cheeks.

"Looks like someone has a crush on you" Luke appeared behind you with a grin, Percy's eyes immediately went wide, making you chuckle.

"Crushes don't hurt, it's admiration afterall" You whispered before giving percy a light kiss on his cheeks, leaving luke shocked.

One of you halfsiblings, Althea, called you over. Apparently, another one of your half sibling's EX boyfriend from the Dionysus cabin used a lard grapevine to ruin the bathroom door inside the cabin while you sibling is showering out of rage and jealousy.

Now, As head of your cabin, It's either you spent one whole hour being lectured by Mr. D out of his favoritism or...Plead with one of the Hephaestus kids to fix it for you.

What a day.

Giving Luke and Percy one last smile, You left.

"C'mon Felix! This is the only time that i've asked for a favour out of all the favours i've done for you, You'd do it for me" You pleaded as you followed him back and forth inside his cabin's workshop.

"Look, Y/n, I love you as my friend, but i can't do it, not right now"

"What if i give you a 25$ gift card from burger king and......" You scouried your pocket hoping to find something, Your eyes lit up as you felt a bill in your palms "50 dollars...and...." You then went to pat your bra and pulled out a coin. "A Peso"

You then placed it in his soily hands, Felix's face remained calm, he then took the money.

"It's warm..." He said kinda horrified...You pulled the peso out of your bra for the gods sake!

"Take it or leave it."

He then rolled his eyes and grabbed his toolbox.

"Lead the way"

You squealed and hugged him before pulling him to your cabin.

As you watched him repair the door in silence, Felix broke the silencce by purposely dropping a hammer to the ground, the loud clattering sound made you flinch a little, he smirked "Thinking about Luke?"

You snorted, as if tho you weren't actually thinking about him, "No, i'm thinking about Percy"

"The new kid who broke Clarisse's spear? he's badass"

"mhm, Son of Poseidon"

"Speaking of, How's Luke?"

There was a moment of silence before you replied.

"Fine"

"Just 'fine' ? No ungodly things happening?"

"No" You could've bursted out laughing.

"I don't believe you, C'mon tell me some elaborate details"

You raised your brow, a mischievous glint appearing in your eyes.

"Actually, if you finished that, i'll tell you"

The Hephaestus boy huffed and went back to work

After an hour, Felix finished repairing the door and bid you a goodbye (Along with a side-eye)

It was now 11 pm, the Campfire sing-along ended almost an hour ago, and you were in your cabin, re-arranging your stuffed toys for the 5th time, (Making one plushie lay beside you will cause chaos among the plushies)

"Carrie..You go here and..Princess should be right....here, Done!"

All of your plushies were in order when you heard a knock from the window near your bunkbed. then, you saw luke, still in his usual camp shirt, unlike you who was in your rather inappropriate pajamas.

His eyes first landed on you, he then grinned before groaning and landing on your soft bunk bed.

"Hey ives-"

"Luke, what're you doing here?!" You hissed, afraid that your half siblings might caught you two.

"Can i not see you?"

"You can, but not at this time" You huffed, But he was still grinning before pulling a flower pot, with a rose.

"I grew this for you, Ives" He whispered, His eyes carefully scanning you expression before you chuckled.

"You know i can grow this in seconds?"

"Mhm, But still, I love you 'till the very last rose in this entire world wilt into ash"

A smile graced upon your lips before luke grabbed your cheeks and kissed you, the flowerpot fell into your bed, the soil staining your new bedsheet, You couldn't care less.

You deepened the kiss by pulling Luke by his neck, and a groan escaped his lips, his calloused hands then slowly went up your shorts making you moan a little, His hands became closer and closer and closer until-

"Luke?"

You two pulled away, Luke's hands were still in your inner thighs, he took a peak into your window and saw Percy, in his cute pajamas with messy blonde hair.

"Percy" Luke breathed.

"What's up?"

"The Apollo cabin seemed to be having a party, the noise is too loud and i can't sleep, i was wondering if you could go see it "

You then peaked into your window, your cheeks were pressed against luke's

"Y/n? Wait..what are you guys doing? and...why are you in her window?" Percy asked, his drowsiness seemed to have vanished.

Luke couldn't even answer percy himself, he started chuckling softly before burying his face into your neck and smothered it with kisses.

Percy then stood still before realizing, he cleared his throat, but before he could leave you called him.

"You know what? I think Luke could actually take a look at those Sun Brats" Luke immediately groaned and looked at you.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. Go help the poor boy"

"Yes Ma'am"

He then got up and just as he was about to climb down your bunk bed you stopped him.

"Nah uh, You can leave where you entered"

The dark haired boy chuckled, and and started climbing down the window, before he could jump back to the ground you kissed him one last time, But this time, the kiss was much more passionate. You could've sworn percy made a gagging face before turning around.

"I love you Ives"

" 'Till the very last rose in this entire world wilt into ash" You said, Luke's eyes soften.

You watched as he and Percy went to the Apollo cabin to resolve the chaos.

The flower potted rose sat in your bed, You took it, and glanced at the beautiful red beauty, You sniffed the fragrance before placing it near your window as you felt Hypnos' warm palm caressing you to sleep.

The next day, The first thing you did was bang into Felix's cabin, Giving him every detail from last night as Luke, along with percy watched you from afar.

A/N:

Hey Guys! I've been gone for too long and i just watched the new PJO series and i have to be honest, I fell in love with Charlie as Luke so here's a little treat for you guys while i finish my other fics, i do hope you guys like it!

#percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan x reader #charlie bushnell #percy jackson #Disney series #luke castellan

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stars4ani · 2 months

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nsfw 18+

(i was picturing s1 rafe as i wrote this cos he’s so underrated)

rafe cameron is extremely short tempered, and jealous, especially when it comes to you..

you’re clinging onto his bicep and leaning your head on his shoulder, curled up next to him as he deals drugs.

“this is the- the best fuckin’ yayo around,” he’s telling the guys seated in front of him, “and it’s a damn good deal too, c’mon.”

you get stares from the people mingling in the same area, as you often do when you’re clung onto rafe. you’re known for being harmless, innocent even, so it always shocks people to see you with someone so… mean.

but rafe sees you as the sweetest thing ever, he always feels a need to protect you, especially from the very people he works with. when he notices one of the guys looking at you for a little too long, he pulls your shirt up to cover your cleavage and leans forward towards him.

“y’know what, no deal.” he scoffs and grabs you by the arm, pulling you into the closest bedroom he could find.

“calm down rafe!” you giggle, you know how he gets when he’s jealous, as tough and cold as he is, he still needs the reassurance that you’re all his. the soft kisses he leaves on your neck grow more desperate as he bunches your hair into a makeshift ponytail, pulling your head back as he trails down your collarbones.

“rafe- someone could open the door any second and see.�� you squirm slightly, putting your hands on his chest to create some distance.

“let them see baby, you’re lucky i didn’t fuck you in front of ‘em.” he chuckles dismissively, backing you up towards the bed and pushing you down softly. you don’t even know what to say, blushing at your boyfriends dirty words.

“yeah, you know you like that shit, what would your friends think huh?”

you grow slick, he’s right, you did like the way he spoke to you, the way he treated you in the bedroom was so different in comparison to the way he usually treated you.

with your legs wrapped around his waist pulling him closer, he’s impossibly deep inside of your fluttering walls. his big hands on your shoulders, almost covering them completely while his grip doesn’t seem to falter, strong arms never getting tired. you let out small gasps as he brings his hand down to your lower stomach, pushing down before he lets his thumb circle your puffy clit. your whines grow more desperate, moving your hips up to meet his as you get closer.

“wish he could- fuck- wish he could see you like this right now.” he pants, mind still stuck on the guy from earlier, thrusts remaining consistent.

“stop- stop talking- mmph- stop talking about him rafe,” your voice is shaky, you’re barely able to form a coherent thought in your head, “i’m all yours, okay?” you reassure.

that’s enough to push him over the edge, spilling inside of you. he pulls out and uses his fingers to push his cum back inside of you, pulling up your panties and giving your fucked out cunt a light tap. you shiver and shoot him a confused glance. he puts his clothes on, urging you to do the same before walking back out with a hand on the small of your back.

“gotta mark what’s mine baby.”

#rafe♡︎#rafe smut #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron concepts #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader

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rboooks · 11 months

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DC x DP idea: Alfred's boy

No one can deny that Alfred Pennyworth's life before working at Wayne Manor was a gaint mystery.

Not even Bruce could tell them what exactly Alfred had been up to, what missions he went on for her majesty and not for the lack of trying (or out of respect).

That's why the morning Alfred asked Bruce if it was alright for him to foster a boy within the manor as a favor for an old contact codenamed Clockwork, the whole family nearly lost their minds.

Bruce, of course, welcomed the boy, and they had a room set up for him in the servant's wing before lunchtime that same day. Alfred has always insisted on remaining with the servant quarters, so his foster son would too.

Two weeks later, Danny Fenton walks through the door. Clockwork had to remove him from his home due to his parents' danger to his safety. That's all Alfred's explanation.

Danny slips in as Alfred's assistant rather quickly, silent as death and beautiful like the galaxies. His beauty is a bit off-putting, too perfect, too enchanting to be human but no one points its out.

Danny is an amazing inventor, quickly establishing himself as the Batfamily's gadget maker/Guy in a chair. He found the cave while dusting. Polite, intelligent, easygoing, and is vouched for by Alfred.

The only fault Bruce has against Danny is half of his kids develop crushes on him. Damian, Tim, Steph, and Duke seem to blush whenever he enters a room, and Bruce feels like a villain in Jason's period romance novels. The big noble Dad whom is trying to keep his noble children away from romancing the staff.

(Part 2 )

#DCxDP #fic idea #Danny ia pretty #Ghost King Danny #dimension travel #Alfred's boy #Part1

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rae-writes · 3 months

Text

like royalty

om boys x reader

wc : 1.k

warnings : none, just lovesick boys and their lovesick mc (and cute little Luke and his cute little mc)

synopsis : instances in which you treated them so good they felt like pampered royalty

a/n : the 10k special is hereeee! tysm, once again! <33

Leaning down, resting your knees on the dirty ground, just so you could tie his shoe for him

His steel composure allows Lucifer to remain rather unbothered, but you know better. You hear the way his breath hitches, his eyes widening just a fraction at seeing you so casually drop to your knees. He's at loss for words as he watches your fingers swiftly grab his shoelaces and begin tying them back into a neat bow. Lucifer doesn’t even try to hide the faint blush coating his skin when you stand back up- instead, he takes a moment to just bask in the pride he can feel building inside of you before he chuckles and shakes his head fondly.

“My, Mc…I do appreciate the bold gesture, but now you’ve got your knees all dirty..how shall I repay you, hm?”

†

Unlike the firstborn, Diavolo, while he does have steel composure, forgets the definition of it as soon as you’re telling him to wait a second before crouching down beside him. He’s used to being tailored to, of course, but there’s just something about seeing your knees scrubbing the dirt and your tongue poking out as you concentrate on tying his shoe that makes him melt. Once you’re finished, he’ll lift you off the ground himself and brush off your knees, blush as dark as his hair while he laughs loudly.

“You’re always so full of surprises! That did affect me quite badly, I must say…though allow me to do the same for you next time.”

†

The sound (see: squawk) that escapes Mephisto is completely undignified. He’s absolutely embarrassed, especially at the tingling sensation he feels on his hand where you’d lightly smacked it when he went to tie his shoe himself before dropping to your knees to do it instead. The gravel beneath you crunches as you shift to get up, making his hand dart to help and pull you close to him; he’s regained his composure now, but his words are still low and flustered, even as he gives you a smirk.

“Well, aren't you just sweet. Nobody’s ever gone through such lengths to simply tie my shoe, but you’ll be compensated, don’t worry. Come here, Mc…”

†

Stone faced as ever, Raphael just stares down at you with an almost confused look. He goes to say something about your clothes getting dirty on the floor everyone’s been walking on, but his words die in his throat when you peer up at him with a lovesick smile. Almost in a trance, he watches you carefully loop his shoelaces and tie them tautly before standing back up; only when his hand subconsciously finds the curve of your waist does he snap back to reality and give you a small smile of his own (he prays you’ll ignore the blush spreading across his cheeks…you do. For now).

“A-ah, Mc-! I…please, allow me to wipe your knees off, they’ve gotten dirty from the flooring…you really didn’t have to, you know, I can tie my own shoe…thank you..”

Grabbing his hand with a featherlight touch and bringing it up to your face so you could place a soft, slow kiss to his knuckles

Mammon’s base reaction is to jolt and scold you for teasing him, but his eyes dart to how your pupils are practically in the shape of hearts as you press your lips against his skin, and suddenly the loud mouthed second born is going quiet. The tiniest of gasps escape him as you begin to pull away, hand instinctively curling around yours and bringing it to rest over his thumping heart to keep you that much closer; the lovesick chuckle he gives you makes you melt.

“What’re ya— o-oh…Mc…d’ya even know what you're doin’ to me, actin’ like that? Where are ya goin’? C’mere…come closer..want another kiss- how about on the lips this time, yeah?”

†

Satan melts right through your fingers, eyes lidding and dumb little smile crossing his face. He is a sucker for this stuff and the murmur of your name is so breathless and adoration-filled. He’ll quietly demand another kiss, carefully watching your lips press against his skin before he’s flipping your hands around and kissing the back of yours instead. He relishes in the blush on your face but quickly turns a bashful shade of pink when you comment on how pretty that lovesick expression of his was.

“Mc…give me another one..yeah. You make my heart race, you know that? And you’re so pretty when you look at me like that..fuck. W-what—? My expression…I..I can’t help it…‘s all your fault.”

†

The squeal that escapes Asmo nearly leaves you deaf, but he just looks so charming with his giddy grin and sparkling eyes that you decide to overlook it (like always). He’s absolutely delighted at the action and begs you to do it again so he can take a picture for devilgram, but once the surprise is over, he just looks at you so softly. The pure adoration and love he sees in your eyes makes him feel like he’s floating and Azzy will be sure to shower you with kisses all over until you’re feeling the exact same.

“OHH MY! How sweet of you, hon! Let me take a picture, do it again, do it again! You’re just so full of surprises, darling, I love it! I love you. I love you so much, you know? You make my heart race~!”

†

Barbatos’ brain doesn’t catch up right away. He finishes greeting you and gets halfway through listing off the tea party spread before he actually processes the action— and that your hand is still holding his, rubbing your thumb over where you’d kissed. He stops right in the middle of the corridor and stares at you blankly, hot blush slowly rising onto his cheeks. The smile that crosses his face is completely for your eyes only (lovesick and bashful) and he’ll give you his amused chuckle before kissing your knuckles in return, bowing as he does so.

“—I have also prepared a selection of-!!…you..you are very sly, Mc…I can’t say I mind it though. I do hope you’ll keep the way you affect me just between us, however…can’t have anyone else seeing, hm? Shall I return the favor?”

†

You and Solomon teased each other back and forth quite often but this he wasn’t expecting. And he couldn’t just play it off- not with so much infatuation plastered over your face as you keep placing kisses along his hand. He averts his eyes shyly, darting back and forth as he tries to form words, but…you just got him so good with that gesture, he’s absolutely tongue tied as he peers at you with his blushy face, voice actually cracking as he asks what that was for.

“I—!…I, u-uh…Mc…what- what was that for…? You drive me absolutely crazy…can you do it again..please..?”

Sliding your jacket off and wrapping it around his shoulders- even though it might not fit correctly- just because they were cold

Levi’s face is a blistering beacon of cherry and he takes a brief moment to malfunction before shakily gripping at the fabric around his shoulders, looking up at you with wide eyes. It’s something he’s seen straight from an anime, something he’s always wanted to experience, but now that he actually has, his soul is leaving his body because your cute little smile is just too…cute! He won’t give the jacket back, though, instead choosing to bury himself deeper in the material with a stuttered ‘thank you’.

“H-h-huh?! O-oh, Mc…you..T-t-thank y-you!! ‘S really soft…’n s-smells like you..ah-! I-I mean-! Don’t listen to me, I’m j-just rambling! Thank you again!”

†

More than likely too big for your jacket, Beel is confused at first and will ask what you’re doing and tilt his head cutely. Though, when you simply say ‘you were cold’, he turns all smiley and blushy and even lets out a little giggle. That sweet little closed eye smile of his is beaming as he thanks you and insists you pile up in his arms to share the warmth, because aren’t you going to get cold too? Being wrapped up in your scent and being able to wrap you up in his sounded like a perfect deal to him.

“Hm? Oh, Mc…what’re you doing?…oh. Eheh…thank you! Won’t you be cold, though? Here, come closer, we’ll keep each other warm. Yeah…yeah I like having you close. I like you— I love you!”

†

Belphie’s half asleep mind doesn’t really register it until he wakes up a few hours later. His lidded eyes land on the sight of your jacket, brain slowly registering before a sleepy- giddy- smile crosses his face. He’ll drag his sluggish body to wherever you are and drop his weight onto you, mumbling his gratitude and how lucky he is to have you without the fully-conscious filter being there. He’ll hold that jacket hostage until it has to be washed— it just made him feel so loved, he didn’t want to let it go.

“Mmm…mh? Mc…? -yawn- Mc? Mm..thank you..you’re so good to me…love you s’much..come sleep with me now…wanna feel your warmth too. No- wanna keep the jacket..let me keep it..please?”

†

Simeon blinks, eyes a bit wide as he stares at you before a bubbly laugh escapes him while he rubs the back of his neck and thanks you. He was quite surprised at the action, but completely delighted, and finds himself grinning stupidly before he can help it. He feels so fuzzy and warm and just wants to giggle and kick his feet— but he won’t…not outwardly, anyway. That giddy smile stays, though, all for everyone to see as he parades around with your jacket over his shoulders.

“Oh, Mc, thank you! You really didn’t have to…but I appreciate it nonetheless- you’re so loving and kind, you never fail to make my day. I hope you’ll let me do something for you in return to show my appreciation?”

†

The first passing thought in Luke’s head is to deny he’s even cold, but when he sees that it’s you draping your jacket over him, he decides that yes, he is in fact freezing. And maybe he could just snuggle up to you as well… (Mc cuddles are the best!). He’ll happily exclaim to anyone that the jacket is yours and beam because he’s just so thrilled to be your friend and he’s just…so precious.

“Waaahh!! Thank you, Mc! Are you sure you’re not an Angel? Hehe! Look, guys! Mc gave me their jacket! Aren't they the best?!”

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tuhtofu · 1 year

Text

a flower yet to bloom

cw: sub kabukimono, dom reader, gn reader, corruption, masturbation, virginity loss, hand jobs, blow jobs, fingering, anal sex, dacryphilia, overstimulation, size difference, masochism, praise, dick can be read as strap, mentions of codependency, exhibitionism and dismemberment

wc: 1.3k

Summary: The Electro Archon’s puppet discovers a special kind of pleasure.

A pure, delicate puppet. Pliant and innocent. You’re certain that if you didn’t take him into your hands, someone else would. Someone evil, who’d take advantage of the sweet boy.

You would never.

It was only a few months ago that you had your first encounter with Kabukimono. He was drenched, curled into a corner in Shakkei Pavilion, eyes screwed shut and hands covering his ears from the sounds of thunder and rain.

Your hand reached out, and he looked up at you with the prettiest puppy eyes. You had to help him. His own hand grasped yours, cold and small, and he followed you home without question.

Did he see no other exit, or was he just naive? You quickly realized it was the latter.

At first, Kabukimono wasn’t the talkative type. He never requested anything, and the only words he’d mutter were “yes” and “thank you.” Even so, you’d always talk to him, and allow him to help you with house chores as a bonding activity, and with that, he slowly grew more and more attached to you.

Bright smile greeting you when you returned from your adventures, blush painting his cheeks pink when you pointed out his beautiful features, tiny giggles escaping his lips any time you cooked together, and always eager to learn anything that you were willing to teach him.

These innocent feelings continued developing quicker than Kabukimono could understand them. Normally, seeing your skin exposed around the house or when you exited the shower didn’t cause him to react, but now, seemingly out of nowhere, he feels his whole body heat up as an unfamiliar feeling rises in his gut. He mistook it for anxiety at first, however, a more likely explanation dawned on him.

You’d told him many fairy tales of romance before, ones you’d gathered from your visits to the city of romance itself. The puppet wondered if this was what love felt like. How he shivered when your fingers grazed his arm, and the way he’d get nervous when you’d get too close. How he felt a bit weird… down there, when you praised him.

And sometimes, it would get a little painful. Surely, with your knowledge, you’d be able to give him a solution to the problem, but he was too embarrassed to ask. Those are his private parts, after all.

All he could do was sigh in frustration, cupping himself over his pants when you were out of sight while making his way to your bedroom, plopping down on the bed with a small thud and burying his face into his pillow.

“Why does this keep happening?” he thought to himself, squirming in place– “O-oh! Oh god!”

His eyes widened, and he was trying to comprehend what he just felt. He attempts to recreate the movement again, and the same electrifying feeling runs down his body, eliciting a gasp out of him.

It felt… really good. Right where the tingling sensation arose. So he kept going, rutting against the bed softly as he rested his chin on the pillow, hands holding onto it like a lifeline while his eyes were screwed shut.

Soft little whines poured out of his mouth as he kept going, drooling all over your pillow. He felt guilty for dirtying it, but your sweet scent that lingered was driving him crazy. The more his dick grazed the bed, the louder he became, but he didn’t care. Kabukimono had no way of knowing that such activities were meant to be… private.

Your scurrying to the bedroom was inevitable, worried that something may have happened that caused those moans and whines of your name to be heard from afar, though the sight to be beheld wasn’t expected. Any words you had remained in your throat, leaving it as a small gasp instead.

The puppet’s head turned around at the sound of you walking in, his bangs stuck to his sweaty forehead, eyes filled with tears and cheeks burning hot as his humping subconsciously sped up at the sight of you. Your gaze only served to rile him up more, and he moaned loudly, reaching his hand out to you.

“Please help me…” he mumbled, taking hold of your hand and placing it on his cheek as the tears flowed freely.

Maybe this once, you’d indulge him.

Your sweet Kabukimono didn’t know it was possible to feel this good.

One hand tugging at his aching little cock, mouth latched onto his perky nipples as he thrashes around and cries out in pain. He could barely fit a finger in at first, but now all you can hear is the lewd squelching of your fingers, knuckles deep, stretching him open as his cum splatters all over himself once again with a scream.

And yet, this newfound pleasure that has him in a haze still leaves him absentmindedly begging for more, even if he’s overstimulated to bits. There’s no point in turning back, not when his hole clenches around nothing as you pull your fingers out, practically begging for you to stuff him full.

The puppet’s eyes dilated at the sight of your cock. It was much larger than his, but he wanted it carnally. He wanted you to feel the same pleasure he felt.

He crawled towards you, making his way between your legs and wrapping his small hand around your cock, almost inspecting it.

“Can I… put it in my mouth?” he spoke softly, innocence still laced in his voice, and you nodded, a sweet smile adorning your lips.

He smiled back shyly, wiggling in place as his lips littered kisses on the tip of your cock, before his tongue darted out to leave kitten licks there. He wasn’t good at giving blowjobs at all, but he looked too adorable and eager for complaints. No matter, you’d train him sooner or later.

“Open.” You spoke, and he complied, watching you slap your cock on his tongue before shoving it in, his eyes rolling back in response.

His hands held onto your thighs, clawing at them as you held him by the hair, pushing his head down while his tiny, wet mouth coated barely half of you with saliva. He couldn’t fit more, gagging and mewling with each bob of his head, and as much as you wanted to fuck his throat until his voice got hoarse, you only wanted to make it easier for him to take you.

Kabukimono whined when you pulled him off, and he could feel his throat burning and his scalp hurting from your hold.

“You did so well.” You kissed his sweaty forehead while maneuvering his small body to its previous position, spreading his legs apart and bending him in half hurriedly. The way you manhandled and used his body only made him twitch and leak further, face lighting up at the prospect of making you lose control from desire.

… “Making love,” he called it. Asking you to fuck him silly was too embarrassing, but the feeling of your cock slowly filling him to the brim was too addicting. How you’d cradle his face even as he’d scratch your back and lock his legs around your hips, pushing you further into him until his hole was gaping. How the sudden “I love you” that left his lips in a moan as he squirted onto his tummy was reciprocated while your cock still pistoned into him, going round after round because Kabukimono didn’t want his first time to end until he fell into unconsciousness.

And he’d beg you every day since then. To please make love to him, to ruin him again and again. It didn’t matter if you were busy, if you were outside, or if the world was lit aflame. He would still cling to you, get on his knees, spread himself open, even cut his limbs off if you so inquired.

The pure boy you met was naught but a sweet doll, yours to use and love eternally. And making love was how lovers expressed themselves, so won’t you please wreck him until he is an empty shell, dependent and permanently living through the pleasure you graciously bless him with?

#sub scaramouche #dom reader #genshin smut #gn reader #sub genshin impact #sub!character #dom!reader #sub genshin #bottom scaramouche #top reader #gn!reader #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x you #genshin impact smut #took me two months to write sorry

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hotyanderedaddies · 1 month

Text

The School Bully Loves You, Pt. 0:

When Blake Fell in Love with You

Part 1 │ Part 2 │ Part 3

[Yandere! Bully x GN Nerd! Reader]

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

"Fight! Fight! Fight!"

You heard the other students chant over and over that there was a fight, and judging by the "Ooohs!" and "Oh shit!", you could tell that someone was getting their butt kicked.

You didn't want to be associated with any of that stuff, so you did your best to steer clear of any drama.

You were only in fifth grade, but you were pretty wise in a certain retrospect in that you did not want to be involved in any sort if unnecessary drama that would add stress to your life. In fact, this was so prominent in your attitude that you were deemed to be a bit anti-social (shy was more apt).

However, since the crowd of chanting students was in the same direction that you had to take in order to get home, you were forced to walk towards the commotion despite your apprehension.

The closer you got, the more you could see the fight that was going on.

One guy had another pinned to the ground, and the one on top was wailing on the other one with both fists. The sounds of flesh against flesh banged out, and you cringed at the onslaught you witnessed.

"Teacher!" a random kid shouted out, pointing towards the school where one of the fourth grade teachers poked her head out to scream at the crowd to disperse.

Everyone scattered, leaving the one kid who'd been wailed on in the dust.

He stayed on the ground, coughing a little bit as he tried to catch his breath.

You didn't move from your spot, ignoring everyone else as they ran off, leaving just you and the apparent loser of the fight.

A part of you said that it wasn't your responsibility, that you should've just walked home and tried your best to pretend that you didn't see anything at all.

But your conscience told you otherwise.

Swallowing your nerves, you called out, "H-hey!"

The guy remained still on the ground.

You didn't have a phone yet (thanks Mom and Dad), so you couldn't call 911. Therefore, you rushed forward and up to the other guy, your eyes widening at what you saw.

You didn't recognize him. He must've been in a different grade, maybe older because he seemed really big and tall (even from his lying position). His cheek was bruised up and his right eye was swollen shut. He had a cut on his arm that was bleeding a little bit-- not too bad, but enough to where it might ruin his leather jacket.

"Are you okay?" you asked, immediately feeling stupid because he obviously wasn't.

"...yeah," the guy grunted, turning his head away from you, blushing a little bit.

You bit down on your lower lip, not knowing what you could say to help out the random dude who'd gotten his butt kicked. Therefore, you did the only thing that you could think of.

"Um," you mumbled, "um, I have a band-aid...?" You cringed a little, but still dug through your backpack for a band-aid to give him. Your mom made you carry a box with you to school since you were pretty clumsy and always seemed to manage to fall down and skin your knee, hence your box of Hello Kitty Band-Aids.

You pulled out a band-aid with Pompompurin and peeled off the back, carefully sticking it to the guy's cut arm. Out of instinct, you bent down and pressed your lips to it, giving it a little kiss like what your mom does to all of your ouchies.

You froze, having no idea why you'd done that.

"Uhh..." you mumbled. "I hope you feel better!"

Thinking quickly, you shot up to your feet and sprinted away as quickly as you could, scurrying in the direction of your house.

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

As Blake watched you run off, he looked down at the band-aid on his arm that had some random cartoon character on it.

He snorted and was about to pull it off, but then froze.

His skin still tingled from where you'd kissed him and simply thinking about it made his heart flutter in his chest and his breath get all ragged.

He recognized you from school, recalling how you'd typically keep to yourself and how you were a Grade A nerd.

...and how cute you are.

That'd been it initially-- Blake had thought that you were sorta cute, not paying too much attention otherwise.

But as he watched you run off, he couldn't help but stare in wonder.

Why had you helped him?

Why did you care?

And, ultimately, why weren't you his yet?

"They'll be mine," Blake promised himself. "Sooner or later, I'll make them mine."

He smiled as looked down at the Band-Aid you'd given him and placed his hand over where you'd kissed him, smiling to himself.

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

From then on, Blake made it his mission to make sure that you were protected at all costs.

He heard someone talking shit about you or thinking about messing with you?

He kicked their ass.

He heard someone say something negative about you?

He kicked their ass.

Someone cut you in line during lunch?

He kicked their ass.

Someone was wanting to ask you out on a date?

He kicked their ass.

Just that simple act of kindness that you showed the school bully had him wrapped around your finger. You didn't know it, but he was one-hundred percent devoted to you.

He walked you to and from school everyday, making sure to keep a little bit of distance in between the two of you. He knew that you were shy and that you didn't want to be involved in any sort of drama.

Plus, Blake wasn't delusional. He knew that he had an extremely negative reputation surrounding him, and he didn't want to drag you down with him. Everyone looked at him with fear in their eyes, and if you were associated with him, then he'd inadvertently ruin whatever reputation you'd built up.

In his mind, you're an angel, and he didn't want to taint you.

Hence, he kept his distance and made sure to admire you from afar.

But still, if anyone were to ask, Blake would say that you're his. He loves you after all, more than anything in the world.

And he promised himself that eventually he'd confess to you... all he needed was something to push him to do so...

#yandere boyfriend #yandere boy #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere daddy #obsessive love #possessive boyfriend #blake the bully #Blake #my oc #yandere bully #yandere bad boy #yandere bad boy x you #flashback

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sadienita · 6 months

Text

SKZ Reaction - You Refer to Him as Your Husband

bf!skz x reader

Contents: mention of drinking

You think it'll be cute to introduce your bf as your husband instead.

Chan

Makes him weak in the knees. The man nearly drops to the ground upon hearing the word “husband” pass your lips. Nevermind the fact that he already refers to you as his spouse in his mind and has been for months now. In that moment he wonders if you can read his mind, or maybe he’s been talking in his sleep? He will be a mushy, lovestruck mess for the rest of the day, clinging to you and grinning and taking it as an opportunity to start introducing you as his spouse to everyone. When you’re cuddling in bed that night he will ask if you mean it and he will start planning the wedding in his head the moment you say yes.

Minho

A cat-like smirk would turn up the corner of his lips but otherwise he gives nothing away. Well except for the red tinting the tops of his ears. His arm would pull you just a little closer and you know him well enough to tell from that that he liked it. He won’t say a word about it but it did make his heart race in the best way possible and he’ll give you a little more affection all day. In quiet moments just between the two of you he starts referring to you as his spouse from here on out, always with the same, cute grin.

Changbin

It’s so so incredibly obvious that he wasn’t expecting it. There’s a moment of shock before a massive smile spreads across his face. He practically squeals while he wraps you in a tight hug, very much confusing the person you just introduced him to. He doesn’t care. Literally nothing else matters. He’s your husband now and there’s no going back. He will refuse to respond to you if you try to call him anything else. If you ever introduce him as your boyfriend again he will cry.

Hyunjin

Pure shock. He's staring at you with wide eyes as you act like you didn’t just say the most life altering phrase he’s ever heard. He loves the way the word husband sounds coming off you lips. It’s perfect actually, like it was meant to be. When he finally comes back to his senses he gives you the same treatment, telling everyone that you’re his spouse and enjoying the way it makes you just as flustered as it did him.

Jisung

It honestly scares the shit out of him. He’s racking his brain for any memory of getting married. Did you two do something on a drunken night that he can’t remember? Did he somehow forget his own wedding?? You’ll have to pull him aside and ask him if he’s okay because he looks so incredibly stressed and he asks if he forgot about marrying you. It’s honestly so cute and you just kiss him and tell him you were just being cute. When he recovers though he will mumble that he kind of liked it and you can do it again if you want.

Felix

Literal instant heart eyes. Such a big smile graces his face but otherwise he tries to remain as chill as possible while inside he’s giggling, kicking his feet, screaming into a pillow. Literally cannot stop thinking about it for the rest of the day. He will not let you go and he will be stopping on the way home at a jewelry shop and telling them you’re engaged just to see how the rings look on your finger and which one he should get for you when he really does pop the question.

Seungmin

He’s so smug about it. Plays along but as soon as you two have a moment to yourselves and he's chuckling at you and calling you a simp as if he’s not just as whipped. Even if he won’t admit it though he absolutely loved it and it made him all soft inside. Much later when you’re cuddling and he thinks you’ve already fallen asleep he’ll mumble to you about how nice the word “husband” sounds when you say it and promises to make you his spouse one day.

Jeongin

He wants to be so cool and tease you about it but you caught him off guard. His face blushes crimson and he gets all shy and giggly about it, squeezing your hand and asking why you said that. He’s literally so soft over it and he can’t hide it. Even when he tries to tease you about being obsessed with him he’s giving you the most love struck gaze you’ve ever seen and he stumbles over his words. Late that night he asks you so quietly if you really wanna marry him and literally melts when you tell him yes.

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niki-phoria · 20 days

Text

⋆｡°✩ YOU LOOK SO PRETTY / PRETTY LIKE THE SUN

sweet moments with fushiguro megumi, itadori yuuji, inumaki toge, okkotsu yuuta

notes: gn reader (no pronouns used), first jjk reaction post !! this was so hard to write ngl, header from pinterest, title from tom odell - black friday

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI is in love with you.

dusk is filled with golden rays and city lights. you walk side-by-side with megumi in a comfortable silence. these quiet moments with you had always been rare but cherished moments - a small amount of time when you both could finally breathe.

years of fighting curses had taken its toll on you. with death always just one wrong move away, megumi had grown accustomed to cherishing the little moments with you: when you made him coffee in the morning before he woke up; when you waited at his bedside after he was injured in a fight; when you forcefully put some of your food on his plate after noticing that he wasn’t eating enough.

megumi had never grown up with a view of a real romantic relationship - all of his experience came from side plots in manga and being dragged into watching movies with yuuji - but he was smart enough to realize why his heart beat so fast around you. why he blushed so easily when your hand brushed against his. why he desperately wanted more.

megumi stops when you pause in your steps, stretching out your shoulders. a content sigh escapes you as you look out towards the shore. “the sunset is beautiful, isn’t it?” you say, your eyes trained on the hues of pink and blue filling the sky.

megumi glances at the skyline, only taking in the sight momentarily before he turns back to you. all the beautiful things he’s heard about “golden hour” seem to come true. the sun peeks out from behind various buildings, illuminating your silhouette. you softly smile as you look up at the clouds above.

“yeah,” he smiles; his gaze remains trained on you. “beautiful.”

fushiguro megumi is in love with you. now, he just has to tell you.

ITADORI YUUJI is - surprisingly - not a bad cook. over his months at jujutsu high, he had become the unofficial chef in the dorms. so when you fell ill, it was no surprise when he took on the responsibility of nursing you back to health.

your body is little more than a mound of blankets when yuuji creeps into your room; a bowl of steaming soup in his hands. he moves with the utmost care as he makes his way across the room before setting the bowl down on your bedside table. despite your puffy eyes and red-tipped nose he smiles, reaching up to push a stray strand of hair away from your face.

you stir awake at his touch before slowly blinking up at him. “hi y/n,” yuuji whispers. “feeling any better?”

he receives a groan in response. “i feel like death,” you rasp out.

yuuji reaches over, resting the back of his hand against your forehead. “you’re still really warm,” he mumbles. “i don’t think your fever has gone down at all.”

his cheeks flush slightly when you reach over, taking his hand into your own. your skin is overly warm and slightly clammy, but yuuji doesn’t mind. instead, he intertwines your hands together.

“here,” he says, using his free hand to hold up a spoonful of the soup he made. “try it. maybe it’ll make you feel better.”

the metal spoon burns your tongue and the broth is a little too salty, but it soothes your throat all the same. “thank you,” you murmur. “it’s delicious.”

yuuji simply smiles brightly, holding out yet another spoonful for you. “of course.”

“do you know japanese sign language?”

INUMAKI TOGE stares at you with wide eyes, surprised by your sudden question. it shouldn’t have been all that surprising, but it was something no one had bothered to ask before.

finally, after a short period of silence, he nods. “salmon.”

toge had grown accustomed to being left out. even while around the most supportive people, he often found himself struggling to be heard - both literally and metaphorically. after all, it was difficult to communicate with others through origini ingredients.

that didn’t make it any less hurtful, though.

you smile brightly, hesitantly signing along to your words as you speak. “i’ve been practicing a little. i wanted to surprise you.”

toge’s face flushes; his jacket does little to hide the way his blush spreads across his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. your movements are a little sloppy and you’re clearly nervous, but he doesn’t comment on it. no one had ever put in this much effort to speak to him before. to not only listen, but understand what he means.

“thank you,” he signs in return. he pauses for a second, hesitating slightly before he continues. “i love you.”

“i don’t think i know that one.” toge simply smiles, leaning in to pull you into a kiss. he’ll tell you what it means soon enough. but for now, his flushed cheeks and soft smile tell you everything he means to say.

the safest place in the world is within OKKOTSU YUUTA’S arms. you can’t remember when it became a routine for the two of you. he would return home and immediately seek you out; his fingers curl around your waist and tug you closer until your back reaches his chest.

a soft sigh escapes his lips as he rests his chin against your shoulder. the pieces of your bodies fit together like a puzzle - from the way yuuta intertwines his fingers with your own to how seamlessly his arms wrap around you.

messy strands of ink black hair brush against the side of your neck when yuuta nuzzles himself even closer against you. his breath ghosts against your shoulder as he leans down, pressing a few lazy kisses over the fabric of your shirt. “i missed you.”

“i missed you, too.” your fingertips trace along little cuts and deep bruises decorating yuuta’s hands. “do they hurt?”

he catches his bottom lip between his teeth. it feels trivial to be in pain over such minor injuries, but yuuta has never been the best liar. “only a little,” he murmurs.

you frown slightly, raising your intertwined hands up to your lips. the soft kisses you press against the fresh wounds leave him breathless. with a flushed face and a soft smile, yuuta presses a chaste kiss against your cheek in return. “thank you.”

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iznsfw · 2 months

Text

Lucid Dream

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 7 - Kim Minju

IZ*ONE's Kim Minju x Male Reader Smut

8,525 words

Categories | married man!You, wife!Wonyoung, daddy kink, degradation, rough sex, OC is not a good person

Content warning | cheating, humiliation, Wonyoung slander (it hurt to write but I read "Gone Girl" by Gillian Flynn recently so I guess that went into the whole wife-hating thing)

Skipping again a bit (still will do Chaeyeon and Chaewon and everyone because IZ*ONE best girls). Expect a commission and an IZ Days of Xmas fics this month again <3 I love you all, you make me happy. And as always, sorry for the inconsistency!

Wonyoung is beautiful.

You stare at her as she undresses in front of the full-length mirror. She’s the kind of woman whose vanity seldom rolls eyes because her adoration for herself—smoothing down her dark hair, strictly adhering herself to that keto diet, doing her skincare with the dedication of one who prays nightly to god (pick any)—is wholly justifiable. Look at her. Anyone would understand.

The dress she wore for her hosting show slips off her body. Her abs reflect in the mirror, the result of hard work in the gym. Wonyoung’s waist is impeccable. Magazines have written over and over tips to attain it but it seems that the signature Bratz doll feature can only belong to Wonyoung. The makeup was cleaned up by her stylist but her eyes still shine, her lashes are still long, and her lips are still plump.

Wonyoung is standing there in nothing but her underwear, an attractive set of lace.

Wonyoung is the perfect female form, a goddess from above choosing a man from below.

Wonyoung is beautiful, a feat that no matter how amazing besides true, she remains the same old fucking bore.

“Did you like my MCing, babe?” she asks.

“Uh-huh.”

Her legs, long and thin, move in planned strides down the room. To the bed. You know where this is going.

Your feet are killing you. Recline, welcoming yourself into the softness of the expensive mattress and pillows your wife paid for all in all. “Wonyoung, I’m tired.”

She’s a celebrity. Of course, endless days filled to the edge with schedules chase after her. She ought to understand. The nights are her only rest hours, yet with this energy, it’s like Jang Wonyoung never gets exhausted. Always bubbly, always sweet, always so seductive.

All these are positive traits that any other man would adore and own had you not married her.

Wonyoung makes an adorable sigh. “But you say that everytime,” she replies sullenly.

She’s pushing her lips out into this cute pout while her brown puppy eyes beg you to give in like you used to. Once upon a time, you were putty around Wonyoung. Never could give an answer without your voice shaking. Never could come near her without blushing.

She’s the prettiest woman in the world.

You’re the most awful, undeserving man in the world, for all you could think, as you look at her, is: Fucking bitch.

“Well, maybe it’s because I’m always tired.”

“How about,” she puts a finger on her chin, “I do the job for you?”

Her knees are bruised. You notice this when she drops to them so she could pull your pants to the ground. So she’s been doing this for so long? Lowering herself for you? Sucking you off? You thought that she’d get the hint by now: you don’t want to have sex with her.

So instead, she uses her mouth. Better than her pussy anyway. What are you saying? She’s a tight woman. But it’s the same thing everyday: she gets on your cock and you hear her annoying voice straining as she rides you. Her cunt, soaked and useless, makes you want to call her its name. She’s always needy. It isn’t flattering when you don’t reciprocate it.

It’s a goddamned chore. Wonyoung’s throat welcomes you. The other way around, actually: your cock welcomes a claustrophobically closed passageway and has to deal with it until you cum. It’s an unwanted visitor. She rang the bell, said hi, and you let her in. Doesn’t mean you like her there.

“Doing so good, baby,” you say. Oh, yeah, doesn’t mean you mean it either—although you do feel Wonyoung smile happily. She’s happy when she makes you happy. When she makes you give her the illusion that you have any happiness in this worn-out marriage.

Her lips seal around you. You can feel them suckling. Your knees are tense. The moans are forced, though. Hearing them come out from your own mouth makes you want to place a pillow over your face and press it down as hard as you can.

She slides you down her throat. Admittedly, you love the way she chokes. Her eyes get all watery, like she’s crying from pain. That sounds appealing.

You’re a critically messed up man, you know. But they’re what make the world go ‘round. Why do you think they write romance books about them—the bad boy, the mafia boss, the killer? Plus, one of those “terrible” people inspires the biggest Korean celebrity to continue hosting, dancing, and singing. So who’s so terrible now?

To conclude, if anything, you’re the one responsible for Wonyoung’s success.

To conclude, you groan as desperately as you can then release in her mouth. Wonyoung gags. Another pretty sound. Her eyes look up while she attempts to swallow. Saliva sticks to her chin. Semen floods up to the roof of her mouth. It reminds you of how it ends up there more often than in her womb.

You would’ve made beautiful children with Wonyoung in another world where she wasn’t famous and you actually loved her. You would have been a softer, kinder man. She would have been a person who’s easier to love and make love with.

“Wonyoung, Wonyoung, that… was incredible.”

If you weren’t a director, you’d be the one on camera. You’re a great actor when it comes to your wife. Your incompetence in the house is masked by husbandly exhaustion; an artificial gaze of attentiveness hides your indifference to conversation.

She smiles coquettishly. “I try.”

The wide closet parts. She chooses a pair of silk pajamas that hang around her thin frame. She climbs onto the bed and wraps an arm around you. Her skin is always cold to the touch. Like she’s dead or something. How interesting.

You stroke her hair. “I’d return the favor but… I’m actually gonna pass out. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She kisses your forehead. Wonyoung’s a sweet girl. “Good night.”

You smile. Say it back. Her eyelids flutter closed. Her palms are flat against each other and are placed under her cheek. Cute, you guess. She sleeps.

You don’t.

You should have—nothing good ever happens after midnight.

2:05 a.m., more specifically.

Amazing how time slips through your grasp like air. You reach and reach, desperate for a return, desperate for a flash to the past. As always, your efforts aren’t fruitful. The seconds pour through the pinched waist of the hourglass and you can’t stand it on its other head. You’re unable to revert back to the moment you took your arm from underneath your wife’s skull. The moment you opened your phone. If you hadn’t, maybe things would have been different.

But it’s past two, and you’re resting your back on the pillowy headboard with your phone in your hands. The circumstances just play right into danger: Wonyoung’s asleep, the night is eerily quiet, and the screen is there, awaiting the secret routine. Which girls would you cum for today? Why aren’t your thumbs clicking over censored sites?

Your feed shows a naked woman, her eyes staring up and her mouth wide. Scroll past that—you prefer the amateur videos, where the expressions balance between exaggerated and naturally provoked. A ton of videos could help in the bathroom where you take your nightly “shower,” and it’s not one of those.

Maybe you need the real thing.

Look at Wonyoung. Perhaps you should have let her ride you just so you could cum in a warm pussy again. After all, it’s the least you could do when you were once a fan of her. That’s how everyone starts: puppy-like adoration. But she doesn’t have the star quality she once did onstage; the coy thoughtful princess you envisioned her as. That’s why you haven’t fucked her in weeks.

You’re about to wrap your hand around your cock and ready yourself for another night of conflicted pleasure. This video is perfect for that already. You could jerk yourself off then get a good night’s sleep. Simple. This is the safest option for a dangerous want. By just watching, you’re not cheating on your wife. It’s just porn. Jerk off, cum, cum again probably, then sleep. Nobody gets hurt.

“Fuck me… please,” whimpers the woman in the video. Her legs are spread open. Her partner’s swiping his cock at her lips while she looks at him with equal hunger, equal desire. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Then, a text message notifies you, peeking from the top of your screen. It dares you to click it.

And it says the exact same thing.

fuck me please, i cant take it anymore.

i miss you

You look around, like you’re afraid someone might see it. There’s only the dimness of your bedroom that greets you. It’s safe, but this message isn’t.

The number is familiar. Has one of your friends gone crazy? Or did they send a text to the wrong person? Take it for spam, a perfectly coincidental one, or a scam, a typical, preying-on-the-married, pwning message.

But why would a contact spam you at a time so strangely perfect?

Don’t bother. Your fist works on your dick as you watch the video. The woman’s so wet that although she isn’t squirting, her juices start to stick to the man’s thighs. Her mouth is wide open as he finally pounds her.

What you’d give to have good sex like that again.

XXX-XXX-XXX sent a video message.

Fine. Click it, you’re curious.

Oh, so apparently, the answer is your marriage.

The video shows a face that’s more intimate than familiar. The ebony-black hair already tells you who she is, as does her body. Her form is encased in a floral tank top and nothing else. Although her chest is covered, she’s still a little daring with how her nipples stamp the fabric. She turns herself around to let you admire the curve of her wide hips and her round butt.

There’s only one woman with a body so perfect. And she’s the one and only Kim Minju.

There are reasons for everything. This is yours for why you didn’t give this number a name:

No one needs to know just from a text that you cheated on Jang Wonyoung.

That was so long ago, back when you were still boyfriend and girlfriend. You were drunk and missed Wonyoung’s old self. Why did she have to be such a bitch? Why did she dedicate herself to work and leave you dry? It’s not like the industry would go bankrupt without her. Minju came over, listened to your complaints—every little whine about Wonyoung being busy, every little jab at her workaholic character—then said something along the lines of, why don’t you have a little fun while she’s away.

And you thought… yeah, that was a really great idea.

That was the beginning of the end. After multiple secret meet-ups and raunchy sex in alleyways, you didn’t contact Minju again. You forgot her. You thought she did, too. She should have understood that your infidelity, albeit alluring, would be a thing of the past.

But here she is, in your messages, with a pornographic clip of herself in a round-cornered bubble. She’s waiting for a reply.

Although you’ve long lost your aspirations to be a better husband, you type what a good man should. This man is proper, faithful, and loving. He loves his wife only and the only other people he loves with this deep of a bond is his family.

Stop texting me or I’ll block you.

It’s not enough. You’re not a good man. You aren’t proper or faithful or loving or any of that shit. You were about to masturbate to an internet celebrity after turning down sex with your wife. What about that makes you a good person?

:( you miss me sooooo bad it’s pathetic, Minju replies.

You look at her again. You may not be able to turn back time with your metaphorical hourglass, but you can turn this hourglass body into any position you want. You could push her against a window for all to see, perhaps fuck her to the floor, or slam her on a desk like a teacher would to a test paper. Minju would let you do anything to her.

Stop it.

She really has to. As much as you dislike Wonyoung, she’s your wife, and you vowed on your wedding day to only have eyes for her.

But you’re only one man against a body like Minju’s that curves in every right place.

Three circles float up and down in a contained bubble before she texts you back:

alright…what a pity :( i’m already outside!! i guess ill have to go back…

You’ve never bolted out of bed so fast.

You look back at Wonyoung as you stand in the doorway. She’s still in deep slumber. Now, are the curtains closed? The entrances locked? Scan the house thoroughly, until you inch your way to the front door.

Hesitate. You didn’t know you had a conscience but here it is. It tells you to wonder if Minju really is behind it, like she said. She knows how to use the privilege of being Wonyoung’s close friend. That’s how she came to your house like she used to with no worry for paparazzi or suspicion. Best friends don’t fuck their best friends’ husbands, right?

Open the door. This one did.

Minju grew more beautiful in her absence. Her hair is silkier this time and her shy smile is brighter. The long coat is smoothed by her fingers, and you wish you could be the brown piece of fabric her pale hands run down. What makes you guilty for thinking it, even when you’ve done it, is the fact that she looks so innocent. It’s like it would be a crime to even buy her a drink.

How could she be innocent with that photo she sent? The time you spent together: you folding her over a table and promising to fill her up? Fucking her while Wonyoung is busy and counting on you to welcome her home? Sending nudes like there’s no tomorrow? Nothing about Minju is pure, yet she acts like she could do no wrong.

“Minju,” you say. Your voice sounds fragile. She has a way of breaking you befote you’re breaking her into breaking another bed.

She blinks theatrically. Everything she does is angelic. “Glad you opened the door.”

The knob is cold in your fist. It chills your animalistic brain and urges you to consider the consequences. Right, it says, here’s what a human—a good one—would think. If Wonyoung wakes and sees you with Minju, she’d have a lot of questions. If paparazzi are somehow hiding in the forest that extends to acres before your house, everyone would know you’re cheating on her. Most of all, you’re married, monogamy and everything.

So what will it be? This is your last and only chance to send her away.

You know what you have to do. Take a few breaths. “You have to leave. I’m not joking, it isn’t right.”

In response, Minju unravels the ribbon of the layers sealed around her waist. It falls apart. You do, too.

She’s a real danger. As it turns out, the girl isn’t wearing anything underneath that trench coat. She’s an artist’s naked muse—bare long legs, wide hips, and a sizable bust that has sculptors carving something else.

The cold hardens her pink nipples. You notice how her breasts are much bigger than your wife’s. How her hips are more tempting to grab, so you do. How her body is meatier, a lot more enticing that you wouldn’t refuse a day without touching it.

Minju fuels your infidelity, and you won’t stop for it if it kills you.

She simpers, fingers curling into your work shirt. “Still wanna make me leave,” she asks, “when you can breed me all night long?”

You laugh, huffing it out as you pull her inside and close the door behind her. Minju looks gorgeous pressed to it. She looks gorgeous in whatever situation, actually. Her thighs squish against the carved design and look thicker as a result. More reasons to dive into that shaven cunt and abuse it.

“You’re not leaving until we make a fucking mess, Minju.” You take your shirt off. Throw it on the ground. “And we better make it quick.”

“Of course.” She nods. She’s slyer than a fox, but she submits to you without a second thought.

You lean in to kiss her. The heat is unbearable. You can feel it from Minju’s body transferring to yours. It’s the effect of her natural skills as your personal slut: trying to fit her tongue deeper in your mouth while you pull her close like she’d dare to run away.

You haven’t gotten this hard for anyone else. It’s always been Minju you fall for. You miss the way she kisses, the way she roams her hands all over your torso, the way she’s goddamned insatiable. Feeling it all now in one, heated moment makes you dizzy. You’re taking in too much of her, but without her, you’d go thirsty again.

Your fingers are in her hair; hers are on your waist. Your teeth are clamped down on Minju’s bottom lip; hers are apart and allow soft moans to pass through—one, two, three. You fit each other in so many wicked ways. They did say misery loves company.

Open your eyes. The dream doesn’t stop. Minju’s still pushing her mouth in your face and you’re letting her. You don’t know if you ought to be relieved or downright horrified. You’re cheating on Wonyoung again with a woman whose body is just a bit nicer. You should be furious at yourself. You aren’t.

You’ve made out with each other on the way to the dining room. You and your wife worked hard for its designed walls and sturdy, well-furnished ornaments. A lot of money was raked out to make this house the best place to call home. So, why do you want to ruin it?

Well, because of her.

Minju leans on the dining table with a funny smile on her face. “She really doesn’t do it for you, huh?” she asks.

It makes you wince how you know who she’s talking about. Who else is she referring to other than poor Wonyoung? Poor, skinny, ugly Wonyoung?

Nibble at her earlobe. Hear little gasps come out of her. “Don’t talk about her,” you say.

You don’t want to have any afterthoughts about fucking Minju. Besides, being reminded that you’re disloyal to a woman who loves you very much is painful, even to a man like you.

Wonyoung is an angel. Minju isn’t—but you run after her to darkness.

“Ohh, come on, I know I’m better than her.” Minju squirms with erotic moans. Your kisses are going south, and she loves their little detour. “You don’t fuck her like you fuck me.”

When was the last time you worshiped Wonyoung? Like what you’re doing to Minju now? Your lips haven’t passed over it in ages that you probably wouldn’t know where the bigs and smalls of her body are. Like there’s anything to know.

“Actually,” you snort, “I don’t fuck her at all.”

You stop chuckling. That was the wrong thing to say. That was the wrongest thing to say out of the millions of other cocky phrases you could’ve thrown to Minju. The look on her face, the one that’s of pride and submission and dangerous knowledge united, tells you to watch your mouth.

You’re five seconds minimum too late to listen.

Minju grins. There’s the answer she wanted. “That’s how it is? Just looking at a girl and thinking you wanna stamp a divorce approval on her forehead? Jesus. This is why I never got married.”

“First off, nobody put a ring on you because you’re a slut, Minju.”

“That’s only the third reason.” Her fingers drape the sides of your face and tugs you in. You’re invited to the sight of her infallible tits. “These are the first two.”

The girl isn’t as busty as that woman Wonyoung likes to call her industry mom, but you bet they’re better. No, it’s a matter of truth. Minju’s boobs aren’t too big or too small; just the perfect, filling size to hold onto when you’re railing her from behind.

You choose to suck on them for now. It’s like a trip down memory lane when you kiss down her neck and collarbone. You remember how good her smooth, soft skin feels beneath you, how her moans are a favorite tune. Minju bites her lip while you do so to her shoulder.

It’s crazy to think that she just so happened to be born with this. She was born to be a pretty face with a sex-defined body that you pull and push and pry apart. Best thing is, she’ll lay back down and beg for more. It’s like she knows her purpose, which would’ve shot down her dignity and humanity.

Her nipple pops in your mouth. Your sucking guarantees its hardness, and Minju starts whining. She arcs her body, wanting something rougher. Thus, you seize the span of her hip to rub her pearl with fierce speed.

“Oh, fuck, god—” What others might take for blasphemy, you take for praise. Minju’s already soaking wet. She would have had embarrassing laundry to do if she wore panties. Maybe it’s a good thing she arrived wearing nothing.

She’s still so sensitive. You caress her clit after a few kisses down her midriff. She fidgets needily like you aren’t already touching her. You’re nearly right—this touch is nothing when she needs something harsher. That something involves you treating her less than a human being, putting her down and tearing at her hair.

“Please just fuck me,” she whispers. “Breed me, breed me, breed me—”

Yeah, that’s what she wants.

You don’t need further motivation, not when you’re presented with the prettiest pussy you’ve ever seen. Her fat lips are soaked. They frame the clitoris you’ve been stimulating that shines with slick. Then there’s the tiniest hole below it that begs to be used.

Your digits shove past all tightness. Her wetness allows a deeper exploration, so you curl your digits like you’re beckoning the orgasm forward. You know how easily you can get it out of her. All it needs to get Minju cumming around you is a slap, roughness, and giving her what she wants anyway. You know your methods, she knows hers. It’s a recognizable cycle that despite this, you can’t break.

Part your fingers widely to spread her. She’s so wet that she soaks your knuckles. There’s an ocean inside her waiting to be waved to shore. A storm, too, brews from the base of her throat as Minju whimpers. Her body lifts off the table but you force her down on it. She isn’t going anywhere, not without a fight.

Oh, and fight she does. She was an idol before an actress, so her muscles still memorize the circling motions that repeat on your fingers rather than move onstage. She sang once. That was a long time ago yet her voice sounds perfect as it strains her moans. Every little thing she does is a reflection of her past.

That’s why when she leans back, pupils dilating north, and says “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” you get deja vu.

Your palm hits her clit, adding impact to your strokes. “There you go, little slut,” you snarl. “Are you happy now? Maybe even a little grateful?”

If Minju’s ass isn’t pressed down on the glass mantling your dining table, it hovers so her pink little hole receives you better. It’s not without the help of her weak hands clinging to the table for dear life, but she seems to be losing her balance. Her hips are shuddering. Her beautiful face is squeezed up into a blissful wince. Her breaths are becoming blunt little gasps that say none of the gratitude you want to hear.

You slap her boob. Red blooms from her pale skin that deepens when another impacts her bosom. The recoil dizzies you. If anyone’s getting the impression that you’ll slap her bouncy tits until you hear a proper word of thanks, they’d be right. First impressions are right just for once.

“T-thank you—” Her voice cracks, breaking like her. “Fuck, shit, thank you, thank you.”

Squeeze her cruelly and pull on the perky nipple. Your thrusts become mindlessly paced. Your hand returns to your cock while the other ruins her pussy. The pleasure is telepathic. It’s connecting you; her screams and squirms make you do the same. The electricity firing up in your veins is a shared network. When you point your fingers to her spot, she arcs her back in the same direction. How beautifully fucked up is that?

“That’s not enough. You didn’t come here for nothing. What do you want, Minju?”

Minju babbles. You got your gratitude but not a proper answer. To be fair, she can’t speak when you’re fucking her like it’s your dick inside her, and when your lips are all over her collarbone.

“And you better keep quiet,” you add, curling your thrusts, “or Wonyoung‘s gonna hear. Do you really want her to know her precious friend is a big slut?”

However, despite the rumors she starts, Minju could be a very good girl when needed.

“Need you to make me cum,” she whispers. Her midriff is fluid as water with the way it rolls, showing off the hourglass shape of her waist and a soft tummy. “Do everything to me you can’t with Wonyoung. P-please, I can’t take it.”

Even if she can’t (wrong by the way), you’ll make her. She asked for it. She walked up to your house with a purpose: to be used, to be treated like less of a human being. So it’s understandable that you slam her down the table and seal a hand around her neck.

She’s so light that the forceful push doesn’t break the fragile glass. But there’s something of hers instead that’s going to be broken.

“Oh fuck! It’s so–” Minju’s eyes roll back. “Ohh… oh!”

Little sparks of wetness shoot in the air. Your pace turns merciless. With just three fingers, you puppet her body. Strings are pulled—her arms raise and her long legs strain to pull you in. You push and she keens, you pull and she yells. You’re making her desecrate the place with her water.

“C-can’t breathe.” A squeeze of her beautiful features—eyelids wrinkling, mouth parting, cheeks filling with scarlet—occurs before she squirts again. She whimpers pathetically, sounding so pitiful you want to laugh. “Ah, fuck, daddy—”

Something stirs inside you. When men hear that name, it ought to feel purely platonic and familial. They’d hear it from their daughter and feel compelled to protect them from men who’d do to them what you do to Minju. But you much prefer hearing that two-syllable word when it comes from a naked woman squirting all over the floor, from whom once you register it, you’re urged to pin her down, tie her down, hold her down.

Ironically, you release her. That isn’t because it’s over though. “On your knees. Follow me.”

Minju releases a gasp, grateful for the oxygen. The color returns to her face yet she barely has the energy to get off the table. You’re a generous man, and hey, it still counts as helping. So you yank her hair and force her on the ground. She fucking moans, a feat deserving of a healthy spank to her ass.

You walk to the living room. She follows you withher hands and knees bearing the cold tiles. You lead her to the place where you spend your time watching movies, rehearsing, and hanging out with Wonyoung if she’s ever home.

Speaking of, glance at the door of your bedroom. It’s still closed. It’ll stay that way.

Look down after wondering why Minju’s noisier. She’s playing with herself on the floor with no care for the cold chill of the tiles or the little dirt wedged between them. She lightly rubs her abused clit, quivering at the contact. You expect that from her—she’s corrupted, an irredeemable cause. She’ll get herself off anytime anywhere.

But what’s unexpected is what those watery eyes are focused on: you, in a framed picture on the wall. You look younger, happier. You’re in formal garments standing next to Wonyoung in a church.

It was you on your wedding day.

You spit on Minju. “Filthy cumslut.”

The drool slides down her cheek like a tear. She darts her tongue out and licks it. One could’ve thought it was candy considering the lift of a smile.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” she says resolutely. Her fingers still toy with her entrance. They won’t serve her well when there’s a bigger, better thing behind your pants to do it for her.

Your pants are already off. “Get up. Get the fuck up,” you command, but you do it for her.

You grab her neck and force her up. The look on her face is addicting, the way the shock turns into carnal need, the way she bites her lip. You press her to the wall, right under the framed wedding pictures, and finally plunge yourself inside her.

“Oh, oh, oh!”

What did Minju do to get this tight? Her walls are squeezed closer around you than you remember. They’re still wet from her squirting, easing your burden of fighting against the tautness of her core.

Her groans are pitched just like how you pitch yourself in her and make her fight for it. She tries everything: gathering the strength she has to push her ass into your crotch, rolling her body, looking back to watch your cock disappear between her lips.

“So big, daddy!” she cries. With a lick of her lips, she turns to face you. “Mmm, d-do you ever get this massive when you’re fucking Wonyoung?”

That seals it. There’s no restraint in using her body. Her plump ass leading to her toned back is a temptation by itself. You’d burst all over it (maybe in it) if you weren’t already firm in breeding her. But dear god—it rises and descends into your angled pumps so effortlessly that you aren’t afraid to spank it like you’re angry at her.

“Keep your whore mouth shut.”

Spank after spank you bestow and you realize, oh, you and Minju are really made for each other. The more her ass reddens, the more hot pain sparks on your palm. She throws herself back hard, you piston her harder.

Your puzzle pieces stick together so perfectly that it’s a shame you didn’t meet under different circumstances. She could’ve been an adorable girl next door and you could have been a guy looking to slip her a love letter. She would’ve been your loving girlfriend, a beautiful wife, someone you’d actually enjoy touching, so different from the woman asleep in the bed upstairs.

But that’s never happening. Minju’s a slut through and through, and she’ll forever be a sin you won’t go to confessions for. She was made to be fucked then discarded of when she’s no longer of use. You see it in the way she’s in a mantra of craziness, the way she yells, the way she looks back at you like she’s daring you to hurt her.

You choose the dare rather than to tell her the truth. You curl her hair into a fist and pull her into you.

“God, I’m so close.” Minju’s trembling body grows warmer in your touch. “I’m gonna cum all over your big gorgeous cock. I can’t hold out longer, daddy.”

Your teeth dig into her earlobe. You could make her bleed and she’d still find a way to make the pain heavenly. “I thought I told you to be quiet. Is Wonyoung waking up and ending your life worth it for this?”

“What if I say yes?”

“Fuck.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice, making her see you’d give her away to get a night with me? You’ll give up all this stupid shit t-to be my daddy. Because Wonyoung’s just sooo worthless, isn’t she?”

Savage her cunt and shove your fingers down her mouth just so she could shut up. You love this. Minju’s always so ready for you.

No, actually—now that you think about it, you hate it. You hate how she’s curvier than your wife, how she’s more alluring than she could ever be, how she moans despite the blockage in her throat. Everything about her is so sexy that the sound of her choking up spit makes you throb.

This is the wrong time to have a conscience. You’ve already split her apart. You’ve already got your fingers in her hair that pull hard to the point that damage is highly likely. You’ve already—

—got Minju screaming, biting down on your skin as her legs spread. What a strange thing to have as a natural reflex. That’s all she knows to do: spread her legs, hope her innocent face attracts a guy into her home and his dick into her pussy. Her skin, white as snow, has become impure with red blemishes. You see her purple-bruised neck flex when she yells into your hand.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Minju yells. Her fingernails leave fine scratches on the wall. “Fuck, I’m squirting so much I don’t know what to do—oh fuck!”

You bump the manic girl up on your knee before spreading her legs. A godless squirt of her juices hits Wonyoung’s face, the savior being the glass protecting the picture. Others bless their homes with water blessed by esteemed priests; you like to stand out. Choose to have Minju’s unholy juice flood the photo you once held dear.

Did something possess you? An evil spirit, a god of fertility? All are clichés but you can’t help but think so when you notice how fast you’re pumping Minju. It’s like greed’s finally reigned you. It’s difficult to resist. Minju just wrings your cock perfectly dry with her tight cunt, keeps you speedy with her desperate moans. You’re vandalizing her with your climax and she doesn’t want to be clean ever again.

“You think you’re special, Minju?” You press her to the ruined picture. Her side profile mashes on the glass. “You’re nothing, only a useless hole, just like that bitch. Now clean it up.”

Her eyes light up in shock. Excitement? “What?”

You pull her head back in order to have her full lips pressed against Wonyoung’s face. The clear squirt is still dripping from it. Minju’s face is red, and although your cock left her moments ago, she insists on tensing like it’s there. Is that how she lives? Her way of bonding is riding on the high she got the night before and the night before that. She always has sex in her mind that thoughts of it occur to her as they would to an animal.

That’s right; she’s an animal. Perhaps even a dog would have more self-control than her, ironically.

“Lick your mess,” you command. “Now.”

Minju whimpers. You bury your fingernails in her scalp until she loses her fake hesitance. Her tongue glides on Wonyoung’s face and relieves her of the mess. Her lips part and close, taking in her own taste.

She looks like she’s making out with your wife. Her pretty face smudges the other pretty face in the picture and it’s so much hotter than it’s got the permit to be. Wonder how it’ll look if she’s actually kissing the real Wonyoung—picture them with their legs locked together and tongues coming out to play—and you’re hard enough for another round.

“That’s right. You want to be Wonyoung so bad? You want to be the one I drive into the bed everyday? So fucking make out with her.”

“Y-yes, daddy. Oh.” Minju’s moans fog the glass. “I taste delicious.”

It’s probably a hygienically reprehensible thing to do. But her mouth is dirtier than the picture anyway. You force her lips deeper into it until you pull her away, satisfied.

Not quite.

Rub her clit a few more times. Hose her squirt all over the floor. You’ll have a mess to clean up. Oh, there’s all the evidence: her squirt on the floor, her lipstick in the shape of a languid kiss on the picture frame, the mess she made in the dining table where you ate her rather than your food.

But it’s all worth it. An evil idea plants and sprouts in your mind. “Bedroom.”

Minju pants. Her hands are flat on the wall. She turns to you, saliva and lipstick smeared on her chin, and asks, “W-which one?”

“You know exactly where.”

Her wide eyes tell you wordlessly that she got the point. She’s well aware of what room you want to use her body next. It’s not even supposed to be a question given the ways and moments you fucked her there.

“But daddy—if, if she hears us?”

You grin. “Then you’ll have to be pretty fucking quiet.”

The best thing about Minju besides her body is her passiveness. She may act up sometimes but she still needs your cock, and she’ll do anything to get it. So when she hangs her head to hide her smile, you spank her. It speeds her steps to the staircase. Continue doing so all the way.

It’s funny how she struggles to even lift a foot. Streams of your cum and hers slide down her legs, staining the carpet. You’ll have to wash that out, too. If you have the maid do it, she’s likely to put two and two together.

Even from the back, Minju’s body is beautiful. Her reddened ass twists from side to side and brings attention to her wide hips. The deep line on her spine is a path you trace your fingertips on. She quivers.

“Daddy,” she whines.

Hit her butt. Let it fill your palm. “Keep on walking.”

It’s borderline dehumanizing. You’re treating her with a ferociousness a woman like her should never have to go through. The eyes of the painted men and women on your walls lock on her. It’s like their hard stares are real. Minju bears the blows to her cheeks during her walk of humiliation up the stairs. Tiny yelps are caused by each one. It’s in her to be quiet now that Wonyoung is quite near, although not as close as she is to another heavy orgasm.

You slap her pussy, making her shake, then lead the juices mingling in it up to her asshole. She chews on the inside of her cheek to hide her moan. She reaches the last step with a huge sigh of relief.

The finality of the torture doesn’t last long. Fuck, it doesn’t even exist. You collect the semen and wetness from her legs, then drag it right back to her pussy.

You shove your fingers deep in her cave. There. Now your cum stays inside her. After that, it’ll drip all the way to her womb. She screams through pursed lips.

Push her hard against your bedroom door. Her stomach’s flatness goes up to the point that it’s the only thing engendered into the wood. Minju’s tiny gasp is already loud for you. Her beautiful side profile is mashed deep into the solid barrier between the two women.

Minju whimpers. Is she scared or heavily turned on? The thing with her is she likes both. So, yeah—she’s wet at the thought of being caught with you, being fucked within a distance of your wife wherein she could finally pin down your infidelity.

The little angel closes her eyes when your words hover near her prone ear. “Shut up,” you warn, “unless you want to lose your career. Or this dick.”

You slip your shaft between Minju’s shapely thighs. A friction is nurtured and grown into rough, pant-accompanied humping that leaves both of you breathless. Her pussy lips splay warmly on you and you’re allowed to rub yourself on her clit.

Minju tenses up. Her breaths are kept to a hummed volume yet their huskiness gets you to fuck her legs faster. The core between them is so warm and you haven’t even welcomed yourself in it again.

You carefully open the door. You don’t know what you’re expecting: Wonyoung crying with her face in her knees? An anger you never knew she could have? But what shows calms you. There’s your wife who remains asleep on the bed. From the soft snores, it’s easy to tell she’s deep in a dream.

“Wonyoung’s so pretty, daddy,” whispers Minju. You push her to the footboard where she holds on tight. “Do you think she’ll want to join if she wakes up? Or she’ll leave you for me?”

“Are you sure you want to act like that?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Depends on what you’re gonna do to me.”

Everything. You’re planning on doing everything to her.

Push her to the small pole of the wood. You’re forced to shove your fingers in her mouth again to keep her from yelling. The contact it makes to her clit is already overwhelming. But she’s all for overwhelming—she wants the kind of sex that leaves her beaten and bruised, the kind that leaves her sore and not knowing if she should tell you to keep going or halt.

You know what she’d choose.

Minju grinds on the pole. She’s dancing her hips again. Somehow, things of the past don’t leave her. Her idol days still leave an impact on her. The guy she made cheat on his wife a long time ago returned to her life to cheat again.

No, you’ve never been one for sentimentality, but things have somehow stayed the same. The slut that is Minju today was a slut all those years ago, too.

Grab her hips and force her to hump the ball of the pole. She soaks it instantly. Minju is corrupted to no hope of return. There’s your cum, leaking from her pussy and to the bedsheets. Her juices wet the pole and increase the creaking noises that would wake Wonyoung up if not for whatever dream she’s having.

“Oh, daddy! Oh, daaaddy—” she stammers, words bitten and broken in the major need to be quiet. “Just… fuck me. Please?”

“As long as you—”

“Be a good quiet girl, yes. I’ll do anything, daddy. Anything for this cock.”

She kneels down. Her tender mouth seals around your left testicle. You nearly shout right there and then. Minju’s running her lips on the underside of your swelling dick. She feels so good, and she is so good. She has all the tips and tricks to keep you hard memorized, if her brain wasn’t too full of other dirty thoughts.

The rasp in your throat materializes and makes her squirm her legs together. She puckers her lips then slips your cock through their joined entrance. Her almond eyes look wider tonight. Your tip pokes the back of her throat. She lets it rub there for now. You find pleasure in the texture that makes you leak. No, you can’t cum. Not yet.

Take a last look at Wonyoung before diving your rod to the depths of Minju’s throat.

It’s funny that the girl still has a gag reflex. Sucking dick is second nature to her. So is getting throatfucked. The walls of her oral hole flex to keep you in. She makes sharp inhalations only to take in the musky scent you thrust on her. In her?

Choking comes after. The orifice grows tighter which makes you fuck it harder. Saliva’s slick liquid state sheens your erection. Minju’s lost her breath a long time ago but she’s lost more than that now. The regular beat of her heart is gone. You can’t search her face for any color other than the palest white.

“You have to stop gagging, Minju,” you say. Don’t help her though; keep ruining that throat. “Maybe you really do wanna get caught. Makes you really wet, doesn’t it?”

She nods. Your hard tip bobs in her mouth as she does. Her pretty eyes, with their long lashes and big pupils that always seem to gleam with innocence, fill with watery tears.

“How cute.” You’re surprised that her hair is intact to her scalp after you pull it back. “But I make the rules around here. And I need you to seal that mouth shut and use it for good.”

There’s a possibility that, like Minju, you’re a dancer as well. But the upward grind of your body has no grace in it. It’s a rough, punked up beat that renders the girl humming and screaming. This roughness is nowhere close to natural.

You dip your cock in her just to see how far you could go, how far is needed to keep her quiet. Feed her more than she could suck. Every sensitive spot of yours is on fire thanks to Minju’s dutiful tongue and hard sucking. Your sack slaps her chin so hard it’s surprising it doesn’t hurt.

But, like you iterated, Minju isn’t normal. She takes the pain for pleasure and doesn’t give a damn if she gets wounded because of it.

The tears finally fall from her eyes.

The lines blur. Who is she—the woman asleep on your bed or the woman you fucked to be disloyal to her? Minju’s beautiful; so is Wonyoung. Jang Wonyoung is beautiful but there’s a category of beauty wherein the girl you’re destroying right now falls in. That’s the section for women who look pretty when they cry, who’ve accepted they’re as fucked up as whoever finds them and takes them in for who they are.

Your wife is pretty. You guess. But Minju is a beauty who lets you do everything to her, and that makes her a little bit more important.

Defile, defile, defile. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you get cum in her hair—(”I have a photoshoot, babe, you can’t!”). Semen sticks to Minju’s locks right now. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you be this rough with her—(“And what if they see? I shouldn’t look dirty to the fans.”) Minju is sitting there taking it like she’s just a cum dump. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you tear off her clothes because “they’re couture so it’s not really mine.” The coat Minju wore coming here lies discarded on the first floor.

Wonyoung doesn’t let anyone defile her. It’s her most fatal flaw. It’s the flaw that makes her husband see all the tiny imperfections she doesn’t allow the camera to see and chase highs in another woman’s throat.

So when Minju cries, gags, chokes—you realize it’s all so simple.

Slip out of her. The delusions clouding your head make you steal a look at the bed. Oh, now it’s unbelievable. Wonyoung is still asleep.

Not that it’s any inconvenience to you.

You prop Minju up to the vanity table. The counter carries the heave of her small chest. She can barely lift her head up. It makes her carry a look of humiliation that’s not at all true. She’s the most shameless woman you’ve ever met.

“Daddy… daddy…”

Twist her chin so she can look at herself in the mirror. Her body is amazing despite the handprints and bruises peppered on her stomach, butt, and neck. She flusters but your finger presses on her lips before she can look away.

“Not a single sound,” you remind her.

She nods. Good girl.

Minju’s a capable girl. Well, mostly. She offers those amazing dicksucking lips, shapely curves, and sometimes, her ass for ruining its own tightness. But nothing beats the feeling of her cunt. It’s all the right things: wet, tight, and perfectly quivering as they wrap around your shaft.

Minju closes her eyes. Bites down on her lip. She fights to be true to her promise of silence. Being a good girl and bad girl simultaneously is one of her versatile traits. The table creaks louder than expected. You would’ve shot another look at your spouse again, but Minju’s pretty face is in the way. Her cheeks are scarlet and her brows bead with sweat. She really is a beauty.

Your strokes are ceaseless. The thing that shocks you the least is the fact that her legs look as if they spread wider and wider. She splits while you split her apart. Place a hand on her tummy to muffle the sounds of skin colliding and wood creaking, and reach a better end: your cock is hitting her guts, making a bobbing print on her flat stomach.

“Look how deep I am, Minju.” You grin wickedly at her reflection. “You call me daddy anywhere, don’t you? How about I become a real one?”

Minju bounces herself on you. That’s a yes. A definite, enthusiastic yes.

Your penetration is rougher, gliding on places she can’t even imagine. If you cum right now, and this far in, you’ll live up to your name of “daddy.” Minju isn’t the only one who has to keep promises.

Corner a pulse point on her neck. Her core squeezes and although its resistance is tough, your pumps are more so.

“You’ll be my secret good girl. Daddy’s gonna put a fucking baby in your stomach, and no one has to know it’s mine. No one has to know you’re mine.”

Minju pouts, not out of sadness but of the orgasm that’s creeping from her feet to her center. It’s so close she could reach for it, taste it like a strong wind. You allow the tiny breaths and pants that leave her to be exemptions from your bedroom law.

“Wonyoung would be so happy for you.” You lick the sensitive spot behind her ear. “‘That’s so great, unnie! Come on, tell us who’s the lucky guy.’ And you’ll have to stop yourself from telling her that I did it. Can you do that?”

Minju emphasizes each repetition with a responding throb and push of her cunt. “Yes, yes, yes—”

Allow that, too. Burst inside Minju. Flood her insides with cum that shall infiltrate her fertile womb. Soon, that tummy would be round rather than flat. It’ll be your baby.

Minju got what she wanted in the end.

The next day, Wonyoung will wake up crying.

It’ll happen early in the morning, when the moon is still up and sheets still wrap your exhausted form. But she’s sobbing so loud that it’ll rouse you.

“What’s wrong?” you’ll say.

She’ll tell you about a dream she had. Wonyoung’s going to narrate a complex dream of Minju, her beloved former member and best friend, seducing you. It happened right in the house and in front of her. You dared to do it to her while she was sleeping and thought she didn’t know.

And you?

You’ll take her in your arms, kiss the inside of her trembling wrist, and say, “Oh, honey—it’s okay. I’m here, baby. I’m here. I’m here.”

1K notes · View notes

goldengleams · 2 months

Note

🫧 Can you write #15 with Quinn Hughes? Thank you!! :)

the proposal - q. hughes

A/N: Once again, college has been so busy that I haven’t had any time to post 😭 Hope you enjoy this, it’s more of a real imagine than a blurb to make up for the long wait! Love you guys :))

You woke up to the summer breeze rustling through your curtains. Your afternoon nap had replenished your energy from your morning out on the boat with Quinn. You had arrived at Quinn and Jack’s lake house just a few days earlier, and Jack had arrived last night. Now, you were waiting on Luke to get in this evening to round out your little group.

You stretched out to find the bed empty, but your hand brushed a piece of paper on Quinn’s side of the bed. To Y/N, it said. You blearily picked it up and read the message inside.

Pick you up for dinner at 6. Dress fancy :)

Love,

Quinn

You giggled at the note, at how adorable it was. You and Quinn were literally staying at the same house but his little plan made you smile. This summer would mark the fourth year that you and Quinn had been together and the first since you two had moved in together. You couldn’t imagine doing life without him anymore.

You picked out a light green slip dress from your closet, one of Quinn’s favorites on you. With the two hours you had left, you put on some makeup and did your hair. You loved that Quinn always made spending time with you a priority in your relationship, even when you had gone on just about every date imaginable.

You walked downstairs at 5:45, not sure what to expect. Jack was sitting at the kitchen counter, scrolling on his phone. He looked up immediately when he heard your heels clicking on the floor, grinning at you like a five year old with a secret.

“Why are you smiling at me like that, Jack?” You chuckled, a little suspicious.

“No reason!” Jack said quickly. “But Quinn will be here soon, he just texted me.”

You nodded and pulled out your phone to check. Quinn had also sent you a message that you had missed.

From: quinn❤️

On my way, see you in a few

You said goodbye to Jack and went to wait outside for Quinn. Before you left for Michigan, you had gotten your nails done and made sure to pack some of your favorite outfits just in case a special night like tonight happened. You raised your left hand and your various rings shone in the light, but your ring finger still remained bare. You let out a sigh, trying not to get your hopes up in case tonight wasn’t the night. After four years together, you knew Quinn was the one, you just had to wait for the big moment now.

Quinn pulling up drew you from your thoughts a few moments later. He honked the horn of the beautiful cream colored vintage convertible he had rented for the night. He hopped out and came to walk you to the car, giving you a quick kiss.

“There’s my gorgeous date for the night,” he said proudly. His comment made your cheeks heat up and you marveled at the way he could still make you blush, even after knowing him for years.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, especially in this fancy car,” you said as he opened your car door for you. Quinn had always been a gentleman to you, it was one of the things you loved most about him. He never failed to make you feel special.

“So, where does this mystery date take place, Captain Hughes?”

Quinn just shook his head as he drove. His hair was blowing softly in the breeze and the summer sun highlighted his features beautifully. You were so gone for this man.

“Can’t spoil the surprise just yet, babe.”

Twenty minutes later, Quinn pulled up to a small restaurant right on the lake. He led you inside and the hostess quickly brought you to a table in a small gazebo, right near the water.

Quinn quickly pulled out your chair for you to sit in and you giggled at his actions. He had always been chivalrous, opening doors for you, pulling out your seat. It was something you had never experienced from guys before Quinn and now you hoped you’d never have to live without it.

You reached for his hand across the table once he sat down, yearning for his touch. His hand found yours and he smiled.

“Hi babe,” he said quietly. It was only the two of you for a good twenty feet, so you couldn’t hear anyone else’s conversations, and you doubt they could hear yours, but leave it to your Quinn to still be soft spoken and sweet.

“Hi Quinny,” you said shyly. “Can’t believe you got a spot here for dinner.”

Quinn knew this restaurant was one of your favorites. It was the place three years ago where he asked you to be his girlfriend. You had an inkling that he had an important question for you tonight.

“Yeah, just wanted to bring you back to where it all started,” he said. “Remember when I asked you do be my girlfriend? I was so nervous that day.”

You could tell he was nervous again and almost started to tease him about, but a waiter came up before you could ask. The meal got underway and you didn’t get to bring it up again. The two of you talked about anything and everything, just like you always did.

Quinn had checked his phone a few times during dinner, typing away on his screen before returning to the conversation.

“Something important on there, babe?” You asked.

“Uh, just some texts about hockey stuff,” he smiled back nervously. You knew he was always busy with captain duties, but you had a feeling that he wasn’t actually texting anyone about hockey. Regardless, you nodded and finished your dinner, which was absolutely delicious as always.

The sun had started to paint the sky hues of pink and purple and you smiled at the beautiful view of the sunset over the lake. This could be the night that you become Quinn’s fiancée. The thoughts swarmed your mind and sent tears to your eyes. You loved Quinn so much, you just didn’t want to wait any longer.

“Y/N?” Quinn drew you from your thoughts.

“Hmm?” You tried not to act like you were totally distracted, but it wasn’t easy. Quinn titled his head like a confused puppy.

“You alright? You looked sad,” he said.

“Yeah, I was just thinking about us,” you said, smiling at him. “I’m the luckiest girl ever.”

“Well, I’m the luckiest guy ever.”

You could tell Quinn got a little startled at your words and how close you were to tears. He thought you had figured him out. He ate the last few bites on his plate as you did the same, and asked if you wanted to go down by the restaurant’s dock with him.

“Sure, but can I run to the bathroom first?” You asked, and he stood up quickly to pull your chair out for you so you could go inside.

“Uh, sure! I mean, yeah, of course, I will just wait here,” he said, tripping over his words.

He watched as you started to walk away from the gazebo and towards the main building and he hastily pulled out his phone. Clicking Jack’s number, he prayed his younger brother would answer in time.

“Yo,” Jack answered.

“Get back in the car or hide or something! She’s coming into the restaurant right now!”

Quinn heard a few curses and some bottles clinking as he assumed Jack and Luke were trying to get up from the bar or a table and get out of the restaurant.

“She’s going in the door near the ramp, so don’t go that way or she’ll see you.”

“We’re not, we’re outside on the patio,” Jack snapped. “You’re bossy when you’re nervous.”

Quinn rolled his eyes. He could make out two tall figures over on the patio deck who were waving at him. Jack had gone to pick Luke up from the airport and they both made their way to the restaurant, along with a photographer, to see their brother propose.

“I’m not nervous, I’m just,” but Quinn didn’t have an answer. Truthfully, he was nervous. He knew he had waited quite a while to propose, not ever doubting your relationship, but just waiting for the right moment. Quinn knew there were plenty of moments in Vancouver where he could’ve pulled out the ring he had picked out for you last year, but none of them seemed right. He wanted to propose to you at the spot where you became his girlfriend, with the beautiful lake and sunset in the background.

“Yeah, exactly,” Jack and Luke chuckled. “We’ve got the photographer waiting, she’s also excited. You got this, okay? She’s gonna say yes, she loves you, Quinn.”

Jack’s words calmed him down a little, and before he knew it, you were walking out of the restaurant. He quickly dropped the call and watched your dress shine in the evening sun. He couldn’t believe you would be his fiancée tonight.

Quinn stood to greet you, reaching for your hand, which you accepted.

“Look at how sweet they are, Quinn,” You passed by a few tables with some older couples, and your heart swelled in your chest. You hoped that would be you and Quinn someday.

Quinn just squeezed your hand, not able to say anything due to the lump in his throat.

“I hope that will be us someday, coming to the lake house and spending summers together.”

Quinn nodded and led you up the ramp, letting you go first so he could locate the photographer who gave him a small wave and thumbs up to indicate she was ready.

“Oh my god, Quinn, look at the sunset!” You walked to the edge of the dock, gazing out into the sky. You were so enamored that you didn’t realize that there were fairy lights adorning the wooden posts on the dock, which weren’t usually there. They twinkled in the waning light, and Quinn wished he was able to see how they lit up your face.

He kept a little distance between the two of you, standing to the side, just like him and the photographer had practiced the day before. Quinn reached into his pocket to grab the little velvet box. He quietly knelt down to your left side as you turned to the right and waited for his moment.

“Oh shoot, I think I left my phone at the table so I can’t take a-,” you said, turning to your left where you had felt Quinn’s presence. Unsurprisingly, he was there, since you could always tell where he was, but shockingly, he was down on one knee, staring at you.

“Quinn,” you said breathlessly, your hand coming to cover your gaping mouth.

“Y/N, I knew from the moment I met you that it was love at first sight. I knew that you were special, and that I would be lucky enough just to be your friend and have you in my life,” he said shakily. “I never thought a girl as beautiful and intelligent and perfect as you would ever walk into my life, but I’ve been so lucky to call you mine ever since.”

You couldn’t help the tears that welled in your eyes at this point. You had hoped for this moment for years, and there was no stopping the emotions now.

“I’m so grateful that you support me in my dreams and my job and I’m the proudest guy on the ice every time I know you’re up in the stands cheering me on. I could’ve never made it to where I am without you in my life, and I hope you know how much you mean to me,” Quinn said, getting choked up. “You complete my family, my life, and myself in a way that I didn’t think was possible, and I don’t ever want to do life without you.”

“I know I waited a long time to ask you this question, but I hope you know I just wanted everything to be perfect. And I thought asking you here, where it all began, was as perfect as it gets,” he said, opening the small box in his hands.

“Y/N L/N, will you marry me?” Quinn could barely get the words out of his mouth before you were nodding enthusiastically, your whole body shaking.

“Yes, Quinn, yes,” you said urgently. He chuckled nervously and placed the beautiful ring on your left ring finger. You had never put on a piece of jewelry that felt more right.

You pulled Quinn up to kiss him, and finally registered the clicks of the camera and the cheers coming from the restaurant, led by a pair of brothers you knew all too well.

“I knew you were planning something,” you giggled against his lips. “I love you so much Quinn.”

“I love you too, Y/N. Can’t wait to call you Mrs. Hughes someday.”

——————————

A/N: After seeing Jack and his gf this weekend, we all need some Quinn and Luke to heal😭😭😭 Hope you enjoyed this!!

#nhl hockey #nhl #jack hughes #luke hughes #quinn hughes being the cutie that he is #quinn hughes again #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #umich hockey

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rintoki · 8 months

Text

untitled

characters: neuvillette x dom!reader

cw: handjob, neuvillette’s inexperienced, mentions of pee LMAO (very briefly), ambiguous relationship, also in his office lol

a/n: couldn’t think of a title, sorry for any mistakes i’ll correct them later on too lazy too proofread rn

thinking about neuvillette exploring human emotions with you. happiness, sadness, heartache, yearning; he begins to understand them, experiencing them with you. you listen to him, trying to articulate what he’s feeling and then patiently explaining it to him each time.

but now he’s experiencing a completely different feeling; one that he can’t quite place. almost like discomfort, and at times it makes it hard to breathe, but somehow he doesn’t dislike it. he can feel it in his chest, his muscles, and his thoughts are sometimes spiralling out of control whenever he looks at you. as he tries to focus on your face, the urges he feels to drag his eyes down your form are almost carnal.

eventually when he can no longer take it, when he feels these desires may cause him to act in a way he fears may be unbefitting of him, does the chief justice confide in you. but neuvillette is an intelligent man; he isn’t completely clueless about human mating processes, and he’s keenly of how his lower half reacts to you.

but as is his nature, he needs to be sure. even when you’re sitting in front of him, patiently waiting to hear what he has to say, he feels the urges in his body, the yearning to be closer to yours and the thoughts that run rampant wondering about how your hands might feel. on his chest or along his waist, on his hips or around his—

neuvillette catches himself before his thoughts get out of control again, a small flush overtaking his cheeks as he clears his throat; thankfully you were in the privacy of his office. but he refocuses his mind, thinking over what he wants to say to you in a way that you can understand, and doesn’t make you uncomfortable.

the expression on your face remains neutral as he speaks, even as he describes how his body starts to feel hot, and how his thoughts often take on a more lewd direction, however, choosing to omit the fact that you are the subject of his desires. neuvillette feels an uncharacteristic lump in his throat, something he now recognises as nervousness as he awaits your response.

but you smile kindly, “it’s natural for humans to feel sexual desires to those they find attractive, even if the intention is not to ‘mate’ or create offspring. if such desires are reciprocated, then humans often have sex simply for pleasure.”

neuvillette feels heat creep up his neck, almost sure that it’ll reach his cheeks soon enough. your explanation was one he expected, however, the reaction his body has to listening to you say it outright was not something he could control. the idea of sex with you now planted in his head as you observe his reaction, thankfully able to keep his face as stoic as ever.

“monsieur neuvillette, are you feeling such desires towards someone?”

“… yes. it seems that, recently, i have started to feel this way towards you.”

the silence that ensues was quite deafening. the both of you staring at the other as your brain processes what the man in front of you just said. meanwhile, neuvillette isn’t sure what he’s supposed to be feeling now, merely awaiting a response from you. if you were to feel the same desires as him, he supposes that you two will… proceed with what you had described earlier.

“monsieur neuvillette—”

“please, just neuvillette.” his voice is unusually soft, almost unsure now. your relationship has always been a little bit ambiguous; from the start the man has always expressed an interest towards you that you have explained to seem romantic, however neither of you have ever officially declared to be lovers.

“neuvillette,” you stood from your seat, taking steps towards him as you spoke, “do i make you aroused?”

“i, i believe that is the case,” the blush that covers neuvillette’s face was immediate, eyes widening slightly at your direct question as he swallows unconsciously. his voice is soft as he tries not to be overly conscious of the distance you closed between you two, now just a step away from him with his desk right behind him.

unfortunately for him, you take yet another step forward, forcing the man to take a step back only for the edge of the desk to hit his ass. neuvillette jumped a little in surprise, somehow completely unaware of how quickly you have him cornered against his desk. and maybe you should have felt a little shame in the thrill you got from observing his reactions to you; how his cheeks remained flushed and his eyes darting back and forth from your face to the wall behind you, or how he tries to shy away from you, clearly unsure of how to act in the situation.

now with just inches between your bodies, you lean ever closer to him and rest the palm of your hand on his desk, watching as his eyes follow your hand, before snapping back to your face. neuvillette can feel his blood rushing, taking deep breaths to keep his mind coherent despite how his body is responding to your proximity, knowing full well that it wouldn’t be long before you would discover his disgraceful reaction to you.

but he can’t help; deep inside he already begins to ache, biting the inside of his cheek as he secretly wishes for you to get even closer, take another step. you were already so close and he can smell your light perfume, his breathing getting unsteady as he wonders how far you’ll take this. will you close the distance completely? will you decide to allow him a taste of your pretty lips, allow him some kind of relief from the aching in his body.

your lips tugged into a small smile as you can’t help but let out a quiet chuckle. for all his stoicism, neuvillette can’t seem to hide his desires even a little bit. but it was refreshing to see the vulnerability in his eyes, and the unsteadiness of his breathing when you finally take the last step, trapping him between the table and you. with just the tip of your toes, you lean up and press a kiss to his lips, warm and eager to meet yours.

the kiss was short and sweet, due in part to neuvillette’s inexperience, however it didn’t matter to you. you would have time to slowly teach him, but now there was other, more pressing, matters to deal with.

you could feel it against your belly, the heat emanating from it penetrating through the layers of clothing to your skin. neuvillette felt like his body was on fire, so unused to this feeling of uncontrollable surges of pleasure and how hard his cock was, pressed against you.

his mind was already getting dizzy from your mere presence and the kiss, however, the feeling of your hand gently coming to brush over the bulge through his pants finally snaps him back to reality. the honourable judge suddenly becomes aware of his surroundings again as another wave of redness overcomes his face.

“w-wait, we’re in p-public…” his words are mumbled as your fingers begin to search for the zip on his pants.

“i don’t see anyone else here except us,” you whispered back, dragging the zipper down nice and slow over his cock. his breath stutters, hands fidgeting by his sides as he’s torn between stopping you and letting you do as you pleased.

“there’s people outside… please…” neuvillette’s voice was barely a whisper, shaky and unsure as he feels the heat rising when you finally pulled the zipper all the way down. your fingers tickled over his clothed cock, tapping softly on it as his hips jerked.

“please what? stop? do you want me to stop, neuvillette?” you rest your head up one his shoulder, your words whispered beside his ear and your hands moving to cup his cock, searching for the opening in his boxers. despite the questioning nature of your words, neuvillette knows you’re not asking, with the way your hands moved, he bites down on his bottom lip as you finally touched his aching cock, deft fingers making quick work of releasing it from its confines.

the chief justice has never felt any one way about his desk, just finding it to be a good table he did his work on. but today, the man was grateful for its stable structure, for the strong wood that now supported his body weight as his legs grow weaker with every stroke of your hand. his fingers pressed against the table, teeth gritting as neuvillette tries to swallow down the sounds that threatened to escape. sounds that he never thought he would make, but the high whine from the back of his throat nearly got out, keeling over when your thumb brushed over the head of his cock.

hands that always kept a safe and respectable distance from you clutched at your clothes, and the man can no longer retain any kind of composure. his face pressed against your neck, clinging onto you for support as you so easily worked him over.

meanwhile, you were thrilled; eyes trained on the man in front of you as your hand continues its rhythmic movements. your thumb brushed over his tip with every other stroke, collecting the pearls of precum that he leaked and spreading it over his stiff cock. you watched on with your own breathing beginning to pick up; the normally composed and stoic neuvillette crumbling beneath your touch, and the quiet whimpers that he lets out as his hips trembled did not leave you unaffected.

the tightness in your lower belly only served to push you on, eager to see this man reach his high, shaking with pure bliss because of you. you tightened your fist, increasing your pace and now twisting your wrist with every upward stroke.

this change was immediately felt by neuvillette, a strangled whine sounding from his throat as he gripped your arms. unable keep his voice down now, the man hides his face in your neck, an unending string of whimpers could be heard muffled into your skin as his orgasm quickly builds.

neuvillette has never felt like this in his life; an indescribable pleasure rushing through his body, the heat from your touch that burned him like fire, and yet he can’t get enough of it, craving for it as you push him to the brink. every pump, every stroke, neuvillette feels his mind tearing at the seams, unable to comprehend the way you made him feel, the emotions building in his chest, as well as the tight knot he feels at the base of his cock.

“mgh, w-wait, i think i n-need the bathroom,” neuvillette gasps out, hips and thighs quivering terribly as he feels the somewhat familiar urge to pee. he tries to grab your hand, getting more and more frantic as the build up inside him becomes nearly unbearable and the thought of urinating in your hands was far too much for him. he could never face you again if he did.

but you ignore his cries, pushing his shaky hands away and picked up the pace. hearing his sobs and whimpers only urged you on, “don’t worry and just let go, i want to see you cum.”

and just like that, your words and sultry voice pushed him over, the tight knot snapping as neuvillette’s orgasm overtakes his senses, releasing all over your hand. the strings of white cum squirts out on his own clothes and the floor of his office, the man himself having shut his eyes as he experiences pure, unadulterated pleasure surging through his body. you held him tightly through his high, stroking him to completion until his cock begins to soften in your hand, but neuvillette’s body was still trembling and his muscles felt like jelly after being so tensed for so long.

“i, i apologise, i thought i needed the bathroom,” the man finally speaks again after a period of silence as he regains control of his mind and body. your free hand rubs his back, doing your best to comfort him after a moment of vulnerability.

“i heard the feeling of an orgasm can be quite similar to feeling the need to pee, especially since it’s your first experience.” and neuvillette’s face flushes again, he had never told you this was his first sexual experience, but it must have been obvious enough to you. finally feeling enough strength to move, he reaches for a tissue before gingerly wiping your hand, making sure to clean it thoroughly before moving into his clothes and the floor. although he may have felt a little embarrassed seeing his own mess, he hid it well, not wanting to look shameful in front of you anymore than he already has.

you can’t help but think how adorable the chief justice looks right now, quietly cleaning up after himself with the deep red blush across his cheeks. you reach for his now soft cock, chuckling when you hear a surprised yelp from the man, and tucked it back into his boxers before zipping up his pants.

neuvillette’s feels like his face has a permanent blush, as he looks at you patting his crotch and smiling like you didn’t just give him his first (of many) orgasm. one that was in his office no less, with people who held him in high regard right outside. he is just grateful the thick door blocks out sound, given the absolutely shameful sounds that he let out as you stroked his cock.

even the thought of it now makes him feel embarrassed, and yet at the same time he can’t help how excited it makes him. neuvillette pushes these thoughts out of his mind, focusing instead on as you give his cheek a kiss, smiling endearingly at him. all thoughts of shame or embarrassment now gone from his mind as he gaze softens, his chest filling up with emotion when you wrap your arms around him and bid him goodbye with a promise of meeting again. although, his cheeks then crimson yet again from your last parting words:

“if you still need help understanding human pleasure, i’m happy to teach you anytime.”

#i desire him carnally #look guys i know this is very tame but i promise my thoughts are not #this is just the introduction ok #like take him out to dinner first right #and then take him home and fuck him into the mattress #i want to bend him over and fuck him on his desk tho #urgh #six.writes #genshin impact #neuvilette genshin #neuvillete x reader #neuvilette smut #dom!reader #sub genshin #sub neuvillette #neuvillette

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snowyslytherinowl · 9 months

Text

Locked in the Staffroom

PAIRING: Severus Snape x (Professor) Reader

SUMMARY: Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall know that Severus Snape and you have hidden feelings for each other. When Snape refuses to acknowledge that you truly reciprocate his feelings, they lock him in the staffroom to force him to finally ask you out.

*GIF isn't mine.

Excited whispers and giggles sound from inside the staffroom. Who in the wizarding world is giggling? Severus thinks before he pushes the door open. No wonder; it’s Dumbledore and Minerva. The two jump away from each other the second Severus walks in. Tea flies into Minerva’s hands, and Dumbledore stares dreamily out the window.

“Good day, Severus. What brings you here?” Minerva asks after sipping her tea.

He ignores their question and sneers, “What were you two old bats whispering about?”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle behind his half-moon spectacles. “In truth, Minerva and I were discussing what a lovely couple you and the charming History of Magic professor would make.” Minerva chokes on her tea, clearly unaware that Dumbledore planned to spill the details of their gossip talk. “We know of your deep, burning feelings for her and believe that it would be prudent to act on them.”

Blood rushes to Severus’s face. “I do not have feelings for her,” he spits. Even if he did, he thinks they would be neither deep nor burning. Sitting next to you at every meal, admiring your outfits and eyes, and dreaming of your every waking moment surely doesn’t constitute as that.

Fine, perhaps he does fancy you just a little bit.

“One may attempt to conceal their love, but love cannot be concealed in the way one gazes at their beloved,” Dumbledore says dreamily.

“She looks at you the same way you look at her, lucky for you.” Minerva raises her eyebrows and throws him a knowing, smug smile. “If you weren’t always so engrossed in your work, you’d see it, too.”

Severus rolls his eyes. “I do not appreciate your meddling in my relationships with the other professors. Either way, you are becoming old and delusional.” The other two professors burst out laughing as Severus turns away and pours a cup of tea for himself. He makes a final comment as his back is turned, “Perhaps you bats need better spectacles or charms to improve your sanity.”

Mere seconds after he takes his first sip, the staffroom door opens. Severus’s eyes shoot up to see who has entered into this embarrassing conversation, and it is none other than you. His gaze immediately lowers back to the tea, and his hair falls around his face to shield the fact that his face is turning an even brighter shade of red. You take note of the tense atmosphere and awkwardly greet, “Hi, everyone.”

Dumbledore and Minerva warmly greet you, while Severus nods in your direction. You blush at Severus’s albeit scarce attention and walk to stand by him at the drink table.

“Look at the time. It appears that Minerva and I must depart for our daily bird watching. Hogsmeade residents have reported a sighting of the Fiery Frizzle, and it would be an absolute shame to miss witnessing the bird setting a cottage on fire,” Dumbledore declares. Minerva plays along and they stand up to leave the room.

“I didn’t know that you’re into bird watching,” you note as you pour milk into a coffee.

“They aren’t,” Severus grunts with full knowledge of their true plan. They want to give you two some privacy so he can make some grand gesture demonstrating his love for you. Too bad for them; he plans to leave the staffroom soon after the older professors depart. Regardless of Severus’s comments, the two give him expectant glances before exiting.

Silence engulfs the staffroom until you say, “I brought essays to grade. You can join me only if you want to, of course.” You smile shyly when he looks at you.

“Unfortunately, I have duties to attend to,” Severus says and downs his remaining tea in one go despite how it burns his throat. With his hair covering his eyes, he glances at your dress one last time before heading for the door. It’s truly a shame that he doesn’t have more time (the courage, rather) to admire how it shows your curves in all the right places.

Severus attempts to turn the door handle and discovers that it’s jammed. No matter the spell he casts and how many times he impatiently grunts “alohomora,” the door doesn’t budge. He notices that you’re looking at him, earning a nervous laugh from him. “The door refuses to open. Not surprising, considering I have been telling Dumbledore that it requires repair.”

“Really? I never had an issue with it. Do you need help?” you ask, but still walk over before he can respond. You cast several spells of your own, none of which work to open the door. Severus feels flustered, but whether it’s because of your closeness or his embarrassment at being unable to complete a simple task on his own, he doesn’t know.

As you attempt to remove the door handle altogether, a realization hits Severus: the door won’t open unless he confesses his feelings or asks you out. His blood boils as he thinks about how that pair of old baboons are probably up in Dumbledore’s office at this very moment, giggling and kicking their feet with excitement like schoolchildren. He can’t wait to get out of here so he can storm into the office and hit them with every jinx and hex he can think of.

But then again, neither of you can leave unless he makes a move. The staffroom is hardly the place for pouring his heart out or asking you out on a date. Severus supposes that inviting you to the Three Broomsticks is the best option since you might think he’s merely asking you as a friend. Though what is he supposed to do? Lean against the door and nonchalantly say, “Go to the Three Broomsticks with me?” Or magic a flower into existence and pop the question? Merlin, why does this feel more nerve-wracking than taking on a dragon or walking through the Forbidden Forest during a gloomy night?

He’s snapped to attention when you say, “I don’t think this thing will budge.”

“Yes, I believe so,” he mutters back. You’re looking up at him through your eyelashes. Ugh, this seems like the best time to ask you on a date. He crosses his arms against his chest, then uncrosses them because it makes him seem closed-off. Then they hang limply against his sides; no, that makes him look weak. Never mind any of this; just say something!

“Er, I want to… I was wondering if perhaps you, er,” he stammers and forces the rest out in a rushed sentence, “WouldliketogototheThreeBroomstickswithme?”

You scrunch your face together. “What?”

Why couldn’t you just hear him the first time? Do you wish to embarrass him? His eyes fix on a point on the ground to avoid the impending look of horror on your face as he clearly enunciates his next sentence. “Do you want to go to the Three Broomsticks with me this Saturday?”

With every ounce of his being, Severus forces himself to look at you. Disgust isn’t written on your face at all. Instead, you’re grinning widely, and your eyes are even brighter than usual. “Yes! Is six okay?”

The muscles of his mouth force his lips into a small smile. “Er, it is,” he replies without thinking if it does. Either way, he’d move around his entire schedule for a mere minute of your time. But then his heart sinks as he realizes that you’ve likely only agreed to accompany him to the Three Broomsticks as an outing between two friends.

Severus is proven wrong once more when you lean up to him and give him a quick kiss on the cheek! Oh no, he must look like a bashful schoolboy due to his burning cheeks and widening grin. No matter any of that, though, because you kissed his cheek!

“I, er, I shall see you then,” he stammers. You smile and nod in agreement before he reaches for the door handle to leave before he bursts with giddiness. Lo and behold, the door finally opens.

Unlike what Severus expected, Minerva and Dumbledore are standing at the end of the corridor. Good; he can murder them without having to walk too far! He rushes over to them and upon seeing him, their faces break out into vicious little smirks.

“I have half a mind to turn you into mice and feed you to snakes!” Severus sneers.

The two professors look at each other and laugh so hard that Minerva has to put a hand on Dumbledore’s arm to stable herself. “We see that you’ve taken our advice to heart,” Dumbledore says. “Did she agree to your invitation?”

“That is none of your business!” he spits.

“It appears that she did agree, Albus!” Minerva exclaims. “You can thank us for that later. I rather think that Minerva would be a beautiful middle name for your future baby girl.”

Severus’s eyes narrow and he advances on the two, but he merely gets close enough to scowl in their faces. “I rather think that name hideous!” he snaps and jerks back to leave the two where they are in the hall.

But he’s halfway to the stairs when Dumbledore calls back, “Perhaps Albus would be a suitable middle name for a boy!”

Severus doesn’t respond. Instead, he flicks his wand at a window, smashing it and sending glass flying everywhere. His cloak billows around him as he grumpily climbs the stairs and disappears from sight, but he can’t help but wonder what name would be regal enough for his future child.

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peachdues · 1 month

Text

Enjoy a peek at Giyuu learning how not to act like a virgin when with the person he loves in TGW Part II

“Well, if you want her first time to be special –”

“It’s not her first time.” Giyuu said bluntly before feeling his ears heat slightly as Tengen raised his eyebrows in surprise. “We – before the final battle –”

“Tengen’s mouth curved into a wicked smile. “Ah, so you just couldn’t wait, huh?”

“Well, obviously it’s hard for women to reach completion their first time, even when you properly prepare them –”

“Prepare?” Giyuu interjected, looking quizically at the Sound Pillar.

“Well, y’know, the stuff ya do before you actually put it in.” Tengen clarified, but he paled at the vacant look in the former Water Pillar’s eyes.

“Y-youd did prepare her, didn’t you?” Tengen demanded, sitting up straighter as his eyes narrowed.

Giyuu only stared back at him with that same, blank look, though Tengen could see the blush creep down his ears and to his neck.

The former Sound Pillar pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, eye screwed tightly shut. “Are you telling me,” he grit out. “That you just shoved it in without even stretching her out a bit first? Or at least making sure she was properly lubricated down there?”

Giyuu felt slightly affronted at his friend’s tone. “What do you mean by ‘prepare?’”

Tengen groaned. “Giyuu. Did you use your fingers or your tongue before you put your cock in her?”

He was silent as he thought for a moment. “Was I supposed to?”

Tengen stared in disbelief at the stoic ravenette, before dragging a hand over his face. “Y’know, you shouldn’t be intimate with someone until you know what you’re doing.” He grumbled. “Even Shinazugawa came to me for help before he got with his girl.”

Giyuu cocked his head in confusion. “It’s not like we planned it in advance – it just happened.”

The Sound Pillar’s eye widened in horror. “Giyuu,” he hissed, bracing his hand on his hip. “I’ve seen you change before – you’re not small.” He groaned, loudly at the confusion on his comrade’s face. “Unbelievable – that poor girl.”

“It’s not as though I was rough –” The Water Pillar countered, his tone indignant, but Tengen held up a hand to silence him.

“It doesn’t matter how many times my wives and I get together – I always make sure to prepare them beforehand. Thoroughly.”

Tomioka remained quiet, so Tengen asked, “Do you want to be intimate with her again?”

Giyuu nodded as enthusiastically as someone like Giyuu could, and Tengen sighed. He lowered himself to sit on the large boulder and crossed his legs. “You might as well get comfortable, Tomioka, because you’ve got a lot to learn about female pleasure – and that’s assuming Y/N even lets you back into her bed.”

#dw he becomes an expert #demon slayer #giyuu tomioka #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny giyuu #giyuu x reader #giyuu x you #giyuu x y/n #kny tomioka #tomioka giyū #tomioka giyu x reader #kny smut

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poisonlove · 2 months

Text

Study Session | c.s

pairing: Cairo Sweet X fem reader

Summary: Y/n is terrible in literature and needs a hand

Words: 11.58 k

"Miss Y/S, could you come here for a moment, please?" Mr. Miller asks kindly.

I blink in surprise and walk towards the lectern, my feet almost stumbling on the wooden floorboards. I blush with embarrassment, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Cairo looking towards us with seriousness, organizing her belongings.

I swallow nervously and bite my lower lip, my eyes first glancing at Cairo and then at Professor Miller.

Now is not the time to think about your one-sided crush, y/n I mentally scold myself.

I force a smile and look at the professor with genuine curiosity. "Do you need something, sir?" I say, smiling happily, trying to hide my nervousness.

"I'm not sure how to put this..." Professor Miller sighs and takes off his glasses, looking up to meet our eyes. My smile falters seeing the concern and distress behind his eyes. Professor Miller sighs and takes the assignment I had done last week in his hands.

"It's... It's a mediocre work," he says hesitantly, almost embarrassed.

"To be honest... If you don't do something that impresses me, Miss, you'll fail my class," he says with a tone of voice almost guilty.

My palms sweat, and I try to remain calm. I knew I was really bad at literature, but I didn't expect to fail the year altogether. But what can I say? No matter how hard I try, I can't adequately transcribe what I think onto paper.

"I'm sorry," I whisper reluctantly, deeply ashamed of myself.

Professor Miller gives me a gentle smile, tilting his head slightly as he places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"You have great potential," he states with conviction, trying to instill confidence in me. "But you simply have a few more difficulties," he concludes with a compassionate tone, seeking my gaze empathetically.

I stare into his eyes, noticing the intention of conveying moral support.

"Miss Sweet," Professor Miller calls Cairo's attention, making her focus on him.

"Yes, Professor Miller?" she responds with a radiant smile, her eyes shining for... some strange reason.

"Could you help Y/N?" the professor asks, looking at me sideways.

His request makes me feel slightly offended for not having a say, but at the same time, it puts me in a state of anxiety because I would have to work with the girl I've always liked.

Cairo's eyes focus on my figure with curiosity, making me feel nervous and embarrassed by her enchanting beauty. A small smile spreads across her lips before she looks at the literature professor.

Brown eyes looking at Mr. Miller.

"Alright," Cairo responds with a shy smile, which also makes the professor smile.

I raise an eyebrow in confusion, observing this strange scene with curiosity and a hint of suspicion.

Cairo's smile is kind but enigmatic, as if hiding something behind that seemingly calm façade. I wonder what it could be, but I decide not to delve too deeply into it at that moment.

Professor Miller seems pleased with her acceptance and nods with a pleased expression. "Great! I'm sure you'll make an exceptional team," he comments enthusiastically, encouraging us to work together towards our common goal.

"Cairo," says the professor, maintaining a dazzling smile, "if you succeed in the task, you'll earn an extra credit," he announces proudly, turning his gaze towards his student with a mixture of hope and trust.

Cairo smiles weakly, visibly embarrassed by the attention she's received.

"Well then," I intervene timidly, trying to dissipate the strange tension that has arisen, "shall we?" I add, looking at the girl I've always had a secret crush on with flushed cheeks.

Despite my shyness and the nervousness that overwhelms me, I strive to maintain a calm and decisive tone, hoping to convey confidence both to myself and to Cairo as we prepare to face this new challenge together.

(...)

"So... What do you think?" I say nervously, my hands fidgeting with the threads of my jeans.

I roll a thread around my finger and pull it, tossing it into the grass.

Cairo's eyes fixate on my paper attentively, her pupils moving along my essay with seriousness. The brunette lowers the sheet and looks at me carefully.

"Well?" I say, feeling my stomach tied up with nerves. "Hmm..." She starts hesitantly, tilting her head and leaning against the tree behind her.

The day was perfect, and we had mutually agreed to spend it outdoors doing literature. The rays filtering through the branches highlight Cairo's face, making her eyes appear light brown

She was... Beautiful.

"Is it okay?" She says timidly.

Cairo hands me back the paper, and I sigh in frustration. I could sense that something was missing.

"Come on... Tell me the truth," I say, looking at Cairo curiously. The brunette bites her lower lip and adjusts her posture.

"So... It's not bad, but..." she starts and bites her lower lip, thoughtful. "It lacks emotion... I don't see the passion... I don't perceive anything," she confesses, and I pout.

Darn it... I wanted the truth, but it was entirely heavy

"I knew I shouldn't have spoken," she quickly says, quickly moving her hand, noticing my frown on her lips. "It's perfect," she smiles broadly, and my eyes soften seeing how sweet and cute she was with that expression on her face.

The dimple was adorable, and her eyes sparkled when she talked about something related to writing.

"No... I asked you to be honest, and you were," I say quickly, smiling.

Her eyes look at me with curiosity, and I try to maintain eye contact as much as possible. "Okay..." Cairo murmurs before giving in to this staring contest, taking her notebook.

"I... " I start hesitantly, "have an old piece that I'd like you to read," I say timidly.

I was aware of the risk that she would realize it was about her, but despite that, I thought it was my best work. After all, I wrote it with all the love I feel for her.

"Oh... I'd be happy to," she says sincerely, her pearly whites showing her beautiful smile. Cairo's eyes light up at the mention of reading something, and she quickly reaches her hand towards me.

Shyly, I grab my backpack and search for my work, immediately noticing that it was sandwiched between two notebooks. My cheeks were red from embarrassment for having something so special to me crumpled and carelessly thrown in my backpack.

Cairo takes it without making any comment on its sorry state and begins to read it.

"In the twilight of our intertwined destinies..." The brunette had a focused expression, her voice soft and enveloping.

I wait with trepidation, observing every nuance of her expressions

"she emerges like an elusive shadow, a siren of my lost dreams, with chestnut locks like the earth." Cairo sighs "Her eyes, deep as the abyss of the soul, reflect falling stars and unfathomable secrets, like dark water on a moonless night, where the lost traveler wanders." Cairo suddenly stops, lips still suspended on the sentence.

Her gaze drifts amidst the words as a wave of emotion envelops her voice.

I remain silent, captivated by her interpretation.

The brunette continues, her voice now softer, almost whispered. "Her smile, a fleeting glimpse of light, a glimmer of hope in the darkness, yet also an echo of sadness in the relentless passage of time, a memory of what could have been."

Cairo voice resonates with the melody of the words, conveying every nuance of emotion contained within the text.

I was completely captivated by her facial expressions.

"Yet, amid the folds of uncertain destiny, remains a lost innocence and an unspoken love, an incomplete harmony, an unexpressed desire, like a melody interrupted in the night wind."

"In her breath dance promises of another life, where perhaps our hearts will meet, in the stillness of a world without end, where time is not the master of our destinies."

Cairo tightens the grip on the paper.

"But for now we part ways, like the waves leaving the shore, destined to wander alone in the depths of time. Yet, in the deepest recesses of my being, her essence remains engraved like an ancient melody."

As she reads those words, Cairo's tone of voice becomes soft and melancholic, conveying a sense of nostalgia and sadness. Her words are filled with emotion, with a slight tremor in her voice reflecting the depth of her feelings. Cairo seems to be carried away by the intensity of the text, and her reading is infused with an aura of melancholy and reflection.

"And so I venture into the night, with her memory as my guide, suspended between the pain of loss and the hope of return. In the silence of my soul, I continue to dream, hoping that one day our destinies will intertwine again."

After finishing the reading, Cairo remains silent for a moment, her gaze lost in deeper thoughts. I can sense her mind in turmoil, her eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and admiration. Then, slowly, she lifts her gaze towards me, a spark of interest shining in her coffee-colored eyes.

"Who is the muse behind this extraordinary piece?" she asks, her voice warm and full of curiosity, while her expression reflects a sincere desire to understand the hidden meaning behind the words.

I knew perfectly well that I couldn't say it was her, so I just shrugged nonchalantly. "No one in particular," I add calmly, even though my heart was beating rapidly inside me.

"Yet it seems so specific," Cairo observes, glancing at the paper.

Her words make me uncomfortable, but I try to maintain composure. "It's just a product of my imagination," I say with a forced smile, hoping to divert attention away from myself.

"The only certainty is that she's a brown-haired girl with brown eyes," Cairo asserts with a mischievous smile, and a shiver runs down my spine. "The classic always attracts, it seems," she adds, chuckling softly.

Her observation makes me feel like butterflies are doing acrobatics in my stomach.

"Don't be stubborn now," I blurt out in embarrassment, trying to deflect attention from the imminent truth that Cairo is about to uncover with her acute intelligence.

Cairo bursts into laughter, a sound so genuine and contagious that it makes me feel special. Her laughter fills the air around us, wiping away any traces of embarrassment and fear, and I find myself laughing along with her, feeling light and free.

Cairo stops laughing and smiles, a look of sincerity painted on her face.

"It seems you were good at freelancing after all," she observes with a light and friendly tone.

Her comment makes me feel appreciated and recognized for my abilities, and I smile in response. "Thank you," I reply with gratitude, feeling encouraged by her approval.

"I think Professor Miller will like it," Cairo continues, biting her lower lip, lost in her thoughts.

A strange sparkle lights up her eyes, and at that moment, I decide to ask her a question that has tormented me for too long.

"Cairo do you have a crush on Professor Miller?" I ask timidly, curious but also intimidated by the possible answer.

Cairo blushes deeply. "What on earth are you asking?" she responds sharply, clearly embarrassed.

"From the way you react to his mention..." I say with curiosity, "and also you're completely red," I add with a timid smile.

Cairo shakes her head firmly. "No, no," she responds promptly, "I admire Professor Miller, but I don't have a crush on him. He's old, and, above all, he's married." Her tone is decisive.

"Well, gray hair isn't very attractive, right?" I ask with a smile on my lips, while I observe Cairo nodding slightly, smiling broadly and showing her dimples.

Freckles surround her face as her hair falls gracefully around her shoulders.

Cairo looks up at the sky, which is turning orange at sunset, a sign that the day is coming to an end. "I think it's time to go," she says timidly, almost regretfully.

"Is the study session over already?" I say in surprise, pouting.

Cairo nods and smiles. "So, do you like literature now?" she winks, teasing me.

"Not exactly, but the lesson goes better with you," I reply, aware of what I'm saying and noticing the slight blush on Cairo's cheeks.

I realize what I've said afterward and feel terribly embarrassed. A wave of nervousness overwhelms me as I notice a hint of pink on Cairo's cheeks.

Oh darn, I want to die, I think dramatically.

Cairo looks away. "Well, see you tomorrow.""Ah, yes, of course! See you tomorrow," I reply, trying to hide my embarrassment behind a smile. I feel the heat rising in my face as the embarrassment grows inside me. "Thank you for today, it was... interesting," I quickly add, hoping to alleviate the strange tension that had arisen.

"Thanks to you," she says softly, her gaze warm and comforting.

With a smile on my lips, I watch Cairo walk away. Despite the day starting off badly, it ended in the best possible way.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x fem!reader #professor #miller's girl #cairo sweet x reader #cairo sweet #study session #fluff

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munson-blurbs · 6 months

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19

Summary: A trip to the thrift store becomes overwhelming for Harris, and you and Eddie have to work as a team. But the real test of your relationship's strength is the crisis that unfolds days later.

Warnings: financial insecurity, school lock-in, missing child, police presence, mention of kidnapping, mention of drug addiction, blood (no gore)

WC: 8.5k

Chapter 19/20

Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie has already been awake for two hours when the phone rings. One part of parenthood that he hadn’t anticipated is that children do not understand the concept of weekends. Harris had flung himself out of his racecar bed promptly at 6:30 in the morning, crawling under Eddie’s sheets and poking his nose until he woke up.

“Har, go back to sleep,” Eddie had grumbled, the last word extended in a whine. One cheek was smushed against his pillow, muffling his complaint. “It’s Saturday; you don’t have school.”

In response, Harris pursed his lips into a perfect pout and used his thumb to peel Eddie’s eyelid open, getting as close to his face as possible. His morning breath was tinged with the scent of chocolate; Eddie groggily made a mental note to better supervise his nighttime teeth brushing routine.

“‘M hungry.”

That’s how Eddie finds himself pouring his third cup of coffee while his son keeps his eyes glued to the TV screen, watching Doug stutter and stammer in front of Patti. Eddie smiles, a blush creeping into his cheeks when he realizes that that’s probably what he looks like around you.

“‘Lo?” He cradles the receiver between his ear and his shoulder, wincing as he clumsily clinks the carafe into place. There isn’t enough coffee left to slosh over the side, a small miracle in and of itself, although he’ll have to brew some more if the caffeine doesn’t kick in soon.

“Hey, baby.” Your voice is sleepy yet sweet, smoothing all the creases of the morning. “Did I wake you up?”

Eddie laughs and takes a sip from his favorite mug, the one that proudly declares #1 Dad. It’s stained and chipped, but he’ll never throw it out. Wayne had bought it for him on his very first Father’s Day; ironically, Eddie had bought him a #1 Grandpa mug that year, probably from the same kiosk at the mall.

“Not even close,” he says, tongue flicking to the corner of his lip to catch the drip of coffee that’s pooled in the crevice. “Someone was up bright and early this morning.” His gaze flits over to the bowl of Cheerios snug between Harris’s criss-crossed legs, mostly uneaten despite his earlier protests that would make an outsider believe he was starving. “How was your sleep?” he asks, swinging back to your conversation.

You switch the phone from one ear to the other. “It was good. Would’ve been better if you were next to me, though,” you add, twirling the cord around your forefinger. If you could, you would capture the safety of his embrace and bottle it, releasing a bit each time you craved his gentle touch. “I might’ve even let you be the little spoon.”

He balks at this with a playful scoff, nearly spilling his coffee with the sudden movement. “Yeah, right,” he chuckles, licking the side of the mug before the bitter liquid can slide off and hit the ground. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Admittedly, his skepticism is rooted in truth; whenever you do get the chance to cuddle in bed, he’s always the one wrapping his arm around your waist, often taking the opportunity to snake a hand up your shirt and let the pads of his fingers brush over your breasts. It isn’t always a display of sexuality or desire–though you can’t say you mind that–but a connection, a way of ensuring that you stay close.

“Just a few more weeks until we get to find out for ourselves,” you tease, though he needs no reminding. Only sixteen days remain until you officially move in together, and he’s not ashamed to admit that he’s counting down. “Speaking of which,” you continue, glancing at the clock, “I was wondering if you and Harris wanted to do some furniture shopping for his new room.” You knew that he would be keeping his racecar bed; it’s unlikely he’ll part with it until he’s outgrown it completely. “Y’know, a new dresser or nightstand or something.”

There’s an extended pause on Eddie’s side of the line. You think the call dropped and are about to hang up and redial when you hear him say, “I, um…I don’t get paid until next week…” He nervously scratches the countertop with one fingernail.

“Oh.” You grapple with a response, trying to strike a balance of empathy without condescension. “Well, I was going to surprise you, but I sold some of Grandma’s old—”

“No way,” Eddie interjects, firmly but not harshly. “I’m not having you spend your money on me. We can just wait until payday.”

“I want to buy this for Harris. I…I probably should have cleared out Grandma’s room months ago, but I couldn’t. I mean, I could, but it felt wrong because I had nothing to put in its place.” You don’t care that you’re babbling on, forging ahead with your impromptu monologue. “It would’ve been too empty, but with you and Harris here, it won’t be empty anymore.”

Eddie tucks his thumbnail between his teeth. “Are you sure?” he prods, not wanting to sound ungrateful.

“Positive.” You’re much more assured in your reply. “If she knew Harris before she got sick, she would’ve spoiled the hell out of him, anyway.” The moment she saw him happily digging into the Oreos, she would have ensured that the cupboard remained stocked with Double Stuf. “In a way, s’like she gets to spoil him now.”

You can sense Eddie’s resistance tempering with an audible exhale. “He’s an easy kid to love, that’s for sure,” he muses, buying time to process the influx of emotions flooding his body. There’s the obvious gratitude that you’re so eager to take care of his son, but it’s cut with the insecurity of him not being able to do so. If you’re going to buy Harris furniture, it should be because you want to, not because he can’t. What if you hold this against him? What if, in the future, there’s an argument and you fire back with a retort about his shortcomings as a father?

Except…you have never done that. Ever. Not that night in the emergency room, or when you’d found out about the CPS report filed that evening. Not even when Eddie had made it his personal mission to tear you down, pulling insults from the depths and hurling them at you with reckless abandon.

You hadn’t brought up the way he’d helplessly panicked when confronted with the possibility of Harris’s learning disability, or how he’d let anxiety overtake him when he officially received a classification. With everything the two of you had endured, you’d never once echoed his anxieties about his parenting abilities; it was quite the opposite. With you by his side, he feels as though he can take on whatever challenge life chucks at him.

“Eds? Is everything okay?” Your tone is thick with concern; Eddie realizes that you probably think you’ve upset him. “We don’t have to go—we can do something else, or—”

“Sweet girl,” he says in one exhale, both to reassure you and to remind himself that you’re his, and he’s yours. Love surges through the phone lines when he speaks. “We can pick you up in an hour, if that works? I should be able to wrangle Harris by then.”

“Y’sure?” And, Christ, how his heart sinks when you shrink inward, reflexively making yourself smaller when you’re worried that you’ve offended someone.

Eddie doesn’t answer you directly, instead, calls out his son’s name. “Hey, Harris?” He frowns when Harris completely ignores him in favor of watching the cartoon. Using his free hand, he cups his mouth in a makeshift megaphone, amplifying his voice. “Harris Wayne Munson!”

The sudden sound jolts him out of his TV-induced stupor. “Huh?”

“Go get dressed and brush your teeth; we’re gonna go shopping with Ms. Sweetheart!” Eddie grins as Harris turns to him with a wide smile of his own. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Harris jumps up without further hesitation, inadvertently tossing his bowl from the makeshift table of his legs. Milk splatters, instantly soaking into the carpet, and the Cheerios topple out and land in a soggy pile. “Nooo, my bref-ist!” His big eyes well up with tears. “Daddy, you made me drop my bref-ist!”

“You, uh, wanna deal with that?” You can’t hide your amusement at the usual Munson chaos.

“Probably should, huh?” Eddie jokes back, stretching the phone cord as far as he can and reaching for the paper towel roll. “I love you, babe. See you in a bit.”

“I love you, Eds,” you tell him. “And Harris, too, of course.”

Some more static and shuffling; then, an energetic voice greets you. “Hi Ms. Sweetheart! Daddy made me drop my bref-ist,” the little boy reports.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Har.” You’ve perfected the art of mustering up sympathy for children’s not-soearth-shattering issues, a skill that every preschool teacher must possess. “Why don’t you help him clean up? That way, I can see you even faster.”

Harris pauses, mulling over his options. “Yeah, okay! Gotta go! Bye!”

You hear the clunk of him struggling to replace the phone on the hook, followed by Eddie saying, “Let me say good-bye before you hang—” click.

Pulling your own receiver from your ear, you stare at it with mild amusement. Never a dull moment with my boys.

Your boys drive up to your building just over an hour later. You stand up from the bench outside the entrance and smooth down your shorts where they’ve creased.

“Hey, Sweetheart.” Eddie lets the pet name roll off of his tongue. He wants to kiss you as you slide into the passenger seat, but he withholds his affection for Harris’s sake. It seems silly, considering you’ll all be living together, but he doesn’t know how his son will react to the romance aspect of it. Will he be happy? Excited? Disgusted by any display of affection?

You give his hand a subtle squeeze, turning around to greet Harris. “Ready to shop till we drop?”

“Till we drop?” Harris wrinkles his nose, glancing between you and his dad. “Why would we drop?”

“It’s just an expression,” you explain, catching a glimpse of the smile tugging at the corners of Eddie’s mouth. “Just means that we’re going to shop until we’re too tired to shop anymore.”

“I never get tired,” Harris declares, sticking his legs straight out so his flexed feet push up against the back of the driver’s seat, nudging Eddie slightly forward. “Grampa Wayne calls me an ‘Energizer Bunny.’” He bounces up and down in his booster seat to prove his point.

Eddie reaches his right arm around, keeping his left firmly gripping the wheel, as he moves Harris’s feet from where they’re planted into his lower back. “So, Har,” he starts, easing his weight onto the brake as he approaches a red light, “we’re gonna look for a new dresser for you, and maybe a nightstand.” He takes a deep breath as he delivers the news: “That means we’re not making any pit stops for toys. Got it?”

You want to interject, to let Eddie know that you don’t mind splurging on a small treat for Harris, but you bite it back. Whether or not you have the spare funds is irrelevant: this is the boundary he’s set for his son, and you have to respect it, regardless of your desire to spoil him.

Harris, however, does not accept the announcement as readily. “Not even, like, a little one?” he presses, holding his thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart. “Even if I’m really, really good?” He gives a hopeful smile, eyes blinking expectantly.

Eddie looks at you, serving as your cue to provide your input. You nod your approval, trying to hide your delight in being asked to make a parenting decision, regardless of how menial it may seem. He peers up through the rearview mirror at his son’s waiting face. “If you’re really, really good,” he acquiesces, features pinching into a grimace when Harris’s exuberant squeal echoes through the sedan. “You have to use your inside voice and stay next to us the whole time. Deal?”

“Deal,” Harris confirms. “Deal, Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Deal.” Laughter bubbles up inside you and you let it spill out uninhibited. You know that telling a child he can get a toy is an easy part of parenthood, but you silently swear to never take for granted being included in that choice. Harris joins you, though he’s not quite sure why he’s laughing, but your joy is contagious.

You lean your head against the car window, listening to the buzz of the radio filling the silence. Harris hums along, more on-key than the average five-year-old, which you can safely attribute to him having a musician for a dad.

“I’m not getting a new bed, right?” Harris says with sudden urgency. “Because I wanna keep my racecar bed.”

“Mhm,” you affirm, smiling when Harris relaxes back against the headrest. “Your racecar bed will be in your new room, don’t you worry.”

“Okay.” That response satisfies him until he thinks up another question. “An’ you’re bringing your bed, Daddy?”

Eddie chuckles as he pulls into the Goodwill parking lot. He picks a spot close to the store, right next to a green Ford with a faded “Clinton ‘96” bumper sticker. “Um, no. I’m not bringing my bed.”

“So are you getting a new bed?” His eyes dart from side to side as he assesses the size of the car. “Where’s it gonna fit?”

“I’m, uh, not buying a new bed, either.” Eddie kills the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt, swiveling to face Harris, who is more confused than ever. “Ms. Sweetheart and I are going to share her bed.”

Harris kicks his feet, processing this new information. “But you didn’t get married yet,” he points out, “so how can you share a bed?”

You rest your palm on Eddie’s forearm in quiet reassurance. “Some people share a bed before they get married,” you explain simply, knowing that less is often more when talking to young children.

“When are you gonna get married?” he asks, more curious than meddling. “Because it’s taking forever. My friends’ mommies and daddies are already married.”

Eddie doesn’t acknowledge the fact that Harris essentially referred to you as his mommy; instead, he slowly exhales. “I’d like to marry Ms. Sweetheart someday, and I think she’d like to marry me, too.” He looks over at you with a sheepish grin, and you give his hand an agreeing squeeze. “But, for now, we’re just going to try out living together. How does that sound?”

“I guess that’s okay.” Harris isn’t completely thrilled with his dad’s response, but he relents anyway.

“While, we’re, uh, on the subject,” Eddie continues, the tips of his ears flushing pink as he carefully considers his words. He chews on the inside of his lower lip. Is he really doing this? Is he opening his son up to this relationship? “You know that Ms. Sweetheart and I love each other very much, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Sometimes,” Eddie continues with only some trepidation, “sometimes, when grown-ups love each other a lot, they hold hands o-or kiss. Would that be weird for you? If Ms. Sweetheart and I held hands, or kissed?”

You avert your gaze, partly from bashfulness but mostly so Harris doesn’t feel any pressure from either of you.

The little boy looks at the car’s ceiling, centering his focus on the overhead lighting. Finally, with utmost certainty, he declares, “just no tongue-kissing.”

You snort out a laugh while Eddie goes bright red and sputters, “where did you learn about that?”

“Young and Restless,” Harris reports nonchalantly.

Eddie rubs his eyes, pressing his thumb and forefinger to his lids until his vision blurs. “Remind me to tell Wayne to stop letting him watch the soaps,” he grumbles to you, turning back to his son. “Yeah, no tongue-kissing.”

You easily lace your fingers with Eddie’s as you walk through the front doors of the Goodwill. Harris starts making a beeline for the toys, but Eddie uses his free hand to pivot him in the direction of the furniture department. Harris huffs but complies, trudging alongside you.

There’s a bright blue nightstand on display that immediately catches his eye. “Look!” he points, smiling so wide that all of his baby teeth are on display, “can I get it? Please?”

Eddie smiles warily, flipping over the white tag hanging from one silver drawer handle. He breathes a small sigh of relief when he sees the price is within the range of what he’d like to spend; rather, what he’d be comfortable asking you to spend.

“Looks like we’ve got a winner,” he says, posture straightening with the announcement. He runs his fingertips over the surface, checking for any chipping paint or splintering wood, but the finish appears to be intact. “I’ll go tell someone to set it aside for us.”

He sets off in search of an employee, leaving you alone with Harris. You swallow the nervousness building in your throat. You spend nearly every day taking care of children, but you’re suddenly inundated with the memory of losing him at the flea market. Those few minutes when you couldn’t locate him were some of the scariest of your life.

And yet, it hadn’t prevented Eddie from giving you another chance.

“Are you excited to move in with me, Har?” you ask, reaching out to ruffle his curls.

He nods, then looks straight up at you so that you’re staring at his nostrils. “Ms. Sweetheart?” The position of his neck changes his voice’s pitch so it’s froggy. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Can you marry my daddy?” His eyes shine with potential. “And then you can be my mommy for real?”

You crouch down to his height, heart melting at his request. “Harris, I love your daddy very, very much. And I love you very, very much, too.” You poke his nose gently, and he giggles. “Being married is a big responsibility—”

“‘Sponsibility?”

“Mhm. Responsibility. It means a really important job.” You slide your heart pendant across the chain on your neck anxiously. “And your daddy and I want to make sure that we’re ready for that kind of responsibility before we do anything, okay?”

Harris nods, but you can tell from his crinkled nose and furrowed brows that he doesn’t fully understand. You can’t blame him; it’s an abstract concept, one that even you often have trouble comprehending. “But I can tell you one thing: whenever your daddy wants to propose, I’ll say ‘yes.’” You smile at the thought of Eddie asking you to be his wife.

“Is that where he gets down on one knee and asks ‘Will you marry me?’” You’re about to respond when he adds, “and then someone runs in and yells about being their long-lost ‘dentical twin?”

Yeah, no more soap operas for Harris.

Finding a dresser proves to be a much more difficult task than picking out the nightstand. Everything that Harris likes is out of budget, and everything within budget is too worn down or small. There’s one that’s in good condition and isn’t too pricey, but it’s covered in hand-painted unicorns.

“That’s for girls!” Harris groans, stomping his feet. The last word is stretched in a whine. “I can’t have girl stuff!”

“We can paint over it. Whatever color you want,” you quickly jump in, trying to avoid a meltdown, but your efforts are fruitless. Fat tears stream down his cheeks; he’s already determined that the dresser is tainted.

“No! No, no, no!” he howls, throwing himself on the floor. He smacks down on his tailbone, fanning his tantrum’s flames. He quiets for a moment, too shocked to cry, but then he’s screaming louder than before.

It’s as though he’s lost control of his body, arms and legs knocking into the lower shelves without care. You can’t block him in time before he knocks over a lamp—a Nickelodeon-themed one that would have been perfect in his new room, ironically—and it shatters on the ground. Ceramic splinters, scattering across the linoleum like roaches in the light.

People start to stare, some with sympathetic looks, and some glare angrily at the child daring to interrupt their shopping. Eddie’s face blazes, vision swimming as he wracks his brain for a solution.

You’re faster, slapping a few bills into Eddie’s palm and jolting him from his thoughts. He watches you scoop Harris off of the floor, trying to avoid his flailing limbs.

“Go get the nightstand and pay for the lamp,” you tell him, straightforward and precise. “I’ll get him to the car and calm him down. Keys?”

Eddie blinks, the information swirling around him but not quite penetrating the surface. It’s when you hoist Harris onto one hip and balance his weight in one hand, using the other to make a ‘gimme’ motion that it registers.

“Y-Yeah, sorry.” Eddie fumbles for the car keys and tosses them to you, the two of you working in tandem. A well-oiled machine. You nod gratefully, wincing as Harris’s foot makes contact with your thigh. “I’ll be right out.”

You’re able to bring him to the car, struggling to unlock it and hold on to Harris. After a few failed attempts, you manage to open the passenger door and sit him on the seat.

“Harris, hey, Harris?” you start, keeping your voice soft and even while trying to pull his attention. His sobs are slowing down but he’s definitely breathing too rapidly for your comfort. “Hey, bud. You’re okay, all right?” You extend your hand and he tentatively places his own palm on top of it. “You wanna give my hand a squeeze?”

He does it, the motion grounding him enough that he can focus on your body in front of him. You don’t want to touch him, knowing that his senses are already overstimulated from the tantrum. Instead, you relax as his squeezing grows stronger and his breaths gradually even out.

“There ya go, Har. Just like that.” You smile warmly. “That was a really big feeling, huh?”

“Uh-huh.” His voice shakes and hiccups. He swipes at the tears on his cheeks, smudging them into his skin.

You reach into the center console and grab a tissue, wiping the mucus from his nose and lips. “Good as new.” With no trashcan nearby, you shove the used Kleenex into your pants pocket. “Can you tell me what made you so mad in there?”

“D-Don’t want girl…girl st-stuff,” he stutters through ragged breaths.

There’s a time and place to discuss the optics of categorizing interests into ‘boy’ and ‘girl,’ but you know better than to have that conversation now. “Oof, that’s why you were angry! That’s a lot to handle.” You gingerly tuck a curl behind his ear. “But, Harris, did you see what happened when you started hitting and kicking?” He shakes his head. “Well, you knocked over a lamp and it broke. You could have gotten hurt, or someone else could have gotten hurt.”

Harris’s face falls as you speak, absorbing what you’re explaining. “I-I didn’t mean to,” he sniffles. “‘M sorry.”

“I know you didn’t mean to,” you sigh, “sometimes, when we have big feelings like getting angry, we do things we shouldn’t without even realizing.” You pause for a moment, biting your lip as you consider your words. “Do you want to hear what helps me when I have really big feelings and I can’t scream and cry?”

“Mhm.” He nods again, little tongue peeking out to swipe up the tears above his mouth.

“I take a deep breath and close my eyes,” you start, demonstrating both actions. Inhale for three, exhale for three, and repeat. “And then I picture myself being in my favorite place in the world.” You smile at him, blinking back the sadness that comes with memories of holidays at Grandma’s. “Wanna try it together?”

Harris responds by closing his eyes and breathing in slowly. “Good job, Har,” you softly praise him. “Now breathe out; make sure you’re thinking of your favorite place, okay?”

“Thinkin’ about the zoo,” he whispers, voice raspy from shrieking for so long. “Daddy taked me there and we saw so much animals.”

“Zoos are a lot of fun,” you agree with a laugh. “I’ve never been to the one in Hawkins. Maybe we can go over the summer?”

“Yeah! I wanna show you the flamingos!” His grin stretches across his cheeks “Do you like flamingos?”

Like most people, you don’t have a strong opinion on flamingos, but you respond with an enthusiastic, “I love them!”

“Love who?” Eddie’s voice breaks into the conversation. He’s rolling out the nightstand in a cart, keeping one hand on top of it to hold it steady. “Me?”

You laugh, opening up the back door so he can wedge the furniture next to Harris’s booster seat. “Yes, Eddie. I love you very much, don’t worry,” you tease, seizing the opportunity to inconspicuously check him out. His biceps flex as he maneuvers the nightstand, and you have to tear your gaze from his denim-clad ass when he stands up and triumphantly wipes his hands on his pants.

“C’mere.” He pulls you in, pursing his lips in an exaggerated pout and planting a smacking kiss on you.

While you giggle, Harris is not as amused. He claps his hands over his eyes and groans.

“No tongue-kissing!”

You’re wrapping up storytime, your students fidgeting with their shoelaces—some fidgeting with their friend’s shoelaces—eager to move onto the corresponding art activity Will has planned.

“Okay, we’re going to use our walking—” Your announcement is cut short by Principal Sinclair’s voice coming over the loudspeaker. Her tone is typically warm and excited, but the way she speaks so sternly sends chills through your entire body.

“This is a lock-in. All staff and students must remain in their classrooms until notified. I repeat, all staff and students must remain in their classrooms until notified.”

You breathe out, though you’re still concerned about the cause of the lock-in. It’s usually some kind of medical issue that requires emergency services to have unblocked access through the halls. You hope that whatever it is isn’t life-threatening.

Will locks the door wordlessly, and you repeat your directions to the class. The kids walk to their seats, asking non-stop about what a lock-in means.

“We just have to stay in the classroom,” you find yourself repeating, losing patience with each iteration. You’re thankful for small miracles; your class has already gone out for recess, which means you don’t have to break that news to them.

Will is helping the kids glue multicolored strands of crepe paper in the shape of a rainbow, complete with cotton ball clouds. You’re unclogging a bottle of Elmer’s when the classroom phone rings, startling you. You place the glue bottle on the table, promising Joshua that you’ll be right back, and answer it.

“Hello?”

“We need you to come to the office immediately,” the secretary’s clipped voice informs you. “Bring your personal items. We’ll send someone to assist Will.”

Stupidly, you nod before remembering she can’t see you. “Y-Yes, of course. I’ll be right there.” You hang up, tell Will the plan, and bolt out the door.

What the hell is going on? Why are they having me break the lock-in to go to the office? You hike your purse higher up your shoulder, trying to ignore the dread pooling in your stomach and creeping up your throat.

Something is wrong. Something is really, really wrong.

Your feet can’t carry you fast enough. You nearly stop breathing when you see Eddie pacing in the lobby, Marion and Paula standing off to the side and speaking with Chief Hopper. The two teachers wear matching worried expressions.

As soon as Eddie spots you, he’s charging over. “Oh, thank God,” he murmurs, throwing his arms around you and hugging you tight. You can feel the tears falling from his eyes, wetting the crook of your neck. His hands squeeze against your back and your shoulder blades as his body is wracked with sobs.

You weave your fingers through his hair, holding him as close as you can. You’re desperate to know what’s going on, but you doubt he could explain if he tried. Instead, you continue comforting him while Principal Sinclair walks over.

Her strides are long and purposeful, and she meets your own terrified gaze with her own. “Harris went missing during recess,” she says quietly, “and Mr. Munson let us know that you might be an asset in locating him.”

Harris went missing. Bile inches up your esophagus and you swallow it, wincing at its burn. “Why would he—” You stop mid-sentence; his motive is not important right now. All of your focus needs to be on finding him.

Chief Hopper approaches you and Eddie, tapping your boyfriend on the shoulder with two fingers. Eddie looks up, wipes his face with the heel of his palm, and clears his throat, but a fresh batch of tears threatens to spill over anyway.

“We’ve just collected statements from his teachers,” Hopper reports, looking down at his notepad. “They said that nothing seemed out of the ordinary, that Harris was just playing with his friends one moment and then gone the next.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head. “No, something had to have happened.” Harris had wandered off plenty of times, like at the flea market. The difference was that he was easily found. “If you haven’t found him, then he’s either hiding, or someone…” The thought is too painful to finish.

Hopper looks over at the principal. “You’re certain that the playground is secure?” He asks her, not accusing, but waiting for confirmation.

“Yes, absolutely secure,” she affirms, nodding her head. “The gate can only be opened from the inside, so no one can access it off of the street.”

You know this, of course, but it doesn't bring you closer to finding Harris.

“We’ve taped off the playground,” Hopper continues, “and we’ve got a search squad going now. Considering that Harris has been diagnosed with a disability, we’re beginning this investigation right away.”

“Mr. Munson,” a second officer chimes in, “is there anyone who would be inclined to take your son? Perhaps a non-custodial parent or an estranged relative?”

Eddie’s blood runs cold. “His mom, um, isn’t in the picture. Never has been.”

Hopper cocks one brow. “Never?” he asks disbelievingly. “How soon after he was born did she relinquish her rights?”

“She, um,” Eddie swallows, rubbing his nose in embarrassment, “she never did. Never relinquished her rights, I mean. She just kinda split.”

“So there was no formal agreement that she could no longer be involved in Harris’s life?”

“N-No,” he stammers, shame seeping from every pore. He’d always meant to start the legal proceedings, but that takes time and money…and maybe a small part of him had always hoped she’d come around and do the right thing.

He looks over at you now, the way you’ve stepped into a mothering role like a puzzle piece. Like any parent, you’d made some mistakes, but you’re also the most compassionate person Eddie has ever known.

He thinks of the times he’d tried to make his ex get clean, to want to get clean, and to be there for Harris. The weight of disappointment caused his chest to ache every time she’d mumble, “I’m gonna, but not right now” or “I don’t need help.”

Perhaps it’s unfair to compare the two of you; after all, you hadn’t struggled with addiction. But Eddie can’t help himself. You’d loved Harris before you’d even loved him, he realizes. And he’d never had to ask you to.

“Do you have any contact information for her?” Hopper taps his pen against his notepad. “Nine out of ten times in these situations, the child is with someone they know.”

What about the ‘one’ time? What happens then? Heat pulses in Eddie’s cheeks, sweat beading on his forehead. He doesn’t need Hopper to answer the question; he already knows what that means.

“It’s from five years ago, so I don’t know if it’s still accurate.” He stumbles over his words, thinking about the last time he’d called her; it was the invitation to Harris’s birthday. “I don’t know it by heart, but I have it in my address book at home.”

Hopper gives a brusque nod to his colleague and to your boss. “We’ll give you a lift. And, uh, it’ll be good to set up your place as a home base.”

“Yeah, yeah, right,” Eddie mumbles, simply going through the motions without processing them. He’s on autopilot, a robotic version of himself. If he was able to fully absorb his surroundings, he would note the irony of him sitting in the back of the cop car because they’re helping him instead of escorting him to the county jail.

You don’t let go of his hand the entire ride there, your thumb rubbing the soft hairs on his knuckles. “We’re gonna find him,” you whisper reassuringly, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand.

But Eddie is too embroiled in his own thoughts, imagining every possible tragedy that could have befallen his son. As soon as Hopper pulls up to the apartment complex, Eddie is flying up the stairs, two at a time, unlocking the door as fast as he can. You run in behind him, watching as he flings loose papers and pens from a kitchen drawer. He’s kicked over the boxes he’s already packed; clothes and some of Harris’s toys are scattered across the floor like a poorly-designed booby-trap.

He holds up the tattered black book, flipping through it until he lands on the right page. “Here. Right here.” He frantically points to an entry at the top, fingertip jabbing into it over and over.

Hopper takes the book from him, careful not to rip the already weathered materials. He dials the digits and frowns when he’s greeted by the automated we’re sorry, this number is no longer in service, far too chipper for the circumstances. He tries once more in case he dialed incorrectly, but he gets the same message.

“Disconnected,” he says gruffly, hanging the receiver with a clank. “Is there anyone else?”

Eddie can only shake his head somberly. If Wayne got Harris from school early, he would have told him. He wasn’t even sure how much of Harris’s maternal family knew of his existence, let alone his location. If someone took his son, it was more than likely a complete stranger.

Hopper’s walkie crackles with static; you and Eddie stiffen with anticipation. “Hey, Chief?” comes from the garbled voice on the other end.

“I’m here.”

“We’ve got a kid here at the school who says he spoke with Harris Munson right before he went missing today.”

Eddie stands up, walking closer to Hopper. Part of you expects him to grab the walkie and try talking straight to the other officer, but he doesn’t.

Hopper presses the small black button and speaks. “Copy. Does he know where we might locate him?”

There’s a deafening silence for a few moments; no more than ten seconds pass, but it feels like a lifetime. Finally, there’s some information: “No known location; just says that Harris told him he was having ‘big feelings’ and needed to go to his favorite place.’”

“The zoo,” you murmur aloud, drawing confused looks from both men in the room. “When he got upset on Saturday—at Goodwill—I taught him to do some deep breathing and picture being in his favorite place, and he told me it was the zoo. But I…” you swallow, furrowing your brows, “I told him to picture it, not actually go there.”

“Zoo’s too far for him to walk, and no bus driver is going to let a kid that young ride by himself,” the chief points out.

You nod, biting your lower lip. “He might not be at the zoo, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t trying to get there.”

Hopper thanks the other officer and turns to you and Eddie. My guys are deploying the search party as we speak.” He takes a deep breath and makes direct eye contact with you and Eddie. “We’ll do everything we can to bring your son back safely.”

Eddie buries his head in his hands, collapsing back against the living room wall and sliding down to the floor.

You look over at the police chief. “Can we help? Join the search…or something?” Anything besides sitting around and waiting for answers.

“Absolutely. We’ll keep an officer stationed here in case Harris comes home.”

You nudge your foot against Eddie’s. “C’mon, babe.” You try to keep strength behind your words, to be what Eddie needs right now, but it gets harder with each passing second. “We’re gonna go look for him.” He looks up and notices that you’ve extended your hand, and he takes it, pulling himself up.

He doesn’t say a word, but he follows you and Hopper out the door. He’s gnawing on his lips so violently that some skin peels off between his teeth; flecks of blood dotting his usually perfect mouth.

“We’ve got some time before sunset, so that’s on our side,” Hopper says as he drives back the way he came. “We’ll start in the woods near the school, and we’ll move from there.” He peers back at the two of you through the rearview mirror with a determined gaze.

“My uncle,” Eddie says suddenly, no certain expression on his face. He’s practically catatonic when he talks. “I want Wayne to wait at the apartment. I need to tell him…” If Harris does return home first and sees police officers surrounding the place, he might get scared and run off again.

Hopper scratches at his beard. “We’ll let him know, all right? Don’t worry about that.” He radios the instructions to a colleague, who confirms them and signs off, before pulling into a grassy area and killing the engine. “Let’s go. If Harris is going to come out for anyone, it’ll be you two.” He slams his door and then helps you and Eddie out of the backseat.

Before you can even begin, you hear a group of people shouting Eddie’s name. You look over to see Jeff, Jess, and Robin waving and walking towards you.

“We came as soon as we heard,” Robin says, giving you and Eddie a hug. “We’re gonna help you, and we’re not leaving until we find him.”

Jeff offers a tight smile, one hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “We’re here for you man,” he promises, sincerity in its purest form. “Viv is gonna stop by later and I’ll take care of Ettie.”

It’s a kind gesture, but Eddie’s stomach sours at the thought of still searching later. He needs to know that his son is safe now.

Harris’s name is echoed over and over, bouncing off of trees and shaking the leaves as you and your friends call out for him.

“Harris!” you cry out, throat raw from your constant shouting. “Harris, it’s Ms. Sweetheart!”

“Harris!” Eddie’s voice is even louder than yours; the power behind it is palpable. “Harris, it’s Daddy! Please come out! You’re not in trouble!” he adds, cognizant of the little boy’s fear of making people mad.

Every squirrel that darts across the forest floor has you whipping your head around, heart leaping at the prospect of Harris emerging from where he’s hiding.

He has to be hiding; your mind won’t let you imagine what could happen if the wrong person saw him walking by himself, determined to get to the zoo…

“Harris, Aunt Robin and I will buy you any toy you want!” Jess yells. “And all the ice cream you can eat!”

The five of you take turns making promises to nobody; they’re secrets shared with the wind. Each unanswered call leaves you feeling more defeated, especially with the sun hanging lower in the sky. It will be dark soon, leaving Harris even more vulnerable than he already is.

Will joins the group a few moments later, bringing granola bars, water, and flashlights. You can only stomach about a quarter of your snack, having completely lost your appetite. Eddie doesn’t even bother to eat, fueled by adrenaline rather than food.

“Principal Sinclair is also looking,” Will tells you and Eddie. “She’s with Lucas and Erica over at Merrill Wright’s farm. It’s closer than the zoo, but he’s got some animals, so they wanted to check there.” He pauses, casting his eyes down for a second before looking at Eddie. “Everyone’s helping out with this. They all want to find Harris.”

Tears well up along Eddie’s lash line; he blinks them away to keep his vision clear. “Thanks, man.” He coughs to clear his throat, emotions forcing their way through. “That means a lot.” For a moment, he sees Will as he was when they first met: an overwhelmed little freshman, unsure of his place in high school, let alone in the world.

What if Harris never gets the chance to find himself? What if he doesn’t get to grow up and learn new things, make his own mistakes, figure out who he is?

You put an arm around Eddie, unknowingly pulling him from his intrusive thoughts. “Can you try to drink some water? Please?” You know better than to nag him about eating right now, but the last thing he needs is to get dehydrated.

He cracks open the bottle and takes a few sips, not realizing how thirsty he was until the liquid covers his tongue. He downs it all without taking a breath, the plastic crinkling as he siphons out every last drop of water.

“Take mine,” you tell him, offering it with the best smile you can possibly muster, but he shakes his head.

“You need it, too.” He’s not wrong, but you have no issue letting him drink from your bottle if he’s still thirsty.

You take a sip and pass it to him. “We’ll share.”

Another hour passes, the pink and orange hues becoming deeper purples and reds as the sky darkens with night. Some people start to call it quits, returning home to their own children, breathing secret sighs of relief that they have children to return home to. Your group remains intact; no one is even considering leaving until they physically cannot move any longer.

With just overworked flashlight bulbs illuminating your path, you continue trudging through the woods. Hopper’s shift was over hours ago, but he’s steadfast in his pursuit to find Harris.

Eddie’s exhausted physically and emotionally, feeling like every part of him has been drained and can never be replenished. His son is missing; he might have been kidnapped, and he doesn’t know if or when he’ll see him again. All he wants is to hold him again, to hear his little laugh as he tells a cheesy joke he learned at school, to watch him sound out new words or draw a picture or just fall asleep in his own bed.

Hopper’s walkie crackles; he clutches it tight and holds it so he can hear it clearly.

“Chief, we may have a sighting.”

A light flickers behind Eddie’s eyes; he doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but he can’t help himself. He listens intently as the other officer relays the information.

“Doris Driscoll just went outside to let her cats in for the night, and when they didn’t go inside, she went looking. Found them behind a bush, eating crackers out of a little boy’s hands. He told her his name is Harris. Matches the descriptions the father provided.”

Eddie grabs your hand, gripping it with whatever strength he has left. You feel a surge course through your veins as Hopper motions for you to follow him to his car. He turns on his siren and guns it down the road, swerving in and out of traffic to get to the old woman’s house as fast as he can.

Please, please let him be here, you silently pray, subconsciously screwing your eyes shut and holding your breath. The only thing worse than not knowing where he is might just be a false alarm that he’s been found.

Hopper slams on the brakes behind an ambulance parked in front of the Driscoll residence, their open doors allowing the fluorescent lights to stream through. Eddie watches, wide-eyed, as an EMT wheels a stretcher over to it.

A stretcher carrying Harris.

“Harris!” Eddie cries in simultaneous relief, exuberance, and fear. He instinctively reaches for a door handle, quickly remembering that he’s in a cop car and had to wait for Hopper to let him out from the outside.

You’re already crying; everything you’d been holding back to maintain a solid resolve for Eddie is crumbling as soon as you’d seen his son. You scramble out of the car, right behind him, and run to where the emergency technicians are treating Harris.

He’s awake and alert, and he spots the two of you right away. “Daddy! Ms. Sweetheart!” He tries sitting up, but a technician gently guides him to lay down again. “No, that’s my daddy and my almost-mommy!” he protests. “I gotta see them!”

You and Eddie reach him at the same time. He’s covered in dirt; it’s smudge along his cheeks, his arms, and his legs. He’s even managed to get some on the tip of his nose. Some blood is smeared on his right knee where he’s seemed to have scraped it, and the EMTs spray some antiseptic on it and apply a bandage before he can even feel the sting.

“Oh, thank God.” The words rush out of Eddie’s mouth, and he puts his palms on his son’s cheeks and presses kisses all over his face. “You’re okay, you’re okay…” He turns to the technicians, worry pinching his brows together. “He’s okay, right? There’s nothing wrong?” He pushes some of Harris’s damp curls from his forehead. There aren’t any visible bumps or bruises on his face, which eases a bit of his nerves.

One technician nods. “Right now, it seems like he’s just got some minor lacerations, but we’ll run the gamut of tests to rule out more severe injuries.” She looks over at the police chief, who stands a few yards behind you. “We’ll take it from here.”

Hopper gives a small, sad smile; it’s then that you remember that his own child had passed away nearly twenty years ago. She was only a little older than Harris is now.

Eddie follows your gaze with red-rimmed eyes, the realization setting in for him, too. “Thanks, Chief,” he says, just loud enough so Hopper can hear him. Hopper nods, placing his hat atop his head before walking away.

The EMTs check for any broken or sprained bones, shine lights into Harris’s pupils, and ask him a few simple questions to assess for a concussion. “We’ll have to take him to the hospital, just to be sure,” they say to you and Eddie, “but barring any extenuating circumstances, you should be able to bring him back home tonight.”

“Okay, yeah, okay,” Eddie breathes, crouching down a bit so he’s eye-level with his son. “Har, can you tell us why you ran away from school? You’re not in trouble; I promise.”

Harris looks down at the blanket draped across his lap. “I had really big feelings, and I tried thinking about the zoo like you told me,” he glances at you, “but then the feelings didn’t go away, so I decided to go there.”

You take his small hand in yours. “What were the big feelings?” you ask gently, free of judgment and filled with concern.

He thinks for a second, then states matter-of-factly, “Mad and sad.”

“Mad and sad?”

“Mhm,” he mumbles, wiping at his nose with his free hand. “‘Cause of Ms. Marion and Ms. Paula.”

You freeze, trying to regain your composure before Harris can pick up on your uncertainty. “What happened with your teachers, Har?”

“They were saying mean things about you and Daddy, and it made me mad and sad.”

At the sound of his title, Eddie speaks up. “Mean things about us?”

“Yeah, like, that Ms. Sweetheart is probably teaching you how to read, too,” Harris explains, “and I said that they’re lying, that you’re really smart and read to me all the time. And that Ms. Sweetheart isn’t your teacher; she’s my almost-mommy.”

Eddie clenches his fists, veins prominent as his body goes stiff. His anger isn’t at the insult, but at the way they could speak so brazenly about a child’s family, disregarding the hurt it causes. He doesn’t care what those women think of him, but he’s furious that they upset Harris.

“They keeped laughing and telled me to go play,” Harris continues, getting choked up at the memory. “I tried to do my breathing and my favorite place remembering with Charlie, but it didn’t work. And I got lost going to the zoo–the real zoo, not the one in my imagination–so I hided with the cats until the nice lady found me.”

You and Eddie share heartbroken looks, pushing aside your respective emotions as you tend to the little boy laying in front of you. “Get some rest, Har Bear,” you murmur, kissing the top of his head. “You had a long day.”

He falls asleep after a few minutes, constantly checking to make sure that the two of you are still by his side. As soon as his breathing steadies and his eyes remain closed, Eddie turns to you, exhausted and running on fumes. Wet brown doe eyes pleadingly gaze at you, lids heavy with sleep. You wrap your arms around him, unable to get close enough. He moves slowly, every action a delayed reaction, but he gradually embraces you, too.

“Stay. Please.” The words are muffled by the way his mouth is mashed into your scalp, but you hear them perfectly fine. “And if we get to go home tonight, come back with us. I need you both close to me.”

“Of course.” Your own lips press against his perspiration-soaked shirt collar. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.” You pull back ever-so-slightly, brushing tears from his cheeks. “He’s safe. He’s safe, and he’s here, and we get to keep spoiling and loving him.”

Eddie absorbs this as best as he can, mind still spinning as the adrenaline crash hits. There’s so much he wants to say, but for right now, he just carves out space in his body for yours. Your light whisper keeps him grounded, pulling hi away from the spiraling that usually overtakes him in times of crisis.

“I’ve got you.”

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