#I didn't even realize that they were there | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mimiiiiiiiiisstuff · 2 days ago

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"This is me trying"

Prologue.

ok yall!! so i'm in a bit of writers block for IBDL and the older AU after tumblr deleted the chpaters I spent days writing. Butttt I did come up with this, reader is still neglected bc she can never be happy, but it's a darker Mafia Au. This also sucks bc it also got deleted but i really wanted to post something and get feeback on this concept. This is the prologue! Hope yall enjoy! Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments make my day and encourage me to write more. Send in aks!!

TW: BRIEF SA, IF IT TRIGGERS YOU, DONT READ!

The Wayne Manor was a sprawling gothic monstrosity perched on the edge of the Gotham skyline, a dark and looming silhouette against the backdrop of a city that never truly slept. It was a place where secrets festered, where power and control were everything, and where the lives of the people within its walls revolved around wealth, influence, and fear. For the people who lived in it, this was home. For you? It was a prison.The Wayne family was Gotham's most powerful mafia family, maybe even in all of North America, an empire built on crime, manipulation, and ruthless control. At the top of it all was Bruce Wayne, the cold and calculating godfather. Your actual father. Beneath him, each of his children had their role to play. But you, his biological daughter, were no more than a ghost within the house. You were a byproduct of a two-night stand with a whore, as your family called her, that had long since faded into shadows, and your presence was barely tolerated by the very people who were supposed to be your family.

At least, that’s how it felt after nearly a decade of living here.

You had arrived at Wayne Manor when you were just seven years old, dragged from the wreckage of your mother’s overdose by a man who was nothing more than a stranger. Bruce Wayne—cold, distant, and unforgiving. A man who ruled over the city with an iron fist and a heart as cold as the marble floors beneath your feet. He wasn’t your father, he never had been. He had simply become the man who was tasked with your care, but that wasn’t much of a care at all. Bruce’s love had always been reserved for the empire he had built, not you. You were merely another complication in his already fractured world. He told you that your mother had left you, that you were his responsibility now, and that you needed to prove you were worthy of the Wayne name. A name that, for the longest time, had been nothing but an empty echo in your mind.

Your mother was your hero, a military hero who realized how fucked up America was and retired. She, like most veterans, got hooked on drugs but that didn't mean she loved you any less. When she died, she took your happiest parts with her.

“Prove you deserve the last name Wayne,” Bruce had said when you were first brought into the manor, his eyes hard, his tone colder than the mansion’s marble floors. He’d looked at you like you were nothing but another part of the vast empire he controlled, a problem to be solved, a name to be earned.

And that’s what you did. You worked. You tried to prove yourself, to be a part of this family—this business. But it didn’t matter. You were invisible to them, a shadow in the background of the Wayne Empire. A ghost that haunted the halls of a mansion that never felt like home.

The moment he had taken you in, he’d told you to keep your head down. "Wayne’s don’t cry. Wayne’s don’t show weakness," he had said, his tone dead and devoid of any warmth. You couldn’t even remember the last time he’d spoken to you unless it was to reprimand or scold you for something minor. You learned quickly that to Bruce, you didn’t exist.

He was the head of the Wayne Mafia and Wayne enterprise, the mastermind who controlled everything from the shadows. He was feared, respected, and never showed weakness. He wasn't your father. He was your boss, distant, cold, and authoritarian. To him, you were nothing. He barely acknowledged you unless you were needed for some mafia-related task, which was almost never. You were neglected in the deepest way possible, emotionally invisible, yet physically present only when it was required.

You learned early on that any attempt to gain his affection was futile. He was too busy running his empire, and any sign of weakness—like wanting to be close to him—was met with disdain. His affection was reserved for his empire and all his other children.

At 15, you had spent eight years in the mansion without a single ounce of affection from him. You were a tool to him, nothing more. And yet, despite his coldness, you still wanted to earn his approval. You knew it was futile, but there was still something inside you that clung to the hope that one day, maybe, he’d look at you like he did the others. You became top of your class, played volleyball, did cheer, ballet, theatre, became student council president, won every award under the sun hoping he’d notice, that one day he’d show up at your award ceremony and bring your siblings. They’d all be grinning at you proudly, they’d make sure everyone knew you were part of the family, they’d let you sit with them at dinner and let you tell them about your most recent tennis match. But that was always a fantasy.

And maybe that was what broke you the most: knowing that he would never see you as a true part of the family.

Earning the Wayne name felt like a distant dream, like something only the others could ever attain. Bruce made it clear when you arrived at Wayne Manor was that you didn’t belong here yet. His blood ran cold when he looked at you, as though you were a mistake he’d have to clean up. There was no room for kindness, no words of comfort. Just a cold gaze, and then the hollow command to stay out of his way.

As you grew older, the cruelty only deepened, and it wasn’t just Bruce.

When Dick Grayson entered the scene, you were still just a child, struggling to make sense of your place in the mansion. He was everything Bruce wasn’t, charming, always smiling, and the golden boy of the family. The way he spoke to you, with that practiced air of kindness, made your skin crawl.

But the smile he wore to the rest of the world was never the one he gave you. The moment the doors closed behind you two, that smile would disappear, replaced with a smirk that spoke volumes. His jokes about you, his casual jabs, it was like nothing you did would ever be good enough. He was always pushing you, always finding ways to make you feel small.

“You know, if you weren’t so weak, Bruce might actually notice you,” Dick would say as he walked by, his eyes flicking over you like you were nothing more than a nuisance. "But don’t worry. Maybe you’ll prove yourself one day. Maybe.”

His words, though they came with a laugh, always carried the sharp edge of cruelty.

The eldest of the children, the perfect golden boy, the one who could do no wrong in Bruce’s eyes. Dick was no different than the rest. As a leader of a section of the family’s operations, he was a busy man. He had his own goals and ambitions, and when it came to you, he cruel.

To Dick, you were a lost cause, someone who wasn't worth the effort, the butt of the joke. While he didn't mock you as often as Damian or Jason, he certainly didn’t love you, he didn't even like you. He was more likely to ignore you entirely, but if you caught him in a bad mood.........He never tried to be a big brother, and in moments when you needed comfort, he’d either brush you off or simply laugh at you and make you feel worse.

Damian—Bruce’s biological son. Your little brother who seemed to have it all. The heir to the throne, groomed for greatness, your father's love. It wasn’t hard to see the resentment and hatred in his eyes whenever you crossed paths. At 13, Damian was already a lethal force, training under the most dangerous men in the world. But what you hated most about him was that, despite the bitterness, he always seemed to find ways to put you down.

your younger half-brother, was the perfect assassin in training, and he hated you. He hated how you existed in his space, how you took up time and energy that could have been spent on his training. To him, you were a nuisance, a shadow in his way. He didn't care about family bonds or affection. You were just the member of the household that didn’t belong.

Damian's cold demeanor was the product of years of indoctrination into the Wayne family’s brutal world. He was protective of the family, of Bruce’s approval, so any sign of weakness or attachment from you only made him more disgusted. He’d learned to use violence as a way to control people, but when it came to you, he was especially harsh, never lifting a finger to defend you, but constantly mocking, hurting, and ridiculing you, making you feel small and insignificant.

Damian never missed a chance to make cruel remarks about you, as though any attempt at closeness with you would be seen as weakness.

"You're nothing more than a distraction," Damian would sneer as he walked past you, his green eyes glowing with disdain. "Father is wasting time on you. You’ll never be one of us."

His words sliced through you like a blade, and it only made the ache of rejection burn deeper.

Tim was the one who ignored you the most. He had a sharp intellect, a mind for strategy, and an indifference to almost everyone around him, including you. You had tried to talk to him once, hoping for some sort of connection, you were around the same age after all, but he just stared through you as though you weren’t there.

When he did speak, it was never pleasant.

"Could you be quieter for once?" he snapped one evening, his gaze never leaving his laptop screen. "Some of us are trying to work."

It was a pattern, one that left you feeling invisible, like you didn’t even exist in his world. On rare occasions, when he was in a particularly bad mood, he’d throw a cutting remark your way, something meant to remind you that you were just a nuisance in his eyes.

"You think you’re important just because you’re here?" Tim would sneer. "Get over yourself. You’ll never be more than a side character."

The family’s strategist, and tech genius, was the quietest of the bunch. Tim was obsessed with perfection, everything had to be meticulously planned. When it came to you, he was condescending. He believed you were too naïve, too soft for the harsh world they lived in. It was clear that he didn’t consider you part of the family in a meaningful way. To him, you were just another piece in the game, and you were never treated like an equal.

Tim would lecture you about what you should be doing, constantly putting you down in subtle ways that made you question your worth.

Jason was the worst of all, next to Damian of course. Where the others merely ignored you or made snide comments, Jason was outright cruel. He made it clear that he didn’t want you here from the moment you arrived. He’d watch you with a sneer on his face, like you were something he had to tolerate rather than a part of the family.

“Do you ever stop being pathetic?” Jason growled one night, cornering you in the hallway. He was older than you—by eight years—and his presence was always overwhelming, his anger like a shadow that clung to him wherever he went. “You’re nothing but a waste of space. Bruce should’ve left you on the streets where you belong.”

You could never forget that night. The venom in his words, the way he towered over you with that sick, twisted smile that barely concealed the disgust he felt for you—it stayed with you, festering in your mind.

Your older brother, was once a wild and rebellious soul, but after his brutal experience with the Joker, he became even more distant. He had built walls around himself, and those walls excluded you. To him, you were nothing more than a symbol of the dysfunction that ran through the Wayne family. He didn’t care about you, he resented you for simply existing.

Whenever he interacted with you, it was laced with sarcasm and cruelty. He would always mock you in front of the others, tearing down your self-esteem at every opportunity. Your attempts to reach out to him were met with disgust, and sometimes even attacks. If you tried to talk to him about anything personal, he’d brush you off with an eye roll or sarcastic comment.

He was a silent witness to your pain, and he didn't care to acknowledge it.

The girls—Steph, Cass, and Barbara—were no better.

Stephanie would occasionally feign interest in you, only to turn it into a mocking session. "You really think Bruce cares about you?" she’d ask with a smirk. "He just likes having more bodies around to do his bidding. And you? You’re nothing but a backup plan, a mistake."

Cass, though quieter, was no less cruel. She had a way of looking at you as if you were beneath her, like you didn’t even deserve to breathe the same air. Her silence was more suffocating than any words could be.

Barbara, though, was the most calculating. She used her intelligence to manipulate, twisting everything into a game of control. She’d often mock you in front of the others, making it feel like you were a joke.

“Do you really think you’ll ever be anything but Bruce’s charity case?” she asked one day, her voice laced with sarcasm. "You’ll never be one of us. Don’t kid yourself.”

They were mean in every sense of the word, they made fun of your looks, your weight, your height, they gave you insecurities you never would’ve thought of.

Alfred, the Wayne family’s butler, was perhaps the only one who ever showed any genuine care, but even that was limited. Alfred's soft-spoken nature meant he was there for you, but he was more like a caretaker than a father figure. He was more interested in making sure you were fed, safe, and well taken care of, but he never pushed against Bruce or the others to make sure you were emotionally okay. Alfred was loyal to the family and followed Bruce’s commands, no matter how cruel they were.

And then there was Duke.

Duke, the one who never even seemed to acknowledge your existence. He was polite—always saying "hello" when he passed by, but that was the extent of it. He didn’t hate you. He didn’t love you. He just… ignored you. It was almost worse than anything the others did. At least when they made fun of you, you existed to them.

But Duke? He acted as if you weren’t even in the room.

In the end, you were just a shadow in Wayne Manor. There was no love here, no family. Just a constant, searing reminder that you didn’t belong.

You were nothing. You were nobody.

But you’d change that. You had to. You had to prove yourself worthy of the Wayne name. Even if it meant enduring their cruelty.

Because deep down, you knew that in a family built on power and fear, only the strongest survived.

And maybe, just maybe, you could become something more.

At Gotham Academy, you were untouchable.

There was no other way to put it. You were awkward and lonely in middle school but that changed as soon as you hit puberty in high school. Suddenly you were the girl everyone wanted to be or be with. Effortless grace and charm, the kind of girl who seemed to have it all together. You were the captain of the cheer team, the student body president, the girl who could throw a party, lead a project, and still ace every test. The guys chased after you with varying levels of persistence, but none of them knew who you really were. They didn’t know you were a Wayne.

They didn’t know you were just a forgotten child in the massive, shadowed halls of Wayne Manor.

At school, you were alive. Teachers fawned over you, praising your work ethic, your achievements, and your positive attitude. "Your essays are brilliant," Mrs. Summers would say, always raising her eyebrow in surprise when she saw your name at the top of the page. "You never fail to impress, your parents must be proud." You smiled, the words coming easily, just as they always did. The praise felt good, almost like an escape from the emptiness that waited for you when you returned to Wayne Manor.

But the truth was, you were dying for something real, something that made you feel seen at home.

When school let out, you gathered your things, avoiding the usual parade of admirers by slipping through the back doors of the school to your waiting car. Today, there was no stopping the swarm of boys who followed you from class to class. Josh from the football team had been practically suffocating you all day with his relentless compliments, while Lucas, the track star, was constantly finding excuses to "study" with you. Both of them seemed to think your "no" was just another challenge. But despite their attention, you were still the one who didn’t belong.

Because once you left Gotham Academy, once you stepped into Wayne Manor, you were nobody.

Bruce never cared to acknowledge your presence, let alone make you feel like part of the family. He was always wrapped up in his business empire or his “other life,” never bothering to check in on you. The closest thing you had to a father was Alfred, the ever-loyal butler, who was the only one who seemed to care about you. But even his affection was distant, a courtesy reserved for a child who didn’t quite fit.

Damian, Tim, Stephanie, and Duke all attended Gotham Prep, the elite school for Gotham’s privileged. Bruce had never bothered enrolling you there, and you wondered, sometimes, if it was because you weren’t good enough, weren’t worth the effort.

And yet, despite their indifference, you longed to be seen by them. Maybe if you earned their respect, earned Bruce’s approval, they would start noticing you.

But it was always the same: emptiness.

The one place you could truly escape to was Grace's house. Grace was your best friend, your sister in every way that mattered. She was the one who saw the real you, the one who didn’t care about your last name or your family’s wealth. She was the only one who knew you were the unwanted daughter of Gothams most infamous mobster. She accepted you as you were: a girl who was as talented as she was misunderstood.

At Grace’s house, you felt alive. It was a normal, cozy home, filled with laughter and love, the kind of place that had never been offered to you at Wayne Manor. Her parents treated you like their own daughter, and her two older brothers—Isaac and Nathan—had taken to protecting you like you were their little sister. Her youngest brother, James annoyed you as much as he did Grace and somehow, you loved him for it. It was nice being a big sister to someone who was actually normal and didn't try to kill you all the time.

Grace’s oldest brother, Daniel, was another story, he treated you like a sister even though you've had a crush on him since you were 10.

You flirted with him constantly. It wasn’t anything serious, but Daniel had a way of making your heart race in a way that the boys at Gotham Academy never could. He was a older than you, maybe 21, with a confident charm that made him irresistible. Tall, blonde, jacked, he was the perfect All-American boy. You knew he wasn’t ever going to see you as anything more that a little sister but that didn’t stop you from trying. Every time he walked into the room, your heart did a little skip, and you couldn’t help but turn into a blushing mess. Grace teased you endlessly for it. Daniel was your first ever crush and that feeling would never really go away, no matter how much you saw him or how sisterly he treated you.

Most nights, you stayed over at Grace's. It became a regular tradition—weekends spent in her house, sprawled out on her couch for movie marathons, stealing her clothes, gossiping about school, and stealing snacks from her kitchen. You loved it there. You could forget about Wayne Manor, forget about the neglect and the loneliness, and just be a normal teenager. You came over for Thanksgiving, your birthday, and for Christmas they even had a stocking with your name on it.

One night, after a particularly grueling practice, Grace invited you to another sleepover at her house. As usual, you packed a bag with the essentials, pajamas, a change of clothes, and your phone, just in case. You already had most things at her house, you practically lived with her at this point. The moment you arrived, Grace’s dad, Thomas, greeted you with a warm hug, his hearty laugh filling the room. “Here comes trouble!” he said, ruffling your hair in that easy-going way he did every time you showed up.

You felt the pang of longing for a real family, but you pushed it away, embracing the warmth of the moment. You wanted to be part of this family, a normal family.

Grace’s siblings were equally welcoming. Nathan tossed you a snack and winked. “You ready to get your ass kicked at Mario Kart again?” he teased, knowing full well that you were unbeatable.

James groaned "I knew I smelled another loser walk in" You gasped dramatically and put him into a headlock, ruffling his hair till he apologized.

As the night went on, and you all sat around Grace’s kitchen table, laughing and joking, you couldn't shake the feeling that your life at Wayne Manor, and the family that barely looked at you, was a shadow that still loomed over your heart.

But then, as if to prove that life couldn’t just be simple for you, the front door of Grace’s house swung open, and your phone buzzed in your pocket. You glanced at it, your stomach dropping as you saw the name.

Alfred.

You knew what it meant. You couldn't sleep over tonight. Bruce was having people over and you had to be there in case the guests asked about you. Another night where you'd sit at the table in the maids kitchen, listening to your family get along without you. Pretending that Bruce’s absence didn’t eat away at you, didn't make you feel less than. You ignored his message. You didn't want to go home, really the guests never even knew Bruce had a biological daughter, they wouldn't ask about you. This was just Alfred's way of trying to make the family bond with you.

It was always the same. Bruce only ever reached out when he needed you for something, when his empire demanded your presence. But never for the reason you truly needed. Not for affection. Not for love.

You stood up abruptly, suddenly feeling suffocated by the laughter and warmth of Grace’s home. You didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to go back to the place that always made you feel so… alone. But you had to. You had no choice. You already ignored Alfred's text long enough, you missed dinner so you had to get home or else Bruce might actually kill you, if he even noticed you weren't there.

No matter how far you ran, how many awards you won, or how many boys followed you around at school, the question remained: when would you finally be seen by the ones who mattered most?

That night, your prayers were answered, your bravery caught the entire family's attention just when you had gotten okay with their negligence, began to enjoy doing whatever you wanted from the shadows.

The rain was fucking relentless.

It hammered down from the heavens, soaking you to the bone as you walked through the backstreets of Gotham. The kind of rain that made you feel like you were being baptized in cold, dirty water. You pulled the hood of your jacket up, not that it did a damn thing to keep you dry. The city’s grimy streets were slick with water, reflecting the neon lights like a damn funhouse mirror. You kept your head down, trying to ignore the chill creeping through your clothes.

Grace’s house had been a brief escape from the cold, suffocating grip of Wayne Manor. For a few hours, you’d felt like a person again. Like someone who could actually live, instead of just existing as a piece of forgotten furniture in the mansion. But that was before Alfred had texted. Before you saw his name flash across your screen, making your stomach twist in a knot.

"Shit," you muttered under your breath, shoving the phone back into your pocket. Not today. Not now. You needed more time before you went back to that suffocating place. But you knew it wasn’t a choice. Bruce would be pissed, and when Bruce Wayne was pissed? Everyone knew about it.

Still, you had to push forward. It was Gotham, after all. A rainstorm in this city could mean anything from a mugging to a full-on shootout. Every step felt heavier as you neared the looming silhouette of Wayne Manor. The mansion stood there like some kind of ancient titan, always watching, always waiting, and never giving a damn about who you were.

The door creaked open, and you slipped inside, trying to make as little noise as possible. Maybe you’d get lucky and Bruce would be too busy with whatever the hell was going on to notice you sneaking in.

Fat chance.

The foyer was dark, and the mansion smelled like dust and expensive wood polish. You should have felt comforted by the familiarity, but instead, all you could feel was that gnawing sense of isolation. The Manor had always felt like a prison to you, and not the kind you could escape with a couple of well-timed sprints or clever words. This was a cage built with stone and glass, and you were stuck inside it.

You started down the hallway, the faint sound of voices growing louder as you passed the dining room.

And then you stopped. Something in the air changed. The hairs on your neck stood up. You were too close to the dining hall, and the moment you looked in through the door, your breath hitched in your chest.

There, at the long grand dining table, sat your family—or, well, what was left of them. Every one of them was slumped forward, tied to their chairs with ropes, blood trickling from their ears, noses, and mouths. The first thing you noticed was that no one was moving. No one was breathing. They all looked... dead.

Bruce. Damian. Jason. Dick. Tim. Cass. Duke. Steph. Barbra, even Alfred was slumped over in the corner where he usually kept watch. All of them.

Your stomach dropped to your feet as you backed away slowly. This was not happening.

“No fucking way,” you breathed out, stepping back, trying to backpedal before anyone heard you. But your mind was already working overtime. Who did this? Why?

The answer came quickly. It didn’t take much to put two and two together. The guests, it had to be them. The rich assholes who had “business” with Bruce. Except now, you were figuring out that the business they were conducting didn’t involve any stock markets or deals. It was murder.

And then the realization hit: whoever these people were, they weren’t here for some petty robbery. They’d been in the house long enough to take down the entire family without a sound.

Fuck.

Your mind went blank. For a second, you thought you were dreaming. But no, this was real. And this was not happening.

You were about to turn on your heel and haul ass out of there, but that’s when you heard it. Footsteps. Heavy footsteps. Two of them, moving fast, and definitely not the quiet kind. The air around you felt thicker. The kind of thick that made your skin crawl.

You darted to the side, taking cover behind a marble pillar. From the sound of it, someone was coming this way. Your heart pounded in your chest as you held your breath, praying to God they didn’t notice you.

You needed to leave. Now. Run. Go.

But just as you turned, desperate to bolt before anyone saw you, you froze.

Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate, and moving fast.

There was no time to think, you stayed hidden watching them walk around the room. They were wearing crisp black suits, and all three looked like they shopped in the"Big and tall" section. There was no way you could fight off all three, yeah you had some muscle but nothing like Jason or even Tim. Even Bruce would break a sweat facing these guys. They seemed to be checking Bruce's pockets right now, looking for something.

While they were distracted, you took deep breathes, trying to calm down. Who the fuck were these people? How did they manage to trick the infamous Wayne Family? What did they want? How could you get out of this and save your family?

Did you even want to save your family?

You shook the thought away quickly; of course you wanted to save them, they were cruel and horrible but who were you to decide their fate without trying to help them? Who made you judge, jury, and executioner?

Then you saw it, Bruce's emergency button, hidden on the wall. Only noticeable to someone who's wandered these halls for years. You almost fell to your knees in relief as you sneakily crawled over to it and pressed it.

Help was on the way and the intruders didn't know you were here! You smiled feeling pure relief at your quick thinking.

How's that for useless huh Damian? You wanted to taunt him as you looked at his unconsious form. He was so much better this way, they all were. They were silent.

Then, you heard it, the loud blaring of alarms and sirens. "Emergency." "Emergency." Alfred's voice rang through the whole manor and the sirens alerted the men that you were in the dining room.

You groaned, eyes burning with tears, "Who's the fucking dumbass that made the silent alarm LOUD?"

The men came rushing into the dining room yet it seemed to be your lucky-unlucky day. Only one of them had a gun.

Time seemed to slow as he aimed it at Bruce's soon to be lifeless head. You don't know what came over you as you tackled Bruce's unconscious body out of the bullets way.

You regretted it as soon as you did it, your vision went white with pain as the bullet hit you shoulder.

You pushed through the pain and grabbed a butter knife as one of the unarmed men approached you. You punched and ducked but the pain slowed you down. He hit you hard right in the ribs, so you did him one better and gouged his right eye out with your butter knife. Those boxing classes really did do some good, no wonder your mom insisted on them.

More shots rang out and it was out of pure adreneline that you were able to pull almost each and every member of your family under the table. Damian was the only one left and as you stood to pull him down too, you saw the armed man pull the trigger of his gun. He was going to kill your baby brother, he was aiming at the 14 year old's head. No matter how cruel or vicious Damian was, he's still a child, still your little brother.

You couldn't let him die. Maybe that's why you threw your self on top of his body, protecting him from the two bullets aimed at him.

Fuck.

This hurt. No wonder people hated being shot. This hurt more than cheer warm ups, did you think you were bulletproof?

You decided that you would just allow the next person to be shot. The man's footsteps were coming closer and you were getting more light headed from the pain. You turned to Jason's unconscious body and punched him. "Wake up you fucking loser! I can't fight this guy."

Obviously, Jason didn't wake up, why did you even think anyone in this family would ever try and help you?

As you shook him and panicked even more, you noticed something shining in Bruce's pocket. So much for "No weapons at the dinner table."

A sleek black gun, any other day you would've marveled at the custom design on it and focused on the monograming, but right now all that mattered was getting it before you bled out and the man killed you. You crawled and those five steps felt like eternity and when you finally grabbed the gun out of Bruce's armani suit pocket, the scary man was standing above you with a cruel grin.

Your heart dropped as he knelt next to you and stroked your hair, "Hey, pretty." He breathed out as he knelt next to you, his hands wandering around your body and up your skirt. Bile rose to your mouth and your heart dropped. No. This isn't happening. "If I had know Bruce had such a pretty thing, I would've been come here. You're certainly the looker compared to your sisters." He said as he began smelling your hair.

You don't know how it happened, but suddenly he was laying on the floor with blood coming out his throat. You looked between your hand holding the gun and his now lifeless body in horror. The last thing you heard before passing out was a flurry of boots and gunshots and a man that sounded like your father yelling for a doctor. The last thing you saw was a tall boy lifting you up, his eyes as blue as the sky, and you genuinely believed you died and went to heaven.

The room was cold, sterile, a sharp contrast to the emotional storm raging inside you. The pain in your shoulder and stomach was nothing compared to the weight on your chest, the realization that no matter what, you couldn’t escape this life anymore. You had made your choice, whether you liked it or not.

You woke to the soft beeping of machines and the scent of antiseptic in the air, your vision still blurry. It didn’t take long for the footsteps to reach you—slow, deliberate. The door creaked open, and one by one, they walked in.

Dick entered first, his expression calm but unreadable. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, and instead of his usual mocking smile, there was something more restrained about him now. The newfound respect he had for you was obvious, but there was a subtle weight behind it. He didn’t say much, just gave you a nod.

“You’re still breathing, that's good,” he said softly, his voice low, a simple acknowledgment. “We all owe you for that. For what you did.” The words weren’t a compliment, they were recognition, quiet and heavy. The respect was there, but so was the unspoken truth: You were one of them now.

You expected to feel happier. You imagined this day so many times before, you prayed for it, so why were you sick to your stomach now that it's happened? Why didn't you want it anymore and why hadn't you realized it till now?

Damian was next, stepping in with his usual, stoic expression. His eyes flicked over you briefly, but there was no anger in his gaze, only a quiet understanding, maybe even admiration, hidden beneath the surface. He didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“Your actions saved all of us,” he said, voice flat. “You’ve earned your place here. Just don’t forget it.” His words weren’t harsh, but there was no room for doubt. You had proved yourself. And that meant something far more permanent than any spoken affirmation could express.

Ungrateful brat. You took a bullet for him and he couldn't even thank you. God, you hated him. You were starting to wish you weren't a good person and let them all die. The inheritance would've been insane.

Jason followed suit, and though his rough edges remained, there was a faint softness in his expression as he looked at you.

“Damn, princess,” he muttered, his eyes scanning you with quiet intensity. “You really pulled through. You did what most of us couldn’t.” His gaze softened for just a moment, and then he leaned against the doorframe. “Didn't realize I had such a badass as a little sister. The knife move, the way you ducked and punched? Sick."

Jason, of all people, was praising you. Treating you like his sister rather than dirt at the bottom of his shoe. The nickname, princess, he once used to ridicule you, was said with a quiet revrance; like he actually thought you were a princess now. You couldn't help but feel good, this was all you wanted all these years. And in that moment, you would get shot again without hesitation if it meant you would get that everyday.

Tim entered next, and though his face was stoic, his eyes betrayed the flicker of respect, maybe even admiration. “We all saw it,” he said, his voice steady, but tinged with something quieter. “What you did… It wasn’t just about surviving. It was about protecting us. You earned the right to stand beside us. We all thank you.”

Well, it's not great but at least someone is appreciative. None of them would've done the same for you.

Cass entered, silent as always, but the look she gave you spoke volumes. She didn’t need to say anything—her eyes, sharp and understanding, told you that she saw your sacrifice, saw what you had done for them. She gave you a slight nod, acknowledging your place among them.

Then Duke and Stephanie stepped in.

Duke’s eyes were calm, but you could see the flicker of something more behind his gaze. The weight of what had happened didn’t escape him. His voice was steady as he spoke.

“You did what we couldn’t,” he said, his tone quiet but unshakable. “You kept us alive. All of us. And that means something. You’ve earned your place in this family.” His eyes softened, just the slightest bit. “Just don’t forget... that this family doesn’t leave anyone behind. Not anymore.”

And then there was Stephanie. Her usual energy was gone, replaced with something more somber. She didn’t crack a joke or make a snide remark. Her eyes scanned you with something like respect, but more than that, a quiet understanding that you’d been forced to prove yourself in ways none of them had ever been asked you to.

“Guess you really are one of us now,” she said softly, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, but it wasn’t lighthearted. It was tired. “I don’t know about you, but I’m glad you’re still here.” Her voice wavered slightly, but she pulled herself together quickly. “You’ve got our backs. We’ve got yours.”

Barbra stood next to her in agreement, looking hesitant to say something. She was the only one who noticed how much you resented them even though you were desperate for their love and approval.

What. The. Fuck.

No way this is happening. This is not real. Who knew saving someone's life could have them do a complete 180. Stephanie said she had your back. Duke acknowledged your existence. Jason didn't make you cry. Damian didn't attempt to kill or maim you. It's like the sky turned pink.

Finally, Bruce.

He stepped into the room, his presence overwhelming. The familiar weight of his gaze was on you immediately, but today there was something different—something almost proud in the way he looked at you, as if he finally saw you as more than just a forgotten name in the Wayne family history.

He was quiet for a moment, his hands folded in front of him. And then he spoke, his voice steady, unyielding, but carrying an undertone of something that almost felt like respect. “You did more than survive. You saved our lives. Every single one of us.” His eyes didn’t leave you. “You’re part of this family now. You’ve earned it. You earned the name Wayne.”

The words hit you harder than anything else. Part of the family.

It was like a weight dropping onto your chest—something heavy, something that couldn’t be easily brushed away. There was no turning back. You were one of them now, and that scared you, you hadn’t anticipated that.

Bruce’s eyes softened, just slightly, but his voice remained firm. “From this moment forward, you have a curfew. Midnight. You may have earned your place here, but you’ll follow the rules, just like the rest of us.”

You didn’t say anything. How could you? His words settled into your chest like stone, the finality of them carving out any space for protest. There was no choice in the matter. You were in this life now, whether you wanted to be or not. Midnight was late for a curfew anyway, Grace had to be home by 9.

“We all owe you our lives,” Bruce continued, but there was no gratitude in his tone, only a recognition of the debt. “But that doesn’t mean you’re exempt from the responsibilities we carry. Understand?”

You nodded once, slowly, the words caught in your throat. You wanted to speak, wanted to scream, to tell him that you weren’t sure you could do this, that you didn’t know if you were ready to live this life—the life of a Wayne, the life of this family.

What did a mafia family even do? Did you run around being Bruce's useless henchman, or did you have to go around trying to kill people? Could they be more specific about the pros and cons?

But nothing came out. There was nothing you could say that would change anything now.

Jason gave you a crooked grin,“Guess you’ve got to start following the rules now, huh? Welcome to the real family business.”

Tim’s gaze lingered for a moment, his eyes unreadable. “We’re all in this together,” he said quietly. “Whether you like it or not.”

Damian’s face softened, but only slightly. “I expect you to keep up,” he added, before turning to leave. “No slacking. We all carry our weight in this family.”

Cass’s presence remained, her silent approval almost suffocating in its quiet intensity.

Duke gave you one last nod before he turned, the weight of his gaze a reminder that you couldn’t slip out of this, no matter how much you might want to. He wasn’t angry—just silently resolute in his understanding. “You’re one of us now. That means something.”

And Stephanie? Her eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, before she gave you a small, tired smile. “We’re with you. All the way.”

Bruce? He gave you one last look, his eyes still holding that rare spark of approval—but it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t warm. It was measured, like a general overseeing a soldier. You were part of the mission now.

“We’ll train,” he said, his voice unwavering. “We’ll teach you everything you need to know. But it’s clear you’ve already proven yourself.”

You lay back against the pillows, the silence that followed hanging heavy in the air.

This is so weird. Why are they all being nice? How do you react to it? How do you interact with them? Is it genuine gratitude for saving their lives or is it a cruel joke to make you feel like you're important.

As they left, one by one, you stayed there, immobilized by the weight of it all. You’d earned your place here. But what did that mean now? What did it mean to be part of this family? You weren’t sure you even wanted it. But it was too late to turn back now.

OK YALL HERES THE PROLOGUE!! LMK WHAT YALL THINK AND HOW I SHOULD/ IF I SHOULD CONTINUE THIS FIC!!! HOPE YALL ENJOYED!! SEND IN ASKS! SORRY IF IT SUCKS LEAVE ME ALONE!!

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plethorawrites · 2 days ago

Text

TW: Mentions of dub con/non consensual intimacy or coercion. (From his past lovers, not reader) (A/N this is my favorite thing I've ever writtenreader

TW: NSFW content.

2.5k word count

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---_

Okay, this could be a bit of a hot take, but I am a firm believer in soft Jason Todd during sex.

Especially at the beginning of a relationship. He died young and his only sexual experiences were with Talia, who groomed him, Essence, who he believed betrayed him for the longest time and maybe Artemis, (Idk if that's canon? Can someone confirm or deny?) who was probably pretty rough given her arrogant, abrasive, and violent personality.

So, when he dates you, he's more than just hesitant. He's pretty much terrified. But he's used to hiding his feelings because they make him feel vulnerable and weak, which he hates. When you start tearing down his walls, he starts to panic. He likes spending time with you, thinking about you, kissing you. Especially that last part.

But it never goes very far because he always pulls away when things get more heated. Like, you in his lap, him nearly fully hard before quickly picking you up by your hips and moving you to the other side of the couch before standing up, clearing his throat and leaving.

It takes over two months before he feels comfortable enough to even tell you the reason he doesn't want to be intimate and the only reason he did is because you started to feel like he wasn't attracted to you or you had something wrong.

He rushed to reassure you that wasn't the case and finally told you the —partial— truth. He had scars he didn't want you seeing, he had bad prior experiences, he felt like he was being used almost every time he slept with someone and couldn't stand that feeling because it made him physically ill.

It took several weeks after that to slowly adapt to that realization and discuss how to make that feeling go away. Taking things slow, making it last, keeping it gentle, seemed to be the best way. And it was somehow perfect and tortuous all at once. He let you ride his thigh, at first. That was the first time he'd ever allowed any form of intimacy between you too. Partially because you looked desperate and he felt bad and partially because he genuinely wanted to see what you looked like while doing that.

Not to mention, he was still too afraid to be the one doing anything. So, it was best if he just helped.

His grip was firm, his eyes glued to you. You whispered more praise in those few minutes than he had heard from anyone in months all together, maybe even the year. He felt good. He was helping you. You appreciated it. You appreciated him. He was attractive. You were thanking him for giving this to you. Practically begging for his help.

And it made his heart clench, not to mention his teeth. There were other forms of physical intimacy after that, still only to you, because he didn't want to risk showing his scars or get that nausea in his stomach again during sex. You'd allow him pretty much anything and everything, if it meant he was more comfortable with you and your body. Sliding his hand under your shirt while you slept over (quite literally just falling asleep after eating dinner together) brushing his knuckles against your breasts, hesitant to touch them, but finding comfort in it all at once.

You assured him three different times—before he did it, when his hand was just barely under your shirt, and when his fingers first tugged at your nipples. It's when he's finally a bit more comfortable, pressing his lips to your shoulder blade that you hum and roll over. Your hair finds his hair, stroking it and he presses his lips to your neck, almost on instinct. You let him kiss lower and lower, gently guiding his head towards your breasts, all while repeating more and more praise, reminding him he's under no obligation to do anything, ever, if he doesn't feel comfortable.

But he does. With you, he does.

It leads to him kissing and sucking at your chest until he loses track of time and you're painfully wet. That was plenty, you promised. He doesn't need to do anymore than that. But he does, because he doesn't want to take his hands off your soft skin. So you gently drag his hand down, keeping the other firmly on his shoulder while you stare into his eyes, as his fingers slide through your slick. A sharp inhale makes him hold his breath. The other women he'd been with only ever wanted the most physical part of sex, never to do something like this. You were so soft and warm, assuring him he was doing fine while guiding his hand until you eventually couldn't keep looking at him and had to close your eyes. He liked that. A lot.

The way your hand moved, letting him do what he wanted while you gripped the sheets. He listened so well, trying to make you happy or just keep making those sounds—his name falling from your lips. If you wanted his fingers to move faster, they would. If you said deeper, they were. If you said to curl them, they'd curl. You were so... captivating, he had found. Usually, he was too in his head, so focused on how long until it was over that he never even considered being able to enjoy it.

But he wasn't rushing with you. He didn't want you to stop saying his name. When you finally came down from the high he'd brought you, your first words were a question, asking if he was alright. When he nodded, you started telling him how perfect he was, how good that felt. He liked that almost as much as your moans.

Yet, you felt guilty, never taking care of him. He never asked. In fact he repeatedly denied the offer until you chose to stop asking rather than upset him.

Until one day, when you were on the couch, leaning against him as he read, your hand perched on his thigh. He didn't know if it was the fact that you were wearing such a low cut tank top or how you'd been absent mindedly rubbing circles around his sweatpants while reading over his shoulder, but he was worked up. It took twice as long to finish a page with your motion making his mind go to places it shouldn't.

He was worried, about you rejecting his desires, or something like that. Something mocking or doing something that was uncomfortable. People had done that before, eliciting physical reactions he didn't want to feel. But he wanted to try, to feel you on him the way he'd felt you.

His hands grabbed yours and when you looked up in confusion, he just gently and silently slid your hand a bit further on his leg, towards his erection. He'd absolutely taken care of himself, and often, because it was a quick stress relief that left him tired before bed. But lately, the more he did it, the more his mind wandered to you and that, for some reason, made him finish a lot harder than usual.

Your hand brushed against it and you asked if he was sure before pressing a kiss to the side of his shoulder and sinking down to the carpet below, on your knees in between his legs. Running your hands up and down his thighs in a soothing sort of gesture both calmed him and felt like torture all at once. But it only lasted a little bit, while you promised him he was in control, because that's what he needed to hear.

That he could say no at any time if he was even the slightest bit uncomfortable. When you slid his boxers down, his heart jumped in panic. Of course you noticed the scars on his thighs instantly. But ignored them, because he still hardly ever showed them aside for occasionally wearing short sleeves. You were silent and he was scared but all you'd said at last, was that he was pretty.

"Pretty."

That word had never been used to describe him. Not before his death and certainly not after. Even the feeling of your gentle kiss on his skin and your thumb swiping over the top had him gripping the pillows, still stressed. Your hand took his, squeezing it when your lips finally enveloped him, his length disappearing into your mouth. His breaths were shaky, his hold on your hand getting painfully tight.

He felt like he was in pure bliss, his mouth falling open to pant as his head fell back against the couch practically begging you to keep going. The feeling of your hums had done him in. And his moans, loud and tough, getting whiny towards the end as the euphoria wore off assured you he was fine. He slid his boxers and sweats up quickly, his cheeks red, from the act not embarrassment (he'd say and lie) but you just laid your head on his knee, staring at him, asking how he was.

Good was an understatement. Great, too. Incredible. Amazing. None of those compliments came out. He couldn't speak, just looked back up at the ceiling as his breathing came back under control.

All you'd done in response was tell him he didn't have to say anything if he didn't want to, climbing back into the couch and wrapping your arms around his midsection, resting your head against him. You stayed like that—silent. The only question you dared to ask was if he'd want that again and his response was a kiss.

He realized after that, how truly deeply he loved you.

A feeling he was so unused to, he couldn't pinpoint it for the longest time. You felt safe. Maybe that's what made him want to finally seal the deal with you. Or maybe it was the way his body physically ached in a way that no amount of help from his own hand or your mouth could fix.

Something about it was missing.

He wanted the lights off. You had accepted that, but told him you'd really rather see him. He caved almost instantly, because as afraid he was of you seeing him, he wanted to see you too bad to care enough. You were undressed first, naturally. He'd seen that before, in bed while touching you, or just as you changed it got in the shower. He wasn't any less smitten, still obsessed with every inch of exposed skin. It took a few deep breaths and reassuring words before he was willing to unbutton his shirt.

In fact, he couldn't. He'd asked you to do it.

That felt oddly more intimate to him. Your fingers moved slowly, undoing them one by one, a bit more of his chest exposed with each button undone. You had seen a lot of his scars, after he got more comfortable wearing shorts or shirts that showed his arms. He still never revealed his chest and when you did, he looked away, his teeth sinking into the inside of his cheek to keep from tears brimming in his eyes as he heard the small gasp leave your lips.

He almost jumped when you touched one, your fingertips feeling light as a feather. Tears kept pricking but he refused to let them fall. He was being vulnerable but he couldn't allow himself to be that weak. Your other hand found his cheek, pulling his face to look at your face, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip as you pursed your own, tightly to keep from any strangled sounds escaping.

Your voice was equally as emotional when you eventually spoke, telling him in a shaky voice that he was still pretty. Those words or perhaps how your voice cracked when you said them, broke him. A tear slipped down his cheek and you were quick to brush it away with your thumb and kissed his cheek softly, confessing that you loved him.

He couldn't stand it anymore.

He wrapped his arms tightly around you, burying his face in your neck letting himself breathe for what felt like the first time all over again. A real breath. One without any heaviness attached to it because you'd stolen all the stones from his walls one by one. You repeated it, so he knew it wasn't a mistake or accident and he started peppering short kisses to your neck, all the way to your lips, which he kissed deeply, his bare chest pressed entirely around your own.

Your arms were around his neck, in his hair, pulling him closer and his hands started to wander, desperately craving to have you without any barriers anymore. He stared at you, or at least tried to, when he felt your velvety walls surround him, clenching tightly when his hips were finally flushed with yours. His jaw was locked tightly until you started running your hand up and down his spine, telling him he could take a moment, if he needed it.

He did.

Not because he was nervous, since for once, he wasn't, but because he wanted to stare at you in this state and revel in your feeling for a moment more. He did, until it became painful for both of you and every thrust he made was slow and deep, staring into each other's eyes, taking full breaths in at the same time for several moments until his pace was quick, along with your breathing.

Your praise never stopped, even when it wasn't fully coherent and ended in a moan or whine. His own praise for you wasn't lacking either, telling you how perfect you felt, how badly he wanted you, how much he appreciated you waiting on him because he really was enjoying it, probably more than he'd enjoyed anything in his entire life.

When you're both a mess, panting and quiet from the feelings that washed over you both, his body goes limp, laying on top of you. Your hands rub his shoulders reassuringly, although slowly and his hands hold either side of your head, fingers threaded into your hair as he pressed his forehead against yours, feeling your breath on him. It was silent, until he eventually lifted his head to admire you, your stray hairs sticking to your face, your puffy lips, your blown pupils.

He said it back, at that moment.

He loved you too and couldn't stand letting you think anything else for a single moment more.

You didn't respond, but your lips curled into a grin and a heavy sigh left your chest, your hands moving from his shoulders to cup his face and lean up to kiss him.

He rolled you over, causing a slight squeal from you, letting you lay on him so he wasn't crushing you any longer. You rested your head against his chest, silently tracing his scars as he messed with your hair, the moonlight streaming in through the window.

His voice eventually broke the comfortable silence when he whispered to you, asking you to "Say it again."

You didn't hesitate to tell him you'd "Say it as many times as he wanted to hear it."

With his lips twitching, the slight wit he always possessed came back, questioning what you'd do if he "Wanted to hear it forever."

Like before, your response was immediate when you replied, telling him you'd "Say it forever, then."

#x reader #headcanon #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #batboys #jason todd x you #dc comics #plethorawrites #jason todd imagines #jason todd angst #jason todd needs a hug #jason todd smut #jason todd i love you #soft jason todd #emotions #blah blah blah #okay byyyyye

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mariasont · 3 days ago

Note

hey girlie, first of all absolutely adore all of your hotchie fics no one writes him as well as you do!! second of all i am dying to read bimbo!assistant! x hotch smuuuutt (only if ur comfortable, pls ignore if not!!) i feel like that would be the only time hotch would have her completely and utterly speechless (idk why but i literally cannot get hotch w a breeding kink out of my goddamn mind!!!!!!) anyways hope ur having a fab day, and thank u for feeding us over the last few days 😘

Space Between Distraction & Indulgence - A.H

summary: bimbo!assistant!reader want’s aaron’s attention. aaron wants to finish his case notes. too bad for him, you always get what you want

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit stuff going on here, fingering, p in v, no condom (bc we trust hotch is responsible but you shouldn’t be), dirty talk, hotch is a boob man sorry not sorry, after care with a side of psychoanalysis bc he can’t help himself

wc: 6k (got a little carried away my b)

a/n: thank u sm for requesting ugh!!!! u all r going to give me a god complex if you keep talking about how i write hotch LOLOL i love u sm hope u like the fic!!

Saturdays with Aaron had a way of making time feel like something slippery and golden, something you could almost touch before it vanished between your fingers. The mornings stretched long and languid, a lazy kind of indulgence that should have felt endless, but somehow, with him, it never was.

You woke up late. Very late. The kind of late that made you blink at the clock in mild disbelief before flopping back against the pillows. And then there was the warmth. Not just the heat of the blankets, but something deeper, something winding low in your belly.

Oh. Right. The dream. You swallowed, biting your lip as if that might make the memory dissipate. It wasn't outright filthy, but it had been suggestive enough. Annoying. Frustrating. Embarrassing. It was the kind of thing that made you wish Aaron was still in bed.

He wasn't, of course. That would require Aaron Hotchner to do something reckless and irresponsible, like relax. If he wasn't keeping the country from total collapse, he was finding something equally as urgent to fix, probably buried in reports right now, coffee in hand, eyes scanning the page like national security depended on it. And maybe it did. You didn't know.

What you did know was that you'd been circling him all afternoon, orbiting like some needy little planet trapped in his gravitational pull, and he still hadn't acknowledged you. A small part of you—one you didn't want to name—had hoped he'd notice you by now. That he'd glance up, see you, reach for you. But he hadn't. And that was okay. Really. You weren't needy. You weren't desperate.

But you noticed him. You always noticed him. And this version of him, the weekend version, was particularly hard to ignore. The casual clothes, casual for him, anyway, stomped all over your ability to think straight (not that you had much to concentrate on in the first place).

The grey crewneck he had on stretched across his shoulders, molding to the shape of him like it had been made for him. His jeans, worn in all the right places, settled on his hips in a way that made you feel like a pervert just by looking.

Even his hair had you practically drooling. Not messy, of course—Aaron Hotchner didn't do messy—but it was softer than usual, a little mussed, like he'd dragged his fingers through it one too many times without bothering to fix it.

It made him look almost touchable, like someone who should have been stretched out next to you on the couch, letting you mess it up even more, not hunched over a pile of paperwork like the case files were going to disappear if he blinked.

His forearms flexed every time he turned a page, his muscles shifting subtly every time he moved. You didn't even realize how blatantly you were staring until his fingers skimmed up to his jaw, scratching absently at the stubble there. Because now all you could think about was how it would feel under your fingertips, under your lips, under—okay. Enough.

The magazine in your lap was technically open, fingers flipping through glossy pages filled with designer gowns and scandalous headlines. Normally, you'd be all over it, sipping coffee as you devoured the who wore what and who was caught with who. But today, you weren't really reading, you were just holding it, turning pages for the sake of it. Something to occupy your hands while you definitely didn't stare at Aaron.

He had started keeping these around after you mentioned, offhandedly, how much you loved them. You hadn't even meant it as a suggestion, but the next time you visited, there it was—sitting on the coffee table like it had always been there.

He hadn't spared you so much as a glance since you walked in—not even when you'd practically drifted past his desk, close enough that he should've felt you there. He had mumbled a good morning, sure, but his eyes never left the page, his attention locked onto whatever was in that file.

You sigh—loudly. Pointedly. The kind of exaggerated little huff that normally earns you at least a glance, maybe even a what's the matter, sweetheart? There was no reaction today. He just flipped another page, one hand smoothing over the text, the other tapping against the desk like you were completely invisible.

You toss the magazine onto the table—just a little too hard. Then you stretch out on the couch, shifting just enough that his button-down rides up, baring more of your thighs than should be considered decent. The air against your skin makes you hyperaware of what isn't there—only your favorite panties. The tiniest scrap of fabric between you and absolute obscenity. If he so much as glanced in your direction, he'd have the perfect view. But he doesn't.

You sigh again, softer this time, just enough to sound absentminded, like you're not trying to get his attention (even though you absolutely are). As you push yourself off the couch, you stretch a little, giving yourself an extra moment to watch him. You make your way toward him, steps slow, letting the hem of his shirt brush against the tops of your thighs as you move. His fingers flex against the page.

You settle against the edge of his desk, bracing yourself on your elbows, making a very intentional point of pressing your tits together. It's the kind of thing that should be subtle—just a natural consequence of your posture.

Months of Aaron have taught you more than just the way he takes his coffee or how he organizes his files. You've studied him—memorized him even. And one thing has become crystal clear:

He's absolutely a boob man.

You realized it gradually—the subtle stiffening of his posture whenever you leaned a little too close in the office, the way his fingers flexed when your blouse had just a bit too much give.

Then, when you started dating, it became even clearer. His hands never just grabbed—they claimed, like he was making up for all the times he couldn't touch.

His voice would go low, reverent, when he murmured, so pretty, sweetheart, his thumb brushing over your skin like he needed to feel it. And your bras—he had thoughts about those, much to your surprise. Which ones were his favorite. Which ones he hated because they got in the way.

But it wasn't until months later—when he had you spread out beneath him, his mouth hot and urgent against your skin—that he admitted it. His voice was rough, breathless, his grip tightening as he groaned, been trying so fucking hard not to look at these for years. And then, just to prove it, his mouth sealed over you like he had years to make up for.

"Do you need anything? Water? Coffee? Maybe lunch?"

His eyes lift—quick, practiced, almost indifferent.

Almost.

Because before they settle back down, they pause, just for a fraction of a second, right there. Right at the collar of his button-down, where the top buttons are hanging loose, where your skin is warm and soft and practically begging for attention.

But then, before you can revel in it, he's already looking back down. "No, I'm fine, sweetheart."

You bite your lip, actually contemplating throwing his stupid case file out the window. He's either knows what you're trying to accomplish and ignoring you on purpose or he's just that focused. You weren't sure which was worse.

You shove off the desk, but you don't step away. Instead, you step closer. Your hands find his shoulders first, sliding down to his chest as you lean into him, pressing against his back. The shift is immediate. He goes still, his spine going ramrod straight, like his brain has just caught up to what's happening.

Your shirt is paper-thin, your nipples are pressed right against him, and unless he's suddenly gone completely numb, he feels it.

You sink against him, letting your chin rest on his shoulder, breathing him in. Gods, he smells good. Clean, sharp, like something expensive.

You recognized it as the cologne you bought him. The one you picked, the one you dabbed on his wrist in the middle of a department store and grinned, telling him, This. This smells like you. This is the one.

Your fingers skim over his collar, your nails just barely catching against the heat of his skin.

"What are you working on?" You let the question drip from your lips, your voice all honey, sweet, but not innocent.

Aaron hums low in his throat. "Case notes."

"That's boring. Is there anything I can do to help? Your assistant is very willing to be of service."

His fingers pause and your stomach flips. But then, before you can savor it, he moves. His hand finds yours, slow, gentle, lifting it with patience. He presses a kiss to your knuckles, featherlight, frustratingly chaste, before setting your hand back down like you're some good little thing that's been successfully pacified. And then you catch it, the tiniest twitch of his lips.

"Thank you, honey, but I've got it under control."

You make a noise, half scoff, half petulant whine, and shift your chin against his shoulder, angling yourself just enough to shoot him a pointed glare. "You always say that. What's the point of having such a capable assistant if you're not going to use her?"

"Hmm. So that's what you want? For me to use you?"

"I don't know. Is that an option?"

Aaron's laugh is low, the kind that rumbles through his chest without much warning. It's never loud—it doesn't have to be—but it still manages to send your stomach into a ridiculous free-fall.

"There's just some stuff I need to finish up."

You groan, letting your forehead drop to his shoulder, arms squeezing around him like you can physically hold his attention. Like you can will it away from the pages in front of him and back to you where it belongs.

"Is that your way of telling me I just have to sit here and be patient?"

Aaron's pen doesn't pause. "Mhm."

You huff. "And you think I'll be able to do that?"

His answer is immediate. Too immediate.

"You've survived this long," he says, and you swear you can hear the smirk in his voice. "I think you'll manage."

"Fine," you say after a moment, stepping around the chair before sinking into his lap, giving him plenty of time to stop you, but he doesn't. He never does.

You shift until you're settled, one leg draped over his, chest brushing his. His breath stutters—just a little, just enough to tell you that he feels you. His fingers flex against the desk, pressing harder into the wood, tension rolling through his back as he goes perfectly still beneath you, like he's waiting to see what you'll do next.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," you hum, arms draping easily over his shoulders as you sink against him. Your cheek brushes his, lips just close enough that if he turned his head, just a little, you'd be right there. "You said you had to finish working. Don't let me stop you."

A slow inhale, a slight tilt of his head, then—his pen moves again, like nothing's changed. Like you haven't changed anything. You exhale against his skin, hiding your smirk in the crook of his neck, fingers idly tracing slow, featherlight circles along the nape of it. He's humoring you, and that's fine.

You let him pretend for a while, content to exist in the space between distraction and indulgence. You shift in his lap, weight pressing into his just enough.

His body reacts before he does, muscles tightening, his breath slowing like he's thinking too hard about not reacting.

"Sit still."

"I am still," you reply, the words light on your tongue, but the slow curve of your hips tells another story.

"Sweetheart."

You lean in, close enough that your noses brush, your forehead pressing to his as your lips part ever so slightly. "What? I'm not doing anything."

Aaron's breath comes out sharp, ragged, the sound scraping its way from his throat like he's been holding onto it for too long. His chest pushes against yours, every inhale pressing you closer, every exhale heating the space between you. He leans back, just enough to create the smallest sliver of distance.

You roll your hips again, slower this time, savoring the friction that sends a shudder through you, tightening every muscle in your body with anticipation. The feeling sparks through you, sharp and intoxicating, sending heat pooling in your stomach. His reaction was subtle, the shift of his jaw, his hand brushing against the desk, like he doesn't trust himself to touch you yet.

His gaze drops, heavy-lidded, to where your bodies fit together, the rise and fall of your breath syncing with his.

His hands land on your hips, thumbs pressing in, not enough to stop you, just enough to remind you he could if he wanted to. When his eyes meet yours again, there's no rush, no immediate reaction. You knew exactly what it meant and what usually followed, he was just waiting for the moment you tip the scales too far.

"Do you want to tell me what exactly it is you're trying to do?" he asks, his voice low, the kind of tone that makes you forget your own name for a second.

You push against him again, grinding just enough to feel the press of him, the heat of him, and god. His fingers dig in—tight—like he's trying to stop you, but you don't miss the way his breath catches, the way his grip falters for half a second. Your fingers curl into his shirt, and suddenly, you can't remember what your original plan was.

You shift forward, your body molding to his, your breath fanning against his skin as your lips brush his ear. Your teeth scrape, light, but not accidental.

"I'm just feel a little... overlooked." Your fingers tighten where they rest, nails digging in just enough to make sure he feels it. "Is it so bad that I want your attention?"

His grip tightens, harder this time, his fingers digging into your hips with a kind of warning you'd be stupid to ignore. The heat of his palms seeps through the thin fabric of his shirt, scorching into your skin like a brand.

"You have my attention." You don't believe him. Not really. You press your lips into a pout, brow furrowing just slightly. "But if you keep moving like that, I might now be so nice about it."

Your hips shift, an instinctive little squirm, testing to see if you can push past his hold. You can't. "I can't help it."

"You can't help it?" he repeats, almost thoughtful, like he's turning the idea over in his mind. "I think you can. You just don't want to."

You want to argue, you really do, but nothing comes out, only a sharp inhale that never quite makes it into words. Because he's right. He knows he's right.

The little noise that escapes your throat is purely instinctual, frustrated but breathy, like your body is already conceding before your mind catches up.

"I told you to stop," he murmurs, but the way it sinks into you, the way it wraps around your ribs like something stretched too tight, tells you exactly what kind of trouble you're in.

He mirrors you, crowding in, his breath skimming your ear. His palm presses into the small of your back, slotting you back into place. "But you don't listen, do you?"

You shake your head without even meaning to, the deafening roar of your pulse making it impossible to think clearly.

"No, you don't," he murmurs, his tone dipping lower, turning darker, more intimate. His hands flex as if to remind you of the control he holds. Then his lips graze your jaw, his breath fanning over your skin. "You push. You test the boundaries. And then you pretend to be shocked when I hold you to them."

His fingers slide down, dragging over your thigh with an almost excruciating slowness. He pauses to squeeze there.

"First, you sprawled out on the couch—" his thumb sweeps over your skin, "like you didn't know exactly how that would look."

Your breath stutters, catches, knots itself into something tangled and messy as his hand moves, sliding higher, pressing firmer, stopping just shy of where the ache blooms.

His eyes darken, the heat behind them smoldering with something deep, something that settles like fire in the pit of your stomach.

"Then you leaned over my desk, practically shoving these—" His hand moves before the words fully land, cupping the curve of your breast. His thumb rolls over your nipple. "—right in my face."

Your breath catches, your hips lifting, your thighs parting like you're meant to be touched. Like you need him there. But he doesn't give in. He just moves lower, slow and taunting, until his palm covers the heat between your legs, pressing lightly over the thin fabric of your panties.

His fingers flex, testing. Feeling.

"And now this," he murmurs, and gods, his voice, his voice, is like a razor wrapped in velvet, smooth and cutting all at once. "You squirm and pout like you don't know exactly what you're doing. But I know better, don't I?"

The words settle in your spine, and suddenly, you don't feel like you know what you're doing. Like you're the one pulling at a thread you don't quite understand, but it's already too late to stop. A shiver rolls through you, bone-deep, leaving your muscles lax, your body melting into his like you were always meant to be here.

"I'm sorry," you murmur so quietly, you're not even sure if he hears it. "I just... I wanted you to notice me."

Aaron's hum is low, deep, almost amused. His thumb finds your jaw, sweeping along the curve of it as he tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"Oh, I noticed you. I always notice you. In fact, you're all I ever notice." His hand slips away from where you want it most. "But if this is the only way you know how to ask for my attention, sweetheart, then I think we have a problem."

Your grip on his shirt is useless, you're clinging to him, to anything, but he's the one in control. His hands settle on your hips, demanding, guiding you over the hard line of his cock, forcing you to take the friction, to feel every inch of him through the layers still between you.

The friction is blinding, sending heat licking up your spine, setting every nerve in your body on fire. Your legs tremble, a sharp, choked sound escaping before you can stop it, and you clutch at his shoulders, nails sinking deep into muscle as pleasure coils tight and insistent in your belly.

"Aaron," his name slips from your lips, high and uneven, like it costs something to say it. Your head bows, forehead pressing into his shoulder, hands trembling against his chest. "I wasn't trying to be bad. I just... I didn't know what else to do."

"No, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You didn't think, did you? And now look where that's gotten you."

His words should sting, but they don't, not when his hands are so gentle, smoothing down your spine like he's soothing something raw inside you. And then his voice, warm and promising, settles over you, "But I'll take care of you now."

And gods, you need him to. He's so hard, the thick length of him pressing against you through denim and cotton, teasing, tormenting. Everything burns—your skin, your stomach, that deep, pulsing ache between your thighs. Your head swims, feverish, your mind caught between more and please and I can't take this. But he knows. Of course, he knows.

"Do you feel that?"

"Yes."

"Good. If you want to keep going, you'll take care of it. Go ahead."

Your hands move with the kind of urgency that betrays just how badly you need this, need him. Your fingers trail down, brushing over the tight muscles of his stomach, and it's almost enough to make you dizzy, just touching him, just knowing what's waiting for you beneath layers of fabric.

The button of his jeans fumbles beneath your fingers before finally popping open. And then you're pulling him free. He's thick in your hand, burning hot against your palm, and something about that, about feeling him like this, for you, makes something feral sink its teeth into you.

And then he finds you.

His fingers slip under your panties, gliding through the obscene slickness there, and you don't mean to react so violently, don't mean to moan so loud, but it rips out of you before you can stop it.

"Oh, honey," Aaron murmurs, almost thoughtful, like he's just now realizing the full extent of your undoing. "I didn't realize you'd gotten this worked up."

Like it's an observation. Like it's fascinating.

His fingers push, stretching you open, teasing just the right spot, and you jerk against him with a sharp, strangled moan. Your grip around him tightens, your strokes turning sloppy, uneven, desperate.

"Aaron—" His name tumbles out high and needy, your head tipping back, eyes fluttering shut.

"I didn't mean to—" Your voice shakes, a hitched little gasp tangled between syllables. "I just—" Your breath stutters, heat climbing, overwhelming. "I didn't know what to do."

"You don't have to know what to do." His fingers slow just enough to let you catch his breath as he murmurs. "You just have to let me take over. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

Your nod is frantic, almost mindless, as his words echo in your ears.

"Please." It falls from your lips like a confession, like you'd say anything if it means he'll give you what you want.

His fingers thrust deeper, and the shock of it rips a gasp from your lips, straight into his kiss. It's messy, frantic, all clashing mouths and stolen air, your breaths coming too fast to match his, like you're afraid if you let him go for even a second, he'll pull away.

Your grip on him tightens without thinking, your fingers flexing around his cock, but the sensation barely registers now, drowned out by the wetness pooling between your thighs, the slick drag of his fingers against your walls.

You can't keep up. You're chasing something that feels just out of reach, your hands leaving his cock, fumbling for something solid, something real. They find his face, fingertips brushing over the rough stubble of his jaw, trying to find yourself in him, in the way he's ruining you.

You kiss him like you can tell him everything that way, like he might understand the ache better through lips and tongues and the way your body trembles under his hands.

And then—he stops. His fingers slip free, and the sound you make is a whine, a protest, your hips tilting, seeking, trying to drag him back in. But he doesn't move, doesn't give you what you need, just smirks against your lips like he enjoys watching you squirm.

"You're so impatient," he murmurs against your lips.

But before you can protest, before you can tell him that yes, yes, you am impatient, please just give it to me, his hands tighten on your hips. And then—oh.

He lifts you, positioning you just right, and then, lowers you down.

The head of his cock pushes inside, and your breath catches, lips parting in a broken gasp. The stretch is devastating, inch by inch forcing your body to open, to yield to him. He's so deep, impossibly deep, and for a second, you forget how to breathe, how to think, your only thought being how does he even fit?

It feels endless, your thighs shaking against his as he takes his time, forcing you to feel every slow, torturous inch. Your body clenches around him, your nails dragging over his scalp as you bury your face against his neck.

"Breathe," he murmurs, voice thick, lips grazing your temple. "That's it. Let me take care of you. You just have to let me in, sweetheart."

"Okay, okay," you whisper, voice shaky as you bury your face against his neck, arms wrapping tighter around him.

His other hand moves, dragging up your spine before wrapping around your waist. And then—he presses deeper.

The air leaves your lungs in a sharp, punched-out gasp. He doesn't stop, doesn't let you breathe, just sinks in, stretching you open until he's fully seated inside you. Until there's nowhere left to go.

"That's it," he groans, voice tight, his mouth ghosting along your jaw. "So tight. So warm. Fuck, sweetheart, you know this is what you were made for, don't you?"

You try to think of something, something teasing, something bratty, something that might tip him over the edge, but your body betrays you, trembling around him, squeezing down so tight you feel him shudder.

"God, you're tight," he mutters, his fingers pressing into your hips, hard enough to leave bruises. "I can feel every little tremble, every squeeze. You feel that, sweetheart? How perfectly you fit around me?"

"It's like you don't want to let me go. Is that what you want, honey? To keep me right here?"

Your body clenches down instinctively, like you're answering him without meaning to, and his breath catches for just a second before his lips curve against your skin. You nod, frantic, a little dazed, a little wrecked, and his chuckle is pure sin.

"Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."

He pulls back just enough to create the kind of unbearable friction that makes your breath catch, your body tightening like a bowstring.

"Every little sound you make drives me insane." His breath drags over your cheek, his lips just shy of touching, like he's teasing himself as much as he is you. "Do you even realize what you do to me?"

You try to answer, you really do, but your lungs don't work properly anymore, your body focused on the pleasure threatening to snap at any second. Your fingertips tremble against his shoulders, your thighs quiver, and Aaron knows exactly what that means.

"That's it. I can feel you trembling, sweetheart. You're so close, aren't you?"

His words strike something deep, something primal, and the fire curling between your thighs roars in response. Your head tips back, your breath breaking apart as your hands scramble for purchase, fingers sliding to his face, thumbs brushing over the roughness of his jaw. You pull him into a kiss that's all hunger, all desperation, your lips parting to let him devour you.

He groans into your mouth, a sound that vibrates through your chest, and then his hips snap up into you. The stretch is suffocating, the sheer fullness of him sending sharp pulses of pleasure up your body with every deep thrust.

"I've got you," he murmurs against your lips. "You don't have to hold back. Just let go for me, sweetheart."

It crashes into you harder than you expected, knocking the breath straight from your lungs. Your moan catches halfway, tumbling out in pieces as your body convulses, clenches tight, gripping him in a way that makes him hiss through his teeth.

He thrusts deep, brutal, final, and then he's gone, his head dropping back as a groan tears from his chest.

He fills you in thick, pulsing waves, each pulse making your thighs tighten around him, making you gasp at how deep it settles. The feeling is overwhelming—the heat of him, the weight, the way his cock still twitches inside you, like he’s unwilling to let a single drop go to waste.

You're not sure where your body ends and his begins, your limbs heavy, useless, boneless as you slump against him. Your breath stutters, still uneven, every exhale pushing against his chest as the last waves of pleasure roll through you.

"You take every drop so fucking well," he murmurs. "Meant to keep you full."

His fingers press into your hips, just a little tighter, just enough to make you feel how deep he still is.

"Don’t move yet."

Your breath stutters, the words landing deep, something fluttering tight in your stomach.

"Just a little longer," he murmurs, his hands absently smoothing up and down your spine. His voice drops, lower, rougher—

"I want to make sure it sticks."

You shudder, pressing closer, your face tucking against his neck as everything—the fullness, every drop of his cum—settles in.

Aaron exhales, his chest rising beneath you, and suddenly, he shifts. His grip on your hips soften and slide up, like he can feel the way you're trembling against him.

"Breathe, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You can do that for me, can't you?"

You try, you really do, but when you inhale, it's a stuttering, gasping thing, barely controlled. Your thighs still shake, your body still throbs around him, and you can feel the way he exhales, like he enjoys this—enjoys feeling you like this, soft and trembling in his arms.

"Easy," he murmurs. One hand slides up your spine, cupping the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair. "That was a lot."

You nod—or, at least, you think you do. Everything feels floaty, light, warm. Your head feels like it's filled with pink clouds. Your limbs feel soft, useless, like you're some well-loved doll that's been played with for hours.

He tilts your chin up, catching your gaze.

"You okay?" His brow furrows slightly, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

You blink slowly at him, lips parting, trying to focus.

"Mhm," you hum, then pause, frowning just slightly. "Wait, no—hold on."

His jaw tenses immediately, but you reach up, poking his cheek with a weak, clumsy finger.

"You didn't kiss me," you mumble, like it's the most important fact in the universe. "You're supposed to kiss me after, 'cause, like, you love me and all that."

Hotch lets out a slow breath, like he's holding something back. His head tilts, just barely shaking, like he's in mild disbelief of you. And okay, fine, maybe you do say a lot of dumb things. But this wasn't dumb. It was valid. It was scientifically proven that post-sex cuddles should include at least one (1) I love you and one (1) kiss, and you were simply holding him accountable.

"Of course I love you," he murmurs, like the answer is so obvious, so unquestionable, that it almost makes you feel silly for asking. And then he kisses you.

It's deep, drawn-out, the kind of kiss that makes you forget where you are.

You're still in his lap, still tangled in the ridiculous, oversized leather chair, but you don't feel like you're anywhere. Not in his apartment, not even in your own body. Just floating, existing in between his lips and yours.

When you finally pull back, it's not even voluntary—just the sad, unfortunate reality of needing air.

"Wow," you murmur, your fingers lazily brushing over his jaw.

"Wow?"

"Mhm." Your tongue darts out, sweeping over the kiss-swollen curve of your bottom lip, like you're trying to catch what's left of him there, trying to savor it. "Like... I feel very wow."

A smirk tugs at his lips, but his hands don't stop moving, don't stop tracing, don't stop feeling. His fingers smoothed absently over your hips, up your spine, his palms blending into your skin. Like he's checking for something. Like he's making sure you're here with him.

And for a second, you think he's about to kiss you again. He looks like he wants to, his gaze flickers to your lips, his hands flex just slightly, his body leans in just a hair. But then his gaze flickers, his lips part slightly as if he'd just remembered something.

"You said something earlier."

You blink again, brain lagging behind slightly as reality creeps back in, still floating somewhere in bliss. Which you felt was a more pressing topic than whatever he's about to say.

Your face scrunches up immediately, like maybe if you look cute enough, he'd drop it.

"I said a lot of things earlier," you rush out, voice a little too high, a little too hasty, your hand flapping vaguely in the air. "So many things. A real stream of nonsense, actually. I was just saying words, you know, as one does—"

You shift slightly, suddenly painfully aware of the position you're in, and he doesn't even blink.

"Aaron," you say, narrowing your eyes. "You're literally still inside me and you want to have a conversation right now?"

"Yes," he says simply, like of course he does, like this is completely reasonable, like you aren't still wrapped around him, skin warm and sticky from what you just did.

His brows furrow slightly, and his head tilts in that very specific way that means he's already pulling apart the words, unraveling them like a thread, and working through them with that brain of his before you can even begin to take it back.

"You said you felt overlooked," he states plainly, like a fact, which you guessed it was. "If that was something you just said in the moment, we can drop it."

His eyes narrow, studying you like he already knows the answer. "But if you meant it, then I want to understand why."

Your mouth parts, ready to push out something easy, something light, something that won't lead to the very real, very terrifying act of actually admitting things.

He was serious. Not angry or annoyed. Just serious. And concerned.

You exhale, suddenly very invested in dragging your nails lightly over his chest, watching the way they disappear into the fabric of his shirt, how his muscles shift slightly beneath your touch.

"I mean... it's not a thing," you mumble, barely glancing up. "More like a thing-adjacent."

"Sweetheart." The firmness in his voice made your stomach flip. It's not a scolding or a warning, just his way of making you hear him. "I'm not interested in whether you think it's a thing or not. I'm interested in whether it's true."

"I mean, I guess... maybe a little."

His fingers flex, like he's taking that in. He nods once, slowly. "That makes sense."

Your brows furrow. "It does?"

"Yes," he states plainly, like it's obvious. "You pick up on subtle changes—even the ones I don't intend to project. And when I get hyper focused on something, I shut everything else out. Not just you. Everyone."

"It's a defense mechanism. A way to compartmentalize. It doesn't mean I don't notice you. It means my brain assigns the highest level of urgency to the task at hand, and everything else—everything outside of that—is temporarily shut out."

"When I do that, it makes sense that you would feel like I'm not paying attention to you," he continues. "Because in those moments I'm not."

Your breath catches. He says it so matter-of-factly, so plainly, that it almost doesn't sting at first, it just lands.

His grip tightens ever so slightly where his hands rest on your like he already knows how you're taking it.

"But that doesn't mean I don't want to be paying attention," he murmurs, fingers brushing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. "It doesn't mean you don't exist in the back of my mind, even when I'm caught up in something else."

Aaron leans in a fraction, his eyes holding yours.

"Do you know what I did last night after you fell asleep?" he asks.

You blink. "Uh... sleep?"

He smirks. "Eventually. But first, I checked the thermostat. You always get cold at night, even when you say you won't."

Your face warms. "That's just—,"

"And before I left for work last week, I moved your car closer to the building because I saw you left your umbrella at my place."

"I—,"

"And when I'm out of town, do you know what I do every morning?"

You swallow.

"No."

"I think about what you're having for breakfast," he murmurs. "Not consciously. It's not something I try to do. It just... happens."

"You always eat something sweet," he continues, his thumb brushing over your jaw. "It's usually a pastry or something covered in chocolate. Sometimes cake, if we're being honest."

Your scrunch your nose again and he smiles.

"So, tell me," he murmurs, tilting your chin up. "Does that sound like someone who overlooks you?"

Your lips part but nothing comes out. Your heart aches—not the bad kind, but the kind that makes your chest feel too small for everything inside it. Because he's right. He notices everything. Not in the big, showy romance-movie ways but in the little things. In ways that matter.

You inhale a little too hard, blinking quickly, but the stinging in your eyes isn't going anywhere.

Aaron sees it immediately. "Sweetheart."

You shake your head quickly, sniffling.

"I'm not crying," you announce, even though your voice cracks on the last word, which kind of ruins the effect.

He smirks. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," you say firmly, poking his chest. "I just—I feel very loved and now I have to process that."

"Okay," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Do you need time to process, or should I just assume you're going to be attached to me for the foreseeable future?"

Your smile is instant, automatic, the kind that takes over your whole face before you can even think about stopping it. Your arms tighten around his neck, fingers curling into his shirt like you have any intention of letting go.

"Oh no, you're definitely stuck with me," you declare. "Like, you might need to call someone if you ever actually want me to let go."

His smirk is instant. "You're saying I should alert the authorities?"

You nod sagely. "I mean, that would be the responsible thing to do. But by the time they arrive, I'll have already made a compelling argument about how you should just let it happen."

Aaron huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I'm sure you would."

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @looking1016 @everythinglizzy @sky2nd @alexxavicry @spencerssatchel @candyd1es @storiesofsvu @pleasantgardenwitch @kodzukenmaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spennciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @jstcln @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3 @wondergal2001 @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @estragos @khxna @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72 @piinksdoll @justyourusualash @whimsicalpolitical @kcch-ns @cool-light32 @reidfile @sugarbutterbailey @ssamorganhotchner @persephonestears @moonyxstars @spookyysinsanity @proxxyshouse @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @imsonotweird @jungchloe @she-wont-miss @duchesz @may-machin99 @historicallyweirdandqueer @in-the-kosmos @lcvealwayss @p13rc3-th3-m4tt13 @babyhoneybyhs @reire11

taglist is closed for now until i can figure out the best way to include more than 50 mentions :(

#aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader #aaron hotchner x bimbo!reader #aaron hotchner x bimbo assistant reader #aaron hotchner x bimbo reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner #hotchner #hotch #criminal minds smut

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acemakes-art143 · 2 days ago

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I especially find it funny when you realize that they. Tried to kill his cows??? And it was a whole thing??? They made this big deal of "they were the sun god's friends, he's gonna kill us!!!!" And then he didn't even mention it ONCE in god games.

I know its obvious, but I love how Apollo and Hephaestus literally seemed like they were pulled out of nowhere and handed a binder of everything Odysseus did up to that point and had to come up with a reason to hate him on the spot.

At least Hephaestus sounded like he gave a bit of effort, skimmed the info and provided a fair argument with what he had.

Apollo was like the kid who started working on his homework while the teacher's collecting papers. Like "Huh? Wha? Odysseus? Oh uh" *flips files to a random page* "Pfpfpfprllflfrrr i dunno, he did something to some sirens and uhhh, they sing and i like singing sooooo...yea not cool"

Athena: But they tried to kill hi-

Apollo, already turning away and pressing the golden button: Yeyeyeyeyeyeaa he's aight he's aight release him or whatever can i go now-

#I like to imagine zeus was just waiting for an excuse to go and fight ody/the crew himself #And then apollo was like “yes fine you can get revenge for me or something”#epic the musical

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lookingforuravity · 23 hours ago

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THE ONLY EXCEPTION

♫ now playing - the only exception by paramore

bakugou x reader

word count: 1,827 words

IN WHICH each time your friends caught bakugou only being nice to you.

a/n: still 'fool for you' just changed the title (≧ω≦)

“i've never seen him so.. calm.”

“right? he's always so uptight.”

the two friends were peering over the couch as they watched bakugou and y/n sleep soundlessly. there was a serene look drawn on his face while he held y/n closely to him, her hand resting softly on his chest as their chests rose up and down simultaneously.

“how come he's so much nicer to her than any of us?” kirishima complained with a pout stitched on his lips. he'd been friends with bakugou way before (two months) him and y/n got together. where was his special treatment?

“they're dating duh. why wouldn't he be nice to her?” mina replied as gazed at the couple with a soft gaze in her eyes. their young, teenage love was truly admirable.

even if bakugou seemed to have a stick up his ass 24/7.

the couple twitched softly in their sleep. it had been a long and stressful day of endless amounts of training, and lord knew that they both needed a break. a thin blanket was all that covered their bodies, but anybody could make out the way bakugou held her waist and the way y/n laid her hand on his chest underneath the sheet.

the usually quiet library turned into a circus as it filled up with bakugou's grumbling, denki's whines, and y/n's giggling. the sight of bakugou repeatedly smacking denki on the head with rolled up paper was an entertaining sight to distract her from her note-taking.

“are you seriously this stupid?” bakugou growled as he peered over the blonde's notebook, erasing and scribbling over any mistakes he made. denki pouted while rubbing his head on the spot that bakugou smacked. “c'mon.. it's really not that easy!” denki whined.

bakugou's vermillion eyes narrowed at denki. “it's basic algebra! how did you even get this far if you can't do simple math?!” he snapped.

denki continued to pout as he grumbled under his breath, something about bakugou lacking basic respect.

“uh.. katsuki?” y/n called out hesitantly.

though he still kept the glare on his face, the way his body language softened was visible, and how his tone contrasted from denki to her was plain obvious. “what?”

she turned over her notebook towards him so he can see her work. “i think i did it wrong.. can you check it?”

bakugou grabbed her notebook and skimmed over her work. “yeah.. here, let me explain.” he leaned over closer to her, close enough to where she can smell caramel on his skin.

denki's mouth fell agape as he watched how the guy went from raising hell on him to looking like he was practically skipping in a field of flowers inside his head. “that is SO not fair! how come you're so much nicer to her than me?!”

“cause she's not an idiot! keep working!”

it was far past midnight, and it was already one thing that izuku couldn't sleep, but on an empty stomach? it made it far much worse. he tried everything in the book from counting sheep to counting his breaths, but nothing could beat his racing mind and the sound of his stomach growling.

izuku didn't want to disturb anyone, but would it really hurt if he just tip-toed to the common room? he sighed as he ran his hand through his curly green hair, quietly making his way to the kitchen to not wake anyone.

but as he walked through the common room, a taller figure appeared in front of him.

“GAH!” he yelped, hastily smacking a hand over his mouth as he realized how loud he'd screamed. “shoto!” he half-whispered. “what are you doing?!”

todoroki stood still, his expression unwavering. “i couldn't sleep.” his direction turned towards the kitchen. “i wanted to get a snack, but i think someone is in there.” he said.

that's odd. it was almost one in the morning, and the only people that izuku thought could be awake fell asleep ages ago. he asked todoroki who it was but he only shrugged, showing he only heard the person but never checked who it was.

he never thought he'd be met with the sight of bakugou resting his chin on y/n's shoulder as she made them snacks.

“at 12:47 in the morning? that's way past bakugou's bedtime…” todoroki muttered under his breath.

bakugou's tone was softer, softer than anyone had ever heard besides y/n herself. “you better not burn it.” he huffed.

y/n giggled, slightly turning her head to face his side profile. “i'm not going to burn our snacks,” she assured. “i'm an expert.”

“expert my ass.”

“hey!”

izuku and todoroki looked like a deer in headlights looking at the scene before them. they wanted to walk away, believe them, they really did. but the sight of bakugou being so domestic was such a rare and amusing sight to see.

“do we… leave?” izuku suggested.

“i don't know…” todoroki answered. “this is really weird.”

bakugou’s head shot up from her shoulder and turned to look at the two voices faster than the speed of light. his ruby eyes were narrowed as he glared them down as his lips curled. “the hell are you guys doing?”

izuku's hands flapped around in a panic. “w-we were just about to leave! i swear-”

“you're very affectionate, bakugou” todoroki said, as blunt as ever.

“shut up!” he yelled, his face turning as a red as a tomato and his hair puffed up. y/n giggled once again at the dramatic scene that laid in front of her. “do you guys want snacks too?” she offered.

“why are you giving our food to extras?” “suki!”

brutal wasn't even the word to describe today's training session. everyone was curled up on the ground, hands over their stomach as it even hurt to breathe. the sounds that filled the room were heavy breathing and complaints. and y/n— was nowhere to be found.

mina, jirou, and ochaco all wandered the hallways, a worried look etched on their face as they searched for their friend. “i'm really worried about her y'know.” mina was the first one to break the silence.

both girls nodded in agreement.

“so am i,” ochaco said. “she just disappeared right after training ended.”

the trio kept wandering the halls, looking in every corner and every turn where y/n could be hiding.

suddenly, through the glass window, they see their little y/c haired friend sitting on the bench, with her fingers intertwined on her lap and her head hung low.

“there she is!” jirou yelled, quickly running to the nearest door to go outside and get y/n while the other two girls trailed closely behind her.

but something made them stop dead in their tracks. the closer they got to the window, the more they were able to see someone elses silhouette sat next to her.

“is that bakugou?”

bakugou's arm was wrapped securely around y/n's shoulders, intently listening to her rambling about whatever she needed to get off her chest.

“i did really bad today.” she mumbled, her voice filled with sadness and frustration.

“and that’s okay.” bakugou comforted her. “one bad doesn't mean you suck. everyone has bad days.” he reassured her, rubbing light circles on her shoulders.

y/n shrugged, playing and picking at her fingers as they rested on her lap. “i just think i’m weak, y’know?” she mumbled once again.

“you're not- hey. look at me.” bakugou squished her cheeks and turned her head to face his. “stop. you think i'd be talking to you like this if you're so weak? hm?”

“no?” she muffled due to how much bakugou was squishing her face.

“exactly. you're strong, so stop putting yourself down because of one off day and keep training.”

“you're hurting my cheeks.”

bakugou let go of her face, lightly patting her cheeks as an apology. “my point is, one bad day doesn't mean you're weak. think about every other time you've kicked ass.”

y/n laughed softly, her face changing from what looked like a kicked puppy to her usual grin. “thank you suki.” she said.

“this is the cutest thing I've ever seen.” mina whispered while clenching her shirt where her heart is tightly.

“who knew the pomeranian could be such a romantic?” jirou teased as ochaco and mina giggled along side of her.

bakugou lightly ruffled the top of y/n's hair, lightly blushing from the way she looked at him with such a lovestruck glance. “you're strong. don't start with that ‘i'm weak’ shit cause i won't hear it.”

“you're so sweet when you want to be.”

“now you're pushing it.”

“why are you only nice to me?” the question caught katsuki off guard.

the couple had been in y/n's dorm room simply sitting in silence, with their legs entangled together and the light noise of the TV playing in the background.

he turned his head slightly to face her, their eyes meeting instantly as she was already looking at him so softly. “why wouldn't i be?” katsuki questioned as his fingers lightly played with her hair.

y/n shrugged, not having a response to his question. it just seemed out-of-character for him. he was the type of person to not let anyone change him, good or bad.

but the crude boy would come to be a puddle of sap when it came to her. even if it wasn't obvious verbally, the ways his eyes softened when they laid upon her was enough said.

“i asked you a question first.” she retorted.

katsuki exhaled sharply, his gaze turning from her to the ceiling as his heart rate sped up a bit. “you're just.. different.”

y/n's eyebrows raised slightly as a smirk stitched itself onto her face. she scooted closer to katsuki's side, leaning her head on his bicep as she stared lovingly at his side profile. “i'm.. different? there's more to that, isn't there?”

“of course there is. you just don't get to know that stuff right now.”

y/n knew that katsuki wasn't one to talk about his feelings. she wasn't looking to change that. but the simple thought of him just looking at her differently from the rest, like shes the only person in every room, made her heart flutter.

“don't think i'm getting soft though.” katsuki grumbled, an arm slipping around her waist as he pulled her impossibly closer.

“you're just… the only exception.”

©LOOKINGFORURAVITY 2024 | please do not copy, translate, or repost my work onto other

TAGLIST: @kaerotica @sweetlike-sugarplum @misfortvne @iridescencefae @awesomesauce-oo @kalulakunundrum

#rea writes !#mha x reader #my hero academia #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou smut #bakugou x you #bnha #mha bakugou #mha

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allfearstofallto · 3 days ago

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"Aren't you Going to Finish That Thought?"

Wanderer x Fem! Reader

Pure fluff, hurt and comfort

AN: Super super self indulgent fic. Just something I needed as a D1 yapper

“And when you dig the hole, it has to be very shallow, because the roots continue to grow down faster than-” you stop yourself, a hint of embarrassment on your face. You're talking too much. Again. Blabbing on and on about something or other that no one cares about, filling the silence with your annoying voice.

You always talked to Wanderer. You'd seek him out wherever he went just to sit and chat with him. Although, chatting meant he'd actually respond, he never said much back. Instead he'd have his nose in his book or his eyes focused on what was happening out the window, typically it was the sunset. You felt your heart sink at the realization. He was ignoring you. Telling you that you were bothering him with actions rather than words.

“You talk so much,”

“Don't you ever shut up?”

“Not everything needs to be said,”

You mentally cringed at the words that suddenly filled your brain. All things that'd been said to you, all things that people you considered friends or loved ones thought about you. They could say it as a quip or with a playful smile on their faces, but you know that every joke has a bit of truth behind it. They meant it, even subconsciously. And maybe he felt the same way.

You silenced yourself. That familiar lump was forming in your throat, the one that meant you'd possibly cry if prodded the wrong way.

“Aren't you going to finish that thought?” Wanderer had finally looked up from his book. Pretty blue eyes now focused on you with a questioning gaze. His words startled you, seeing as he only spoke so often. You assumed he was being sarcastic again, but he wasn't wearing that smirk that he always did when saying something snarky. He truly meant it.

You shrugged your shoulders, trying to give him a weak smile that wasn't very convincing at downplaying your sudden lack of confidence, “I just- thought I was talking too much,” words spoken with a bit of sorrow behind them. Stammered out forcefully while you still resisted the urge to cry.

“Who said that?” His question had a bit of a bite behind it. A touch of anger in it. For a moment, you feared that he was angry at you, but his eyes had a certain softness to them when he looked upon your face.

“I don't know. Everyone?”

He clicked his tongue, “Am I everyone?”

“I don't-”

Wanderer cut you off before you could finish a self deprecating thought, “I was listening. I'm always listening. Don't you think I would've told you if you were bothering me?”

“I thought you were just being nice?”

“When have I ever been nice?” he asked, but there was a softness to his voice that you realized only you had ever got the pleasure of hearing. Whenever you eavesdropped in him speaking to anyone else, he sounded annoyed, furious even that they'd dare approach him. But never with you.

His question makes your heart beat quicken and your eyes foggy with tears. You shrugged, shook your head, but didn't say anything else. You couldn't. Unless he wanted to console you as you sobbed.

“Now finish what you were saying. About the flowers, right?” Wanderer tried to mask that softness in his voice by sounding butter again, but you could hear through it.

With a laugh, you started up again, watching as his eyes fell onto his book. If you looked closely, really really closely, you could see a little smile playing at his lips.

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #wanderer x reader #wanderer imagines #wanderer #genshin wanderer #wanderer fluff #genshin wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche fluff

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bunny-jpeg · 16 hours ago

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drive-away phone call

lewis hamilton

request: 107 + 7 with Lewis Hamilton as a rival. Reader took his phone and ran/drove off. Boomshakala yes gawd 107. “your ass is going to be seven different shades of red after that little stunt.” + 7. “you want me to give you your book/phone/item back? make me.”

tags: smut/pwp, rivals au, driver!reader, brattiness, spanking, teasing, dirty talk, cough sex & doggy style, hate sex, unprotected sex, pull out method

eros (the valentine's day collection)

ferrari were idiots. they wanted a king and a queen for their team. champions to secure them wins. hefty contracts were signed by you and lewis hamilton.

plucked from mclaren and mercedes, shedding the orange and the black then fitted in the fiery reds. it was a bright idea to the team. celebration was in order when the two of you happily signed the contracts. the issue was you and lewis had been bitter rivals for close to seven years.

the famous rumor was that mercedes retracted their contract they had for you because you and lewis verbally chewed each other out behind their headquarters when you were both there at the same time. you and lewis butted heads.

and very few things smoothed over with time in the world of f1.

lewis had been looking for his phone all morning, after first day of the pre-season testing he had been looking for it. he even went to mercedes side of the track to see if it grew legs and walked over there.

but of course, you had seen it.

"looking for this hamilton?" your voice was like a siren's song and when he looked over he saw you standing there in your team kit with one hand on your hip and the other dangling his phone like a toy, "you have to be careful with this, if someone managed to figure out the password. you'd be in a world of trouble."

he sharply exhaled and said, "and who would be able to guess the password." his attempt hold some confidence.

you made a smug face and said, "zero-six, forty-four...surprised you put nico's number first." and grew into a bright grin when the realization dawned on lewis, "don't worry, teammates are meant to keep secrets. but, if you want me to give you your phone back? make me." and then like a rabbit you sped off before lewis could process what you said.

and soon he was chasing after you.

laughter through the back hallways, it was teasing and embarrassing. but lewis had to admit, it turned him on. this brat of a driver who had been under his skin for nearly ten years! you both pushed and pulled each other.

when lewis finally caught you, he slammed you up against the door. the phone tumbled from your hand and onto the carpeted floor. he leaned in close, his dark eyes on yours. there was a fire in your gaze as you held onto his wrist while his fingers held your throat.

"you're a pain in my fucking side." he said.

"oh yeah, and you're saint lewis, patron saint of victory. you stole my twenty-nineteen victory." you said lowly.

"you're still holding onto that." he leaned in, "you said to not go easy on you. you didn't want weakness." he lips were dangerously close to yours, "you can't say one thing and want another. you wanted aggressive, i gave you aggressive."

you swallowed, he felt the muscles of your neck under his palm. you tried to hold your own as you said, "i was happy when verstappen whipped your ass the year after."

lewis chuckled and said, "maybe. but, your ass is going to be seven different shades of red after that little stunt.” and pulled you in for a tight kiss. seven years of back and forth crashed into each other. and the two of you were making out in a back hallway.

the kisses grew hotter and eventually you both tumbled into the room behind you. little time for much of anything, other than the door could lock. sneakers kicked off, lewis' expensive shirt was toss over the to the far corner of the room. the lights onto turned on because it was motion activated.

your hands roamed his chest, "hate to admit it, you look good with tattoos." you looked into his dark eyes, "congrats, i gave you a compliment."

he chuckled and his hand went to your ass for a moment. he gave it a squeeze, "i guess their fitting, just like my handprints on your ass." then went in for another heated kiss.

clothes shed and once your ass was bare, lewis slapped the skin. he pushed you over the couch, your breasts hit the back of it as you tumbled over it.

"hey!" you chirped, then moaned when lewis laid another slap across the soft skin.

he watched it bounce and chuckled, "i said i was going to leave it red. shouldn't have taken my phone. should have stopped acting like a brat. this all could've been solved easily, if i knew that deep down you just wanted me." he got up on the couch behind you and laid more slaps.

"i don't want you."

"your soaked pussy tells me something else." he rubbed his hard cock up against your slit, "you hate that you'll never be as good as me." his voice hot in your ear, "and that's alright, you look better under me anyway." his words pulled something in you and you arched your back a little bit. your behind grew bruised and hot with his attention. and when he sank into your pussy, you bit back any noises.

but lewis knew, he had a feeling for years now that this was some game of chicken. see who could edge the other off the track followed by who could break under the sexual tension between you two. a hand on your hip as he got himself inside of you. he swore under his breath.

he should have done this years ago.

the two of you fucked, it wasn't passionate love making like in the movies. it was hot and both of you had to fight off the urge to be too loud. last thing you wanted was to start of the season in a flurry of speculation and rumors.

you told yourself this would be a one time deal, but you had little faith in that notion. you were going to be in each other's space more often, not separated by team divides. you were both ferrari now, and your passion would be as red hot as the colour of your uniform.

lewis laid more slaps across you ass, it made you tense up around his cock which only fueled him to do it more. it was erotic, hot in a way that made left a fire in his core. he moved against you. he could feel the heat under his touch. everything felt like an inferno. like a wildfire that had been gaining momentum over a long period of time. he'd call it a slow burn, but it was more like a bomb with a long fuse.

"fuck you, hamilton." you groaned as you held onto the back of the couch tightly. you bit your tongue to keep from being too loud. you feared that you'd draw blood.

"already am. already am." he said, his tone a little softer, "now that i've got you all figured out, there's no need for such harsh words. you want me. and you're in luck, because i want you." the couch inched a little across the carpeted floor from the sheer force that he was fucking you with.

if anyone tried to get the door unlocked, it would be game over. your panties were off in some corner and neither of you had any intentions of slowing down the feverish sex until you both felt satisfied.

"you feel good." he said, "look good too."

"no need to soften me up, hamilton. you're already inside of me." you whined as the movements quickened, the pleasure continued to mount between the both of you. it was heavy, it was erotic. it was nasty.

two bitter rivals. either you were wheel to wheel or at each other's throat. every victory over the other was a tally mark added to a long list of grievances. lewis kissed the back of your neck, his hands groped at your breasts.

"are you sorry yet?"

"sorry?"

"yeah, for all the trouble you caused me. seven years is a long time." his pace quickened and it made you see stars. you let out a small gasp from the momentum of his movements.

you looked over your shoulder at him and spat, "in your dreams, hamilton." before you cheek was shoved into the back of the couch.

lewis chuckled, "maybe it'll come true when i win my eighth championship." you cursed under your breath, but lewis couldn't make out what you said. regardless he continued to fuck you.

you knew you wouldn't last much longer, you were moaning a little louder. the pleasure was a heated mess in your core. your back arched and you let out a sweet moan. your tone was a little louder than you hoped.

"fuck." he groaned.

you whined, "that's it, that's fucking it." your cunt clenched around his cock as you climaxed. you felt the heat across your skin as the two of you continued to move together. you hated that the sex between you two are magnetic and it left your mind numb from the intensity.

"you feel good. i think we're going to have a pretty good season. we should've done this years ago." he kissed at the side of your neck, "should've stole my phone sooner."

you moaned and felt the flutter in your chest. lewis continued his thrusts, his pace was punishing before he pulled out and finished across your back. you whine from the feeling of hot cum across your back.

"not taking any risks." he said, "can't have you retiring on me yet." he chuckled. the heat in the air was heavy and the smell of sex was noticeable.

you collected your thoughts and said with exhaustion in your tone, "going to help me clean up, hamilton. or stare at it until it dries?"

lewis could only laugh.

the next afternoon, you sat on top of some tires because sitting in a chair wasn't helping at that moment. pain still radiated from your back.

you noticed your older teammate walk by. there was a slight prep in lando's step as he approached you. he was whistling casually, which meant horrible news.

you sighed, "what do you want?" when he got close enough. he leaned against the stack of tires you were seated on. he leaned in close and beamed at you.

"heard someone is finally getting along their teammate."

your eyes went wide. you fake coughed into your hand and tried to play it off, "what the fuck, no! hate lewis' guts, it probably was max and charles, or you and carlos for all i know." you tried to point it back to him.

"aw c'mon, don't play stupid. the whole track heard you two." <3

#bunny writes #reader insert #formula 1 #f1 smut #formula one smut #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction #f1 x reader #formula one #lewis hamilton x you #sir lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton #lh44 smut #lh44 #lh44 fic #lh44 x reader

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julia-jck · 3 days ago

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Random new boyo!

I have no idea what to do with him... Which I'm thinking about maybe adding to his story, kinda like Ink?

Imagine this: He wakes up in a white space with some half finished places from undertale, but nothing else. He himself is an unfinished design, only wearing a dress-shirt and leggings. It could be his finished design, but it doesn't feel finished to him. His creator had given up on his AU and story and abandoned it some time ago, but was done enought to be reality. He was stuck alone in his AU for some time, walking around and seeing all the unfinished stuff. But it didn't take too long for him to be found and brought to the Omega timeline. When he got to the Omega timeline, he realized quickly that everyone seemed to be something and/or have a theme, while he were just... some skeleton guy. He didn't know what to do and were to shy to really approach people, but knew he needed something to do for a living and to keep him sane. So he became a postman/mailman. And being more drawn to cute stuff, he decided to tailor his uniform to be more cute. The wings on his boots were a gift however, as his coworkers thought he were very fast and thought it would look cute. He didn't have a name for a very long time as he was never given one and never really knew his own identity. He wasn't even sure if he were a Sans or not. But after a while, he decided to name himself Del.

If you think he looks like a shipchild, you wouldn't be wrong. I looked at him many times and thought "he looks like he could be a chip child between these characters" for like.... 3 diferent pairings (all being with Dream), and I were close to just say "Fu*k it" and make him a ship child, but I didn't want that. Aka, people in the Omega timeline might mix him up with Dream a few times when he's not in uniform???

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hadesisqueer · 3 days ago

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What's your favorite fight in the show?

In RWBY? RWBY vs Ace Ops, no doubt. It's just amazing and it shows how smart team RWBY is and how that gets them the win rather than just going with strength/skill. Like the factors:

The taunting: Harriet and Elm are the clearly the most emotional members of the Ace Ops and very quick to anger, something that Ruby and Yang take into consideration and both of them provoke them with words, which makes the other two act without thinking. “We're the best Huntsmen in Atlas”, “You were, then you trained us” specifically was not only badass but also a genius response from Ruby's part. She then gets to run away and make sure Harriet for sure follows her, driving her away from their teams, which is the smartest move considering she's the only one who could handle Harriet's speed for a while. She then mostly proceeds to stay on the defense rather than straight up fighting her, and lets Harriet tire herself out.

Yang and Blake's team work: The Bees take on the Trees (lmao). At first it doesn't go well, trying to 1v1 and all, but they're both smart enough to see one clear thing: Vine and Elm, rather than working with each other, they keep disagreeing and arguing with each other. So, Blake and Yang decide to do the opposite: work together. 2v1. Take one out first and then the other one. And boy does it work, because the moment Vine is out the other Ace Ops are like "oh, shit" and they realize they're fighting Huntresses, and that they're not playing around. And that sets the tone for the rest of the fight. Then Elm falls hard too lmao.

Weiss VS Marrow: Marrow's semblance is very OP, but it works only on one direction at a time. Which means that the moment they left him against Weiss, the poor guy —who didn't even want to fight and was holding back— was already kind of fucked, because she happened to be the one RWBY member that could fully counteract his semblance with her own. Weiss simply pulled a Freezerburn on her own, creating mist that gave her time to summon (showing how much she'd grown from her fight against Vernal). Then she kept her Arma Gigas and herself and opposite sides. Marrow uses Stay on her? Arma Gigas will attack him. Marrow uses Stay on Arma Gigas? Weiss is free, now she can attack him. She turned the 1v1 into a 2v1, and considering Marrow really didn't wanna fight her or hurt her, it was clear he was going to lose the moment they left him with her.

Weiss and Ruby's team work: Ruby showed up to assist Weiss against Marrow. Instead of choosing to work against them together, Marrow and Harriet argue and disagree with each other, and then Ruby runs and drives Harriet away again in anger. Then, after Weiss has dealt with Marrow, she's the one that shows up to help Ruby again, and kind of takes Harriet out-- well, really, Harriet took herself out, but you know what I mean here. Despite fighting Marrow and Harriet separately (99% on purpose, they were definitely keeping them apart intentionally), Ruby and Weiss were still working together. Harriet and Marrow weren't, because Hare was too blinded by her rage to even consider collaborating with Marrow. Again, the taunting worked.

In any case, genius fight. Team RWBY won not for skills or because they were stronger. They won by using their brains and working together and proved that what they lacked in experience compared to the Ace Ops, they made up for it by being a much better team. That's why it's my fave.

#rwby #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #weiss schnee #ruby rose #rwby vs ace ops #ace ops #vine zeki #marrow amin #harriet bree #elm ederne

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hellsingmongrel · 2 days ago

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I think it's also important to point out how many of us grew up so sheltered that we didn't even realize we were in some sort of closet, and we might have said those very things! Some people just need to be gently shown the way!

"The trannies should be able to piss in whatever toilet they want and change their bodies however they want. Why is it my business if some chick has a dick or a guy has a pie? I'm not a trannie or a fag so I don't care, just give 'em the medicine they need."

"This is an LGBT safe space. Of COURSE I fully support individuals who identify as transgender and their right to self-determination! I just think that transitioning is a very serious choice and should be heavily regulated. And there could be a lot of harm in exposing cis children to such topics, so we should be really careful about when it is appropriate to mention trans issues or have too much trans visibility."

One of the above statements is Problematic and the other is slightly annoying. If we disagree on which is which then working together for a better future is going to get really fucking difficult.

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4rticbolt · 2 days ago

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Card DECLINED |Master-List|

Monster Trio+Law x !Fem!Reader, crack, fluff, modern-au, poor core (real), cashier is going THROUGH IT, !Early-relationship! , Ugh I thought this was so adorable, might be my favorite so far

They take you on a date and there card declines in-front of you...

Lemme know if I should do a fic for one of em' :)! (And spelling mistakes)

•-•-•-•-••-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-••-•-•-•-•

Luffy

100% bought it all on fast food, he holds a Guinness World Record for the most amount of food eaten, period.

Would be confused at first, and wouldn't get it till you finally told him somethings wrong with his card. He about shoved it in there 100x times...

"HAH!? Why's it not working!''

"Wait huh seriously? Aww man..."

He'd definitely apologize and laugh it off. But he'd silent judge his card for failing him now as he attempted to finally buy you something. He’d definitely go and text Nami to Venmo him some quick money for you--in which she'd automatically decline.

(Much like his card)

Your bf would grumble, but he'd be quick to mask it with his short attention span.

He ended up dragging you into another random store after finding a whopping 5 bucks on the ground, sopping wet and crumpled from the rain... But somehow the cashier accepted it out of pity and he'd managed to buy you a little doodad in exchange--coming up behind you with a surprise in hand.

He giddily spun you around gleaming with excitement as he pecked you on the cheek.

"Shisihi, look what I got youuu! It's awesome"

(It was a crooked hot-wheels, but you ended up putting it on your shelf to cherish it)

Zoro

Sake was his downfall. Alcohol as we all know is incredibly expensive so it wasn't even a surprise, you expected it to eventually happen with how much he loved his booze...

Moreover you'd think it was a turn off with all his bottles but he'd always been a responsible drinker, and he barely got drunk...maybe a few times if he'd finally eased up in your arms.

Though when he swiped his card, it hadn't gone through. He'd pause and play it off a first, trying again, but when the cashier finally told him their were insufficient funds he'd go beet red.

"I don't know what you're talking about, it's gotta be your stupid machine..."

Not slick, at. all.

He'd act dense abt it, though deep down he knew he royally fucked up, so much for a romantic date...

When you finally offered to pay, he stubbornly grumbled as you had placed some spare cash on the counter.

"Oi, You didn't have to do that..."

He wouldn't immediately say thank you, but he'd been quietly grateful you were smart to bring 'just in case' cash... which he'd also said wasn't necceasry... but look what happened.

You tended to be right in these scenarios.

A few days later he had begrudgingly said thank you and handed you some floppy but colorful flowers as he had randomly stopped by your house heading to work.

Coincidently getting lost, but he'd never admit it.

The offer was rather chaotic as you'd just gotten out of the shower, but it only made him more flustered.

"Didn't uh, mean to interrupt, just wanted to drop these off. And thank you for the other day."

Sanji

I physically cannot see this man's card declining, so he had probably used the wrong card...

But even if he did I could see him full on freaking out, like telling the cashier to run it again and crossing his arms as his fingers anxiously tapped on his arm. He almost went to call his bank until he realized it wasn't his main card and his embarrassed meter went through the roof.

He went pink, but as you offered to pay he immediately shut it down. Sanji would never let you pay for anything, he wanted to take care of you and spoil you like no other--so forget asking. Even if you weren't that far along in dating.

He'd rather search the floor for pennies than let you pay.

Though if you did somehow manage to pay, he'd pay you back beyonddd extra. Like I'm talking about full on flowers and little chocolates or anything romantic.

Even if you thought it was rude to accept, he'd quickly assure you it was okay and that 'he wanted to' so it didn't matter if it was 'payback' or not. He'd came over to hang out, and he'd gently grab your hand kissing it as he spoke with gentle words.

"My love, just take it please, it'd mean the world to me."

Law

Law's card wouldn't normally decline, but one of his transactions for his action figure(s) had finally come through and he didn't realized it till he'd taken you out for lunch.

The waiter had handed him back his card and he deadpanned for a moment--before telling them to try it again--but hopelessly it didn't make a difference. And to make things better the waiter outright said he was broke and needed a different form of payment.

Law would loathe the moment, feeling second-hand embarrassment for miles as he brooded wishing it happened anywhere else no mattering the time.

He'd be embarrassed, growing quiet with a darkened expression as he averted his gaze. Which it only intensified when you happily handed the waiter your card, assuring him it wasn't the end of the world... and that you were just happy to be here with him.

He had gone increasingly quiet, and you couldn't help but laugh as he covered his face with the tilt of his infamous hat.

"L-Let's just go."

This man would NEVER let it happen again, and he'd carefully watch his guilty spending habits with a sour expression. The thought of that moment practically kept him up at night.

Law didn't pay you back, but he'd taken a little time off work to spend more quality time with you as that seemed to make you happy. And your doctor-in-training wanted nothing more than to see your smile.

186 notes · View notes

poetic-vulgarity · 2 days ago

Text

ᎮᎥᏖᎩ ᎮᏗᏒᏖᎩ II- Kim Minjeong x Reader

Word Count: ~7K

Prompt: When Minjeong transferred to an elite school, she didn't expect to catch the attention of Y/N, the golden girl. Then again, she also didn't expect Y/N to be the root of all her misery.

Tags: slow burn; angst; drama; high school! AU; richgirl!Y/N; happy ending (?) Part I, Part 2

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────

Minjeong was ignoring Y/N.

That much was clear.

It started happening after the night Y/N confessed to her.

There were texts left on read. Calls unanswered. When Y/N called for Minjeong in the school hallways, the short-haired girl just walked faster and disappeared. When Y/N tried talking to Minjeong before or after classes, the other girl put her headphones on and focused on her exercises.

Y/N thought she hadn't ruined anything with her confession.

She thought she and Minjeong could work things out with patience.

"Maybe I thought wrong."

"Are you kidding me?" Aeri frowned, her arm wrapped around Y/N's shoulder as the two walked along the hallways. "From what you've told me, you've been nothing but lovely to her."

"Well, clearly, something went wrong." Y/N shook her head. "She seemed fine when we were at my house. We even went to a convenience store, and I walked her home. I-why would she just start ignoring me?"

Aeri stayed silent, not really knowing how to answer. Her best friend had been the happiest she'd seen her in a while. It didn't make sense that Minjeong would just ignore Y/N for no reason after that.

The only possibility Aeri could think of was that Minjeong had realized dating Y/N wasn't going to work and had decided to break it off.

The problem was that ignoring Y/N instead of talking about it was a pretty poor way to-

Aeri tilted her head, an idea suddenly crossing her mind. "Didn't you say she's friends with Jimin?"

"Yeah, so-" Y/N turned to Aeri, her eyes widening ever so slightly. "You think she told her about my father?"

"I mean," Aeri hesitated, "Jimin did tell Ning that she regretted breaking up with you... and she always goes after what she wants."

Y/N took her time to think her options through.

It was ridiculous.

Jimin was the one who broke up with her. She was the one who let their parents' business get in the way of their relationship. Two years down the drain because Y/N's father was elected as mayor and not Jimin's.

And now she was ruining her relationship with Minjeong?

Y/N shook her head, looking down at her hands, picking at a few loose skins. "Jimin wouldn't do that."

"Wouldn't she?" Aeri suddenly halted in her tracks, and Y/N turned to her in confusion.

She followed her gaze and felt her jaw clench in anger.

Walking right towards them were Jimin and her group-Yunjin, Ning, and Minjeong. Y/N felt a little sick to her stomach.

The group moved to walk right past her, but Y/N reached for Minjeong, her hand suddenly trembling.

"Hey." She tried to meet Minjeong's eyes, but the other girl refused.

Minjeong could feel Y/N's grasp on her arm but refused to meet her gaze. Her heart was beating out of control in her chest, a mix of emotions washing over her.

She didn't want to see Y/N.

She didn't want to talk to Y/N or get close to Y/N or get to know Y/N.

In fact, all she wanted was to forget her.

Because if she got close to Y/N, she'd only come to care for her more.

She'd only come to care about a girl who had done nothing but lie to her. A girl whose father had completely ruined her life.

"Can we talk... alone?" Y/N's voice was as calm as ever, but one look at her face told everyone that she wasn't very happy with the situation she found herself in.

"Actually, I need to get to class, sorry," Minjeong mumbled.

Minjeong felt bad about the way Y/N's face fell at her response, but she had a hard time caring about it at the moment.

All she wanted to do was get out of the situation and clear her mind.

Y/N's hand tightened around her arm. "Minjeong, please. I just need a minute."

"Didn't you hear her?" Jimin spoke up, wrapping an arm around Minjeong's shoulder. "She doesn't wanna talk to you."

Y/N clenched her jaw, her eyes darkening as she turned to finally look at Jimin. "What did you tell her?"

"Only the truth," Jimin replied calmly, her eyes never leaving Y/N.

Minjeong just stood there, frozen, as the two stared at each other. She was aware of her friends worriedly glancing at her, unsure of what to do with their situation.

"You had the chance to tell her everything on your own. You didn't, so I did."

"I was going to." Y/N's eyes fell on Minjeong. "Minjeong, I swear-"

Minjeong shook her head. "You had plenty of chances to tell me. You chose not to."

She stared at Y/N for just a little while longer as hurt filled up in her chest. "It's too late now," she finally said simply.

When the bell rang later that day, she pushed the door open and walked into class, ignoring the looks Y/N was giving her.

Their teacher was always late, so students were walking around the room, chatting with each other.

Minjeong settled down in her spot and pulled out her notebook. Her eyes instinctively rolled back when she caught a familiar figure approaching her from the corner of her eye.

"Will you, please, just hear me out?"

Minjeong tensed as Y/N took the seat next to her.

"Minjeong-" Y/N began.

"Don't." Minjeong found her voice again, her eyes glued to her notebook.

The last thing she wanted was to hear Y/N making up excuses, so she steeled herself and refused to look up.

"Look, my father did build your old school, and I knew who you were from the minute you set foot inside this school." Y/N decided she'd be honest and make herself heard. "I was friendly with you because I wanted to make myself feel better for my father's actions. I'm sorry. I promise you that everything I told you when I confessed to you was true. I really do-"

The room seemed to freeze as Y/N's head snapped to the side on impact.

Minjeong's hand stung as it left Y/N's cheek, the sound of the slap resounding through the room, and everything came to a standstill.

Minjeong could feel all the eyes on them, but all she could focus on was the wide-eyed, hurt look on Y/N's face.

Minjeong forced the words out of her throat, her breaths coming up shallow against the weight of the emotions in her chest. "You need to shut up and leave me the fuck alone."

She held Y/N's eyes for a second, taking in her wide-eyed expression. There was hurt in the other girl's eyes, the look nearly making Minjeong feel bad.

The moment didn't last. Once the door opened behind them and they heard the teacher's footsteps approach, Minjeong turned to the front of the room again.

Y/N looked down in embarrassment and shame. She stood up from her seat and wiped away the stream of blood in the corner of her mouth.

The slap had made her accidentally bite herself.

She moved back to her seat, ignoring everyone's eyes on her.

Minjeong tried her best to focus on the teacher and write down as many notes as she could. She had to keep her mind on something, and if writing down notes would help, she'd do it.

At one point during the lesson, she felt a pair of eyes on the back of her head.

It was a familiar feeling, similar to the one she had felt when she walked down school hallway earlier that morning.

Minjeong grit her teeth against the memory, refusing to take another look over her shoulder.

Y/N took the clue immediately.

It took her a slap to understand, but she did. She distanced herself from Minjeong. She didn't look her in the eyes anymore; she didn't try to talk to her or reach out for her.

Their friendship/relationship came to a complete halt...

For a full two days.

"Good afternoon!"

Minjeong's breath hitched at the familiar voice. It was Saturday. Why was she hearing this voice on a Saturday?

The short-haired girl looked up from her phone, and her eyes found Y/N standing there in her family's restaurant.

Minjeong almost dropped her phone in surprise.

She could feel goosebumps trailing down her arms as she stared at Y/N. The girl stood there waiting, an expectant look on her face, as if she expected her to say something.

Minjeong opened her mouth to speak-she wasn't even sure what-but her mother's voice echoed from the kitchen.

"Minjeong, you have a customer."

The girl swallowed nervously. Her phone went back into the pocket of her coat. She straightened her back and moved from her spot, making her way to where Y/N stood by the counter with her hands stuffed into her pockets.

The moment she came to a stop, a heavy silence fell over them.

Minjeong was sure she saw some bruising on Y/N's cheek and on the corner of the girl's lips.

Still, Y/N smiled gently at her and raised an expectant eyebrow, waiting for her to talk.

The short-haired girl's eyes were drawn to the bruising under Y/N's eye and on her lips. Her fingers twitched before she forced them into stillness.

"What are you doing here?" Her words came out harsher than she had intended.

If Y/N was taken aback by her harshness, she didn't show it. "I'm hungry."

Minjeong couldn't help but scoff. "And you decided to come here?"

Y/N stopped, looking around the place.

It was a restaurant, wasn't it?

"Is that okay?"

Minjeong's eyes narrowed, unsure whether Y/N was trying to mess with her head.

"There are other restaurants, you kn-"

A slap was delivered to the back of Minjeong's head. Her mouth fell open, and she turned to find her mother glaring at her. "Minjeong, why are you denying service to such a-"

The older woman turned to look at Y/N, and the latter put her most charming smile on display.

"-pretty customer?"

Minjeong's frown deepened as she watched her mother fall for Y/N's charm.

It was ridiculous.

Her eyes turned back to Y/N, who was looking at her with a hopeful gaze.

Minjeong clenched her jaw against the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her again. "What do you want to eat?"

Another slap. "Let her sit and get accommodated first," her mother hissed, turning to Y/N with a wide smile. "Sit wherever you want, sweetie. Minjeong will be with you shortly."

Y/N bowed her head thankfully, smile still there. "Thank you, Ma'am. It's a pleasure to finally meet Minjeong's mom."

The woman was surprised. "Oh, you two know each other?"

Minjeong opened her mouth to disagree, but Y/N beat her to it. "I'm courting your daughter. I was actually hoping to get your blessing."

She's what-?

Minjeong's face flushed with embarrassment, and all she could do was stare, mouth half-open.

Her mother didn't notice. Her eyes were wide, cheeks tinged pink as she looked at the beautiful girl in front of her.

"Oh, really?" Her mother glanced between them, her expression growing giddy. "Yes, of course, sweetie. Minjeong is a lovely girl-she can just be a little grouchy sometimes."

Minjeong's hands clenched into fists at the look on her mother's face.

Of course, she was completely smitten.

Her mother had always harbored an adoration for the wealthy and powerful, especially when it came to Minjeong's future partner. It was something Minjeong had grown used to, but it never failed to leave a bitter taste in her mouth.

Her mother ushered Y/N toward a booth and then turned back to her. "I knew sending you to that school was a good idea! Why didn't you tell me you were seeing someone?!"

Minjeong resisted the urge to roll her eyes as her mother gripped her arms, giddy beyond reason.

"I'm not seeing anyone. Y/N is an awf-"

Her mother cut her off, nudging her toward the booth. "I like her! Don't leave her waiting, come on!"

Minjeong gritted her teeth but gave in.

Her mom beamed as she walked away, completely oblivious to the storm of emotions brewing in her daughter's chest.

Minjeong reached Y/N's table and forced herself to take a deep breath.

Y/N's eyes followed her every step, watching her closely, completely entranced. She couldn't stop the small smile tugging at her lips.

"What do you want to eat?" Minjeong asked again, gritting her teeth against the urge to throw this girl out of her family's restaurant.

Y/N snapped out of her reverie, eyes widening as she cleared her throat.

This was a restaurant of what, exactly?

"I-uhh-" She looked around, trying to see what the other customers were eating, but she couldn't make anything out. "What-what do you have?"

Minjeong's eye twitched. The menu was right in front of her. Y/N was just too busy staring to notice.

Forcing herself to stay calm, Minjeong pointed at the stupid thing, her jaw clenching as the taller girl leaned in to look.

She could see her mom eyeing them from across the room, not being discreet in the slightest.

Minjeong wanted to be six feet under.

Y/N skimmed through the menu, eyes moving quickly over the selection.

"I think I'll have the dwaeji gukbap."

Minjeong nodded, ready to grab the menu and leave, but Y/N wasn't done.

"Also, the milmyeon, godeungeo-gui, agujjim, and eomuk, please. Oh! And can I get the dongnae pajeon and the guljeon?"

Minjeong rolled her eyes and yanked the menu away before Y/N could order anything else.

"What are you doing?"

Y/N looked confused. "I was... ordering."

Minjeong wanted to slap her. Again.

"What, you couldn't personally shower me in your money anymore, so you came to do that at my family's restaurant? Can't you be a decent person for once in your life and just leave me the fuck alone?"

Y/N just smiled. "Dinner's on me tonight. My parents are in town, and they brought a few friends over."

Minjeong clenched her jaw.

She hated how unbothered Y/N looked, how effortlessly she wormed her way into her life again.

If she had any shame, she'd just go home.

But no. She was there, flashing her money and privilege like always, getting exactly what she wanted.

Minjeong wanted to deny her service-kick her out, ban her from ever stepping foot inside again.

But the amount of food Y/N had just ordered... meant rent was covered for the month.

Minjeong hated her. More and more.

She was about to make that very clear when Y/N suddenly stood up and bowed, looking past her shoulder.

Minjeong turned to see her father approaching with a warm smile.

"Oh, fuck me."

Her father wiped his hands on the black apron tied around his waist as he reached their table. Slowly, almost carefully, he extended his hand for Y/N to shake.

"My wife told me to come meet my daughter's girlfriend."

Minjeong wanted to die.

"Hopefully in the future, sir." Y/N chuckled softly-a sound that tickled Minjeong's brain just right. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

She reached out, clasping his hand with practiced ease, bowing just enough to be respectful.

She just had to be perfect at everything, didn't she?

Minjeong's father was immediately taken in by her manners, her gentle touch.

Minjeong wanted to scream.

She wanted to tell him about the lies.

She wanted to tell him about the secrets hiding behind that polite, practiced smile.

But she couldn't.

The amount of money Y/N was about to spend-the dinner her parents and their friends were about to have-would keep her family afloat for another month.

And Minjeong couldn't take that away from her parents.

It all felt like a cruel game.

Her chest tightened as she watched her father and Y/N exchange a few words. His eyes gleamed with admiration as he looked at Y/N, and Minjeong felt the sudden urge to throw up.

She kept her gaze fixed on the table, doing her best to block out the conversation.

Once her father left-after shooting her an approving nod-Y/N sat back down, looking entirely too satisfied with herself.

"You're a manipulative liar," Minjeong tried again, her voice firmer this time.

Y/N didn't budge. "A manipulative liar who's in love."

Minjeong's jaw clenched at the words.

In love?

The audacity of this girl to even say that.

Her fingers curled into fists.

How could one person be so infuriating?

She turned sharply, stalking back to the counter to put the order into the register-only to catch her mother watching their every move, a pleased smile on her face.

That was it.

As soon as her shift was over, Minjeong was going to off herself.

Meanwhile, Y/N simply watched her go, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. Her heart pounded in her chest.

Why was it so easy to get under Minjeong's skin?

She dragged out her time at the restaurant as much as she could.

As long as she was there, she was fine.

She got to see Minjeong. She got to talk to Minjeong's lovely parents. She got to not be at home with her parents.

It was perfect.

Unfortunately, Mr. Kim had other plans. He worked as quickly as possible, insisting that Y/N and her parents shouldn't have to wait long for their food.

So, far too soon, Y/N found herself stepping back inside her house, dinner in hand.

"What took you so long?" her father asked from the living room, seated among his colleagues.

"I was quick." She replied shortly, carrying the bags into the kitchen.

Grabbing a plate for herself, she made her way upstairs, wanting nothing to do with the circus unfolding downstairs.

The following days were the same.

Y/N would come, order a ridiculous amount of food, and leave-only to come back again the next day.

Minjeong's parents were absolutely thrilled by her presence.

And Minjeong?

Minjeong hated it.

The anger, the frustration, the sheer distaste burned through her chest every time Y/N walked through that door.

But after two weeks of the same thing, the fight had drained out of her.

She didn't yell. She didn't snap. She didn't even glare anymore.

She merely stood behind the counter, arms crossed, waiting while Y/N placed her order.

"Food will take around thirty minutes to prepare. You can sit while you wait." Minjeong's voice came out flat, her expression unreadable as she turned away.

She walked to the kitchen, relaying the order to her father.

"She here yet?" he asked with a grin.

Minjeong let out a slow, controlled breath, doing everything she could to hold onto what little patience she had left.

"She's here," she muttered through gritted teeth.

Her father's smile widened. "Good! Take care of her for me."

Minjeong's mother perked up from where she was wiping down the counter, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

"Let me go say hi to her."

Ten minutes later, when Minjeong stepped out of the kitchen, she nearly dropped the tray she was holding.

There, sitting comfortably at one of the booths, was her mother. And across from her, whipping the tables, was Y/N.

Minjeong froze.

Y/N-cleaning?

Her mother sat there like she hadn't just handed off one of her responsibilities to a paying customer, chatting away with a warm smile on her face.

Minjeong's fingers twitched against the tray.

What the hell was going on?

She stormed over, trying not to trip over her own frustration. "What are you doing?"

Y/N looked up, unbothered, a rag in one hand and a spray bottle in the other. "Helping."

Minjeong turned to her mother, expecting an explanation, but the older woman only beamed. "Such a sweet girl," her mom sighed dreamily. "She insisted, Minjeong! Said she wanted to help out since she's always here."

Minjeong clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay calm.

This was ridiculous.

She hated it.

She hated how easily Y/N charmed her parents.

She hated that Y/N was still here-in her space, in her life.

She hated that a small, stupid, buried part of her chest felt warm at the sight of Y/N helping out.

She exhaled sharply, shoving the thought away.

"Go sit down," she snapped, yanking the spray bottle from Y/N's hand.

Y/N grinned. "You're worried about me?"

"I'm worried about my restaurant looking like a joke," Minjeong shot back.

Her mother gasped. "Minjeong! Don't be rude!"

But Y/N just laughed, wiping her hands on her pants. "I'm just waiting for my food," she said casually. "Might as well make myself useful."

Minjeong turned away before her mother could see the glare she was sending Y/N's way.

She had to endure this.

At least until Y/N got bored and finally, finally left her alone.

Easier said than done.

Y/N was persistent.

At school, it had been fine. They didn't have every class together, and Minjeong could simply ignore her when she approached. But now Y/N was at her restaurant, invading her space, and it was getting to be too much.

The frustration built and built, day after day, until it finally snapped. It happened in gym class.

The basketball ball hit Y/N's cheek with a loud smack, and she went down.

Hard.

The gym fell silent.

Minjeong's eyes widened in shock, regret washing over her.

It wasn't a light hit. It was a ball thrown with strength, purpose, and precision.

Y/N didn't even remember hitting the ground-just opening her eyes to see the teacher and several classmates hovering over her.

Fuck.

Minjeong looked around as the commotion grew. The coach knelt beside Y/N, checking on her, while the rest of the class murmured among themselves.

Her gaze met Aeri's and Chaewon's, who just so happened to be in that class as well. Their jaws were slack as they looked between her and their best friend.

Chaewon was never known for having the best temper. So it wasn't a surprise when she stormed over, shoving Minjeong back with enough force to make her stumble.

"What the fuck is your problem?!"

Chaewon's voice echoed through the gym, filled with unrestrained fury.

"Stop it, Chae." Aeri tried to intervene, wrapping an arm around Chaewon's waist to keep her from doing something she'd regret. She was angry too-they both were-but getting Chaewon expelled wouldn't help anyone.

Minjeong's head snapped toward them, her mouth opening to respond, but no sound came out.

Her eyes darted back to the group surrounding Y/N. Her stomach churned at the way everyone was looking at her-at the frowns on familiar faces, at the unspoken accusations in their stares.

"Girls, that's enough."

The teacher's voice cut through the tension as he knelt beside Y/N, helping her sit up.

"Chaewon, Aeri, take Y/N to the infirmary. Minjeong, stay behind after class. Everyone else, disperse! Class isn't over for another fifteen minutes!"

Minjeong's heart sank.

She had never gotten detention before.

And now, because she let her emotions take control, she had made a fool of herself in front of everyone.

She stood frozen, watching as Chaewon and Aeri carefully helped Y/N off the ground. Even from a distance, she swore she could see the glares they both sent her.

Detention it was.

Minjeong tried to see the bright side of things.

At least now, Y/N hated her. She would finally leave her alone. She would stop showing up at the resta-

Minjeong blinked.

There she stood, in front of the counter, completely soaked.

There was a storm outside. The restaurant was practically empty.

What the hell was Y/N doing there?

"Hi." The taller girl let out, the corner of her bruised lips tilting into a soft smile.

A loud crash of thunder boomed in the background, and heavy rain pelted against the windows.

But Minjeong wasn't paying attention to the storm. Her focus was solely on Y/N. On the dark purple bruise marring her left cheek-a clear, undeniable reminder of what had happened just a day ago.

And yet, she had the audacity to smile at her.

Minjeong didn't know how to respond. Thankfully, she didn't have to. A loud gasp surged from behind her, and she stiffened as her mother rushed forward.

"What happened to you?" Minjeong tensed as her mother gently cupped Y/N's face in her hands, tilting it up to assess the damage. She expected Y/N to back away, to flinch under her mother's touch. But she didn't. She just stood there, smiling, like a complete fool.

"It's been raining so much these days," Y/N said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "I slipped and fell."

Minjeong's breath caught in her throat.

Did she just lie?

Y/N could have easily exposed her.

She could have ruined her right then and there, could have held it over her head like a trophy.

Minjeong had expected her to lash out, to finally snap and make her life miserable.

But she didn't.

She just stood there, soaking wet, a bruise on her face, and a stupid smile lingering on her lips.

Why?

Minjeong already knew her secret. She knew who Y/N really was and why she had approached her on that first day. She knew how rotten Y/N and her intentions were.

So why?

"You're completely soaked too."

Minjeong's mother turned toward her. "Minjeong, get her a towel and an ice pack, please."

Minjeong froze.

Her mother turned back to Y/N and ushered her toward a table. "You need to take care of yourself! Look at that pretty face of yours! And what if you get sick?"

Y/N chuckled lightly. "I'll be fine, Miss Kim. I was more worried about you, though. How's your leg?"

Minjeong stiffened.

Her mother had injured herself years ago-she had slipped during a storm, just like this one, and broken her leg. Even now, on cold nights, the pain lingered.

But how the hell did Y/N know about that?

Why did she care?

Minjeong's heart fluttered, just for a second. She gulped, pushing away the feeling, and stepped away to grab the towel and ice pack.

Her fingers gripped the fabric tightly as she glanced back at Y/N, who was still sitting, listening intently to her mother.

A nagging thought scratched at the back of Minjeong's mind, urging her to give in to this strange, persistent kindness.

She shoved it away.

"Here," Minjeong muttered, placing the towel beside Y/N and setting the ice pack down on the table.

She turned to leave- a hand wrapped around her wrist.

Minjeong's breath hitched. She looked down, expecting Y/N, but it was her mother.

"Hold the ice up for her, will you? I'm going to get her some soup to warm up."

Minjeong's jaw nearly dropped.

She could not believe what she was hearing.

It was pure karma.

She opened her mouth to protest, but her mother was already walking off toward the kitchen, leaving her alone.

With her.

Minjeong turned back to Y/N, who was still sitting, head tilted slightly, studying her with that same infuriating curiosity.

She sighed and reached for the ice pack.

A soft chuckle stopped her.

Minjeong's gaze flickered up.

Y/N was smiling-lips curled just slightly, dimples barely visible. She pulled the towel from her shoulders, setting it aside.

The sound of rain against the windows filled the silence between them.

"You don't have to do that," Y/N said, voice softer than usual.

Minjeong frowned.

"Just keep me company for a little while, please. I miss talking to you."

Minjeong felt it again. That stupid flutter in her chest.

Y/N had to be faking it. She had to. But the look in her eyes-

It wasn't the same glimmer she gave her friends, the playful twinkle that Minjeong had grown used to seeing.

This was different. It was softer. Gentler.

Minjeong swallowed, pressing the ice pack against Y/N's bruised cheek.

Y/N winced slightly at the cold but didn't move away. Instead, she smiled, shifting slightly to make space beside her in the booth.

Minjeong hesitated. Then, slowly, she sat down. Silence settled between them, but Y/N didn't let it linger."I'm sorry about Chaewon," she said, voice quiet. "She's... protective."

Minjeong tensed. It wasn't like she could disagree.

Chaewon was protective. But she was also right.

Minjeong had hurt her friend.

Her grip tightened slightly on the ice pack as she kept it in place.

"She had every right to be," Minjeong said, her tone cold. "I didn't mean to hit you that hard."

Y/N only smiled, leaning into the touch.

Minjeong's breath caught, her jaw clenched at the closeness.

How could someone she hated be so damn comfortable around her?

Minjeong wanted Y/N to get angry-to yell, to scream.

Not sit there and be friendly.

She clenched her jaw as Y/N smiled, "So you did mean to hit me."

Minjeong couldn't deny it. She stayed silent.

The rain outside filled the quiet that settled between them.

She could hear her mother moving around the kitchen, the clatter of pots and soft humming mixing with the sound of thunder in the distance.

Minjeong wanted to say something-anything. Even an insult would do. But her mind was blank.

The ice pack had started to warm against her fingers. She adjusted it against Y/N's cheek, pressing it gently into place.

"I still don't like you," she huffed, more to fill the silence than anything. "I'm not falling for your lies again."

Y/N exhaled, something unreadable flickering in her eyes.

"I didn't lie about wanting to be your friend. Or liking you," she said softly. "I just... didn't approach you with the right intentions. I'm sorry. My dad-he's not the best person. I barely know him. But I knew that he hurt you. And I wanted to make it better somehow."

Minjeong's throat tightened.

She didn't want to hear that.

She nudged Y/N's shoulder instead, scowling. "Just shut up and keep drying yourself. You're soaking the sofa."

Y/N smiled.

It wasn't much but it was a start and she was patient.

So she kept showing up at the restaurant.

She kept talking to Minjeong at school.

Interaction by interaction.

Brick by brick.

Until, somehow, impossibly-Minjeong let her back in.

Things got better.

So much better, in fact, that on Christmas Eve, Y/N found herself standing in front of Minjeong's house, clutching bags of gifts and food in her hands.

When the door opened, Minjeong just stared.

Her voice caught in her throat, countless thoughts racing through her mind.

"Y/N-what are you doing here?"

Y/N hesitated for only a second before raising the bags slightly, a small, lopsided smile on her face.

"I promised, didn't I?"

Minjeong blinked.

If anyone had told her that Y/N would actually show up, she would've laughed and told them to get their head checked.

She hadn't even expected Y/N to remember. The words had been brushed off as a joke, an empty promise at best.

But she was there.

With food. With gifts.

Minjeong's chest fluttered painfully as she took in the sight of her.

The soft glow of Christmas lights reflected in Y/N's eyes, and the crinkle at the corners of her smile made her stomach twist.

"You're crazy," Minjeong mumbled, before sighing and stepping forward, pulling Y/N into a small hug. "Y/N, you didn't have to."

"It's nothing." Y/N shrugged, stepping inside when Minjeong opened the door wider for her.

And if Minjeong had thought her parents were easily charmed by Y/N, her siblings proved her wrong.

Y/N didn't even have to say anything to win them over.

The moment they saw her step inside, looking like Santa Claus himself with all those gifts, their eyes lit up.

Minjeong watched from the side as her siblings swarmed Y/N with excitement, admiring the gifts all for themselves.

She bit the inside of her cheek to stop a chuckle, but still startled slightly when her mother suddenly gasped.

"YOU CAME!"

Before Y/N could even react, Minjeong's mother had grabbed her arm and dragged her straight to the kitchen. "Come try my kimchi! You like spice, right? I made it extra spicy this year!"

Minjeong couldn't help but soften as she watched her mother pull Y/N into the bustling house, filled with the laughter and chatter of her family.

The sight of her siblings holding their new toys, excitedly showing Y/N their favorite things about the gifts, made her heart swell.

She exhaled, shaking her head as she slowly made her way into the living room.

But even as she sat down, her eyes never left Y/N.

The way she smiled, the way she laughed, the way she fit so effortlessly into her world.

It took a while, but eventually, Y/N stepped back into the living room, her eyes searching for one person and one person only.

Y/N gave her a small smile. "Your family is lovely."

Minjeong stood from the couch, reaching for her hand without thinking. "They keep hogging you," she muttered, tugging her gently" "Let's run away."

Y/N laughed but didn't hesitate to hold Minjeong's hand. She smiled, glancing around as the other girl led her to her bedroom. The house was small, but filled with warmth and comfort. Y/N couldn't help but envy it a little.

"Thank you for all the gifts," Minjeong murmured, closing the door behind them. "You really didn't have to."

The silence was a welcome change, but it didn't last long.

Somehow, they ended up lying on Minjeong's small bed, facing each other, when Y/N reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, wrapped box.

"I didn't know what to get you," she admitted, "I'm sorry."

Minjeong let out a soft laugh, her fingers moving to gently take the box from Y/N's hands.

"You didn't have to get me anything, Y/N. But whatever this is-it's perfect."

The gift was small, wrapped a little messily, but Minjeong didn't care.

She was too focused on the way Y/N was watching her.

Nervously, yet eagerly.

She unwrapped the box, tilting her head when she found a guitar pick inside. It was gorgeous-an ivory color with the initials K.M. engraved on each side.

Minjeong ran her thumb across the engraving, feeling the smoothness of it.

She couldn't believe what she was holding.

"The guitar should be arriving tomorrow."

Minjeong's eyes snapped up at Y/N's words, her grip on the pick tightening.

Her brain barely registered what she just heard.

'The guitar should be arriving tomorrow.'

The words repeated in her head, over and over, as she just stared at Y/N, her mouth slightly open.

A million thoughts, emotions, words-nothing could properly form.

Y/N was crazy.

No-this was insane.

There was no way Y/N actually bought her a guitar.

Just the thought of it made her feel lightheaded.

"Do you like it?" Y/N asked hesitantly.

Minjeong was still staring at the guitar pick in her hands, her mouth hanging slightly open.

"I heard you tell a client you were saving up to buy one," Y/N continued, pulling out her phone and sitting up to show Minjeong a few pictures. "It's this one. I talked to a guy, and he said this one is good for beginners."

Minjeong's breath hitched as she looked at the screen.

The guitar was beautiful.

Glossy black, brand new strings, shining under the store lights.

She swallowed thickly, looking up at Y/N again-who was just watching her, waiting.

Patient.

The gift was expensive and gorgeous and thoughtful.

Minjeong's heart swelled, her chest tightening with an emotion she couldn't name.

So she did the only thing she could.

She threw her arms around Y/N's neck, hugging her tightly.

Y/N froze for a moment at the sudden warmth engulfing her-but then she melted. Her arms instinctively wrapped around Minjeong's waist, pulling her close.

Her heart skipped at the unexpected affection, her cheeks burning.

She closed her eyes and smiled, taking in Minjeong's warmth, the way she felt against her-her scent, her presence.

"I'm glad you like it."

Minjeong couldn't stop herself.

Her grip on Y/N tightened as she buried her face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent.

It was warm.

Comforting.

She sighed, her heart pounding as she closed her eyes.

"I love it."

Her voice was soft, muffled against Y/N's embrace.

She slowly pulled away, her face burning as she looked down at her hands.

"I also got you something," she mumbled, "but it feels useless compared to your gift."

Y/N frowned slightly at that.

Minjeong shouldn't compare gifts. That wasn't what this was about.

Before she could say anything, Minjeong stood up and walked toward her closet, pulling out a small box covered in reindeer-patterned wrapping paper.

Y/N's heart quickened at the sight.

She could see the effort Minjeong had put into wrapping it-the way the corners were neatly tucked, the way a tiny ribbon sat perfectly tied on top.

Her eyes flickered up to Minjeong, who was now holding the gift out for her. She reached over and took it carefully, her fingers running across the smooth wrapping.

The box was light and small in her hands. "Can I open it?"

Minjeong nodded.

Y/N smiled softly, taking her time untying the ribbon, making sure not to tear the paper as she lifted the lid off the box.

Inside, there was a layer of tissue paper.

She gently pulled it back and her breath hitched.

A blue jewelry box sat inside.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she lifted it, flipping the lid open.

Inside, nestled against the soft velvet lining, was a golden necklace.

Y/N carefully picked it up, turning it over in her hands-

-and a small chuckle escaped her lips.

Dangling from the chain was a tiny, detailed basketball ball charm.

She swallowed thickly, her throat tight. It was so simple, yet it meant everything.

"You couldn't help yourself, could you?"

Minjeong smiled as she watched Y/N admiring the present.

Her heart squeezed gently as Y/N laughed and carefully lifted the necklace from the jewelry box.

Minjeong knew her gift was nothing compared to what Y/N had gotten for her. But seeing her like this-her face so soft, eyes full of warmth-made her more than happy.

The two stayed in Minjeong's room for as long as they could.

Which wasn't very long-because soon enough, her siblings and parents were calling them downstairs.

Y/N didn't linger much after that.

Christmas was about family, after all. The last thing she wanted to do was overstep.

So, despite Minjeong's mother asking her to stay for the twentieth time, she gently refused, saying she needed to get home before the snow started falling.

Minjeong walked her to the door, feeling a little sad to see her leave but too too shy to ask her to stay.

"Thanks for coming."

Y/N nodded, her chest feeling impossibly full. Minjeong had no idea how much tonight had meant to her.

She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Minjeong's cheek. "Thanks for having me."

Minjeong felt her breath catch in her lungs.

The touch was gentle. Warm.

The spot where Y/N's lips had been tingled, heat rushing to her face.

Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, trying to memorize the feeling-burn it into her mind.

But before she could process it, Y/N was already pulling away.

"Drive safely," Minjeong managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N smiled at her one last time before stepping out into the cold, pulling on her jacket.

Minjeong stayed by the doorway, watching as she got into her car.

And only when the car finally disappeared down the street did she allow herself to breathe again.

Time went on and Christmas break soon ended. Y/N was ecstatic to return to school after the break.

She couldn't wait to see Minjeong again.

As she walked through the hallways with her friends, there was an extra bounce in her step, a lightness in her chest.

They made their way outside for lunch, hoping the sun would warm them up.

"I don't know, I still don't like her."

Y/N paused mid-step at Chaewon's grumble.

She quickly exchanged an exasperated glance with Niki and Aeri before sighing. "Give it a rest, Chaewon."

"Give it a rest?" Chaewon scoffed. "Did you see the way she threw that ball at you, Y/N? That girl is dangerous, I'm telling you! What if she gets angry and throws another ball at you? It's psychotic. You were knocked out!"

Y/N shrugged, thanking Niki as he held the door open for her.

They stepped out into the school's wide garden, where the winter sun was shining brightly.

"She's got a strong personality, so what?" Y/N said easily. "Plus, she didn't mean to hit me that hard. And-" she grinned, holding up the charm hanging from her neck, "-she got me a necklace for Christmas!"

Chaewon snorted at that.

"A strong personality? She sounds like a psycho to me."

They reached an empty bench, settling into the sunlight.

Aeri gently nudged Y/N. "Just ignore her. She's just petty she's single."

Chaewon went on to argue that, but Y/N didn't mind them.

She knew her friend was just being protective-and she was thankful for that.

But at the same time, she was sure of one thing.

"Chae, Minjeong would never do anything to hurt me again. Trust me, she's-"

The words died in Y/N's throat.

Her chest tightened, breath catching as her gaze landed on a new sight.

It felt like the air had been stolen from her lungs.

Minjeong was leaning against a tree-not too far away.

And standing in front of her, with one hand gently placed on her waist and the other tangled in her hair, was Jimin.

Y/N watched, frozen in place, as Jimin tilted her head down and kissed Minjeong.

Minjeong tilted her head up to meet her, their lips pressing softly together.

Y/N could see everything, the way Jimin pulled away gently, the way Minjeong's lips curved slightly in response.

Her heart plummeted into her stomach.

The world around her blurred, sounds faded into nothing-her ears were ringing, her pulse pounding in her head.

She hadn't even realized that she'd stopped breathing.

Her lungs screamed for air but she couldn't breathe in.

For a split second, the urge to step forward burned inside her. To pull them apart. To rip Jimin's hand away from Minjeong.

But time had frozen around her.

And in that moment, Y/N was done.

#aespa x fem reader #aespa x reader #winter x reader #kim minjeong x reader #aespa minjeong #aespa #winter imagines #kim minjeong imagines #minjeong x reader #winter scenarios #winter x y/n #winter x you #minjeong x you #kim minjeong #aespa winter

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brawberryz · 1 day ago

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Goodbye World

BatFam Yan! × Neglected Magic Girl! Reader 《Platonic!》

Note: English is not my first language, sorry if there is any translation error

Pt: 2

"(NAME), PLEASE DON'T GO!"

the girl screamed trying to stop her, this couldn't be happening, this shouldn't have happened, I was supposed to have more time but your transformation accelerated

"I'm sorry, ######, but there's no time left... sorry"

"Please (Name)!, don't go..."

The girl felt tears falling from her face, she was supposed to save you but she made the same mistake again...

"Goodbye"

You gave her one last smile before falling to the ground and your body began to deform

"(NAMEE)!"

The girl screamed for the last time before your vision went dark, there was no more pain or suffering, you felt like your body was deformed but you couldn't feel or do anything it was like you only had your conscience left

The original (name) had disappeared forever, and there was nothing else to do

Or well, maybe there was something they could do

Bruce was sitting in front of the batcomputer trying to find any trace of you, but there was nothing, not even a trace, it was like you had vanished in the wind

He felt too bad since your last interaction with you, if he had known what would happen he would never have let you go from that hug

But it's just "would have" it was too late to regret but he could still fix things, he would find you and take you home with everyone else and finally have the family you always dreamed of

"We found nothing, not a single clue"

Richard entered the batcave feeling defeated Again, he went out with the whole family to look for some clue but there was nothing, they even tried to see if some villain had you kidnapped but there was no one who knew about you

"This is shit"

Jason said angrily while leaning against a wall, as much as he didn't want to admit it in a way it was his fault he always treated you badly and insulted you

You had too many reasons to leave the mansion and hate all of them, but if he was honest he hated the feeling that you had left, you are supposed to be a family and you should stay together

Wherever you are they will find you and when they do they will never let you escape from their hands again

"And Tim?"

Bruce asked without taking his eyes off the Batcomputer, he hated feeling like he couldn't be in control, not having control over you, like he always had

"He decided to stay a little longer to patrol and see if he found something"

Jason said putting his hands in his jacket pockets, wherever you are he just hoped you were okay although knowing how Gotham is, it would be a miracle if you were okay without a single scratch

"I'm leaving here"

Damian spoke as he walked angrily out of the batcave, a part of him was angry with you and with himself, he was angry with you because you abandoned him without even saying goodbye or giving him reasons, you decided to hide and not tell anyone

He hated having things hidden from him, and at the same time he was angry with himself for how he treated you in the past, but he had changed he swears! When you get back to the mansion she'll be the best sister you've ever seen

"Damian, wait-"

Richard tries to stop him but Damian just pushes him out of his way before yelling at him

"SHUT UP, I don't plan on staying here even a minute longer.(Name) is lost somewhere in this stupid city and all we do is stay here like idiots"

Damian said angrily as he quickly left the batcave

Richard just sighed, when Damian had something in mind there was nothing that would stop him from reaching it, not even his own family

Damian walked angrily down the hallway of the mansion cursing under his breath

He continued walking until a door caught his attention, it was half open and he could barely see the small light coming out

Curious, he decided to open it, he was surprised when he realized it was your room...

It was small but still well decorated, it bothered him a little that your room was so far away from the others

He didn't want to invade your privacy (if he wanted to) but the curiosity about your things was too great, he began looking in your drawers but only found unfinished crafts or clothes

It seemed strange to him that all your clothes were still in their place, if the theory that you ran away was true you should have brought some clothes, but everything was completely in order

As he continued looking he found a photo album, it seemed old since it had some dust

He removed the dust that it had and decided to open it, there was almost nothing interesting just photos of you, some from when you were little and others from your birthdays

But there was one that caught his attention, you were in a park with a girl, it seemed to him It was strange that you had left since you never left the mansion

He was also very bothered by the approach that girl had with (name), who did she think she was to touch her sister like that?

But if he was honest, in that photo you really looked happy...

You didn't have that forced happiness like in all the photos, in this one it was seen that you really felt happy with that strange girl

He put aside the album and went back to searching through your things to see if he could find something else

Some of your drawers were full of board games full of dust, he remembered that once you asked him to play one with you but he simply ignored you and said that you had time for children's games

A soft voice took him out of his thoughts

"What are you doing in (name)'s room?"

Cassadran asked, looking at Damian with doubt. She thought it was strange that he was in your room since she thought she was the only one besides Alfred who knew your room.

"Something that doesn't matter to you."

Damian answered abruptly as he continued searching through your drawers.

"You seem too worried about her to be going through her things without permission."

Cassadran spoke again. She thought it was strange that none of the family members were around the house, but she didn't pay much attention and decided to go to your room to greet you. But she was surprised when she found Damian searching through your things.

"So what? It doesn't matter now that (name) is missing. I don't think it will bother her. Besides, it's for research purposes."

Damian was getting tired of Cass's insistence, because out of nowhere he is so worried about his privacy. Were you two close?

"Missing?"

Cassadran repeated in surprise, that answer hit Cass hard, she never imagined it would really happen, were you able to leave the mansion? Although if she was honest you had reasons to leave this fucking place

"Yes, my sister is missing and apparently I'm the only one who cares about her and tries to find some clue, so go away you're just bothering me"

Damian let out a snort of annoyance before resuming his search through your things

"She's your sister now?"

That answer took Damian by surprise, what the hell was she referring to

"What..."

"She's your sister now?" Cass repeated again before speaking again "you always left her aside, well, everyone left them aside and I include myself but it seems hypocritical to me that you want to blame others when you are also guilty, you always look to blame others for your problems because you are an egocentric and selfish person who only thinks about himself, you don't care about her you just want to have a reason not to feel bad about yourself"

Those words left Damian speechless, he hated to admit it but she was right although he would never admit it out loud

He simply looked away and focused on continuing to search pretending as if Cassandra's words hadn't mattered to him

Cass turned around and left the room before giving Damian one last look

Deep down she hoped you were okay wherever you were, but if you were truly lost she was going to do whatever it took to find you, she wasn't going to allow herself to lose another important thing for her, not anymore

Tim was jumping from building to building trying to find some clue about you, but there was nothing. He had been investigating criminals, villains or gangs all night but no one knew anything about you.

At this point the guilt was drowning him, he felt like the worst brother in the world. How could he forget someone so important?

Most likely you are now in some dangerous place, alone and scared thinking that no one will go looking for you because you are not important enough for them.

But he will do everything possible to find you, I promise.

He decided to stop at the top of a tall building so he could rest. He felt the worst. He had been patrolling all over Gotham for more than 4 hours but had found nothing. At this point he felt like he would never find you. No...no, if he found you he should not lose hope. You were somewhere in this place...he just had to find out where.

He felt something fast approaching him. Before he could react correctly and dodge it, a supernatural force ended up throwing him against the fire escape of another building.

Shit... that hurt, he was sure he broke his back or some rib, that thing that pushed him had too much force, it was clear that it was not a criminal or villain, they were too fast and strong to be one

But before he could get up he saw how a black mass with a strange figure approached quickly

It was easily the size of a damn bus or bigger, whatever it was was not human, that black mass reminded him too much of someone, he felt that he knew that figure from somewhere

But before he could think that large figure ended up hitting him again

It seemed as if that thing had something personal with him like some kind of hatred or resentment

Tim tried with all his strength to recover from that last blow, he had to warn the others about this thing and to come quickly before this strange creature taken from a horror story finished him off

With his last strength he grabbed the communicator and sent a signal for help before that thing hit him again now with more force causing his body to hit a wall

It seems you already have your first victim in your hands, you were going to finish off all those who made you feel miserable and you were going to make them feel the same pain that they made you feel

The original (name) had already died, the only thing left was this creature full of resentment and hatred

You were going to destroy every person who stood in your way and if that meant having to destroy the city or the world you were going to do it

"MADOKA PLEASE DON'T GO" aahhh reference 😭🙏💀

Sorry if it's too short or something, I hope you enjoy this shitty chapter

You can leave me questions or anything about this AU, I'll be happy to answer them🙏

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acmeangel · 2 days ago

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♡ Levi hires you to work at his tea shop, and the two of you become close.

♡ SFW fluff! ♡ Postwar!Levi x Fem!Reader ♡ One shot, soft Levi, friends to lovers vibes ♡ Word count: 2416 ♡ Summary: Levi hired you years ago to work at his tea shop, back when it was brand new. Over the years, you became close friends, and recently developed into more. You're both a bit rough around the edges, but get each other in a way no one else can. You're like two black cats in love.

It was years ago that you'd walked by Levi's tea shop in Marley and noticed the piece of paper pinned to the door that simply said "Hiring." in bold, slightly messy, handwriting.

Your eyebrows raised despite yourself, slightly amused by the straightforwardness of the sign -- no frills, no details, no niceties.

Marley had only just started to get on its feet again after a full year of scraping by while rebuilding, trying to shake off the lingering fears and treat the deepest wounds. Everyone was on the precipice of healing, and you figured it was as good a time as any to bring back some normalcy into your life. Working at a tea shop seemed like a decent enough way to do that; quiet, peaceful, easy enough. You were never much of a people person, but you could handle basic customer interactions.

When you'd entered the tea shop, you were met with Levi, who was behind the counter, a focused -- but not harsh -- look on his face as he neatly stacked boxes of tea into an orderly pyramid, a small display of the tea flavors. The bell above the door jingled as you entered, and he looked up at you, his gaze narrowing slightly, his hands pausing their precise movements. You got a clear look at his face -- the cloudy white eye, the healing scars tracing patterns into his skin.

"Hiring?" You asked, simply, nodding toward the sign on the window.

His eyes darted toward the sign, as if he'd forgotten that he put it there, and then fell back onto you.

"Guess so," he answered, his voice lacking any sort of feeling about the matter. "You want to work here?"

Before answering, your gaze scanned along the interior of the tea shop -- it was small and sparsely decorated, but not in a cold way. It was simple, comforting. Small wooden tables dotted the perimeter, intricately painted ceramic tea cups were stacked behind the counter, a few plants sat in the windowsills, drinking in the hazy sunlight.

"Yeah." Your gaze found his again, and you nodded. "I do."

"'Kay." His focus returned to the pyramid of tea boxes, his hands continuing to organize the stack. "What makes you qualified?"

"It's making tea," you retorted, dryly, without thinking. "Not mechanical engineering." You regretted it the instant you said it, realizing you'd likely butchered your chances of getting hired and that you should've made something up about having a passion for serving the community.

Without moving his head, his eyes drifted toward you, and you could see the faintest look of amusement tugging on his lips.

"Fine." This was all he had said, and you waited for him to ask more questions to evaluate you further, but they never came.

You stood there, somewhat awkwardly, watching as he continued working on his little display of boxes. Once he was finished, he tossed an apron over the counter toward you, which you caught, the fabric balled up into your hands. You were hired.

Surprisingly, it didn't take long for you to get accustomed to working alongside Levi. Neither of you were particularly talkative, preferring to keep to yourselves as you did your individual tasks; but, even separately, you worked in perfect harmony together, a seamless fit.

Over the years, it became less that you worked for Levi, and more that you worked with him, the tea shop turning into something that belonged to the both of you. It was never something that was discussed, it was just understood.

You'd started adding your touches to the shop -- art hung on the walls, pillows on the chairs, little knickknacks here and there. The shop was undeniably warmer and more inviting, and even though Levi would narrow his gaze each time you added something new, he never stopped you.

One day, he'd even shown up and placed a small ceramic cat on the counter, adjusting its position just so, though he wouldn't tell you where he got it. You'd teased him, somewhat relentlessly, about it, to which he blushed despite himself and muttered that it was never going to happen again, that you were a horrible nuisance in his life; you called him "such a baby", but made him a cup of black tea and all was forgiven. He brought a new plant into the shop the following week.

You'd share knowing glances with each other whenever a customer was particularly talkative or bothersome, and after they'd leave, you'd gripe to each other about it.

During breaks or lulls in the day, you'd both hover over the same book on the counter, reading simultaneously, your shoulders brushed together just barely. You wouldn't say anything, or even share your thoughts or opinions -- you'd just read, together, settled into the quiet of the tea shop.

As the time passed on, you'd begun to care for Levi, in a way you hadn't expected, hadn't experienced before. When he'd occasionally burn his hand on the stove, you'd hold the ice to his hand. When he had a cold (which he'd never admit to), you'd bring him soup from the cafe down the street. When you could tell he hadn't been sleeping well, you'd tell him to go home early and you'd handle cleaning up and closing the shop.

He'd always frown slightly and say something about how you shouldn't go through the trouble, that he can take care of himself, but you could tell that he appreciated it, that he might have even begun to count on it. You'd usually just tell him to shut up. He'd laugh, barely.

You knew, somehow, that you were the only person he let treat him this way -- gentle, caring.

You two had developed a quiet sort of friendship. You didn't talk all that much, you never saw each other outside of the shop, and you were both a bit rough around the edges. But, you fit together. Understood each other. It was as simple as that.

That was how it had been for years, which is why it took you by surprise when, on one particularly cold winter night, Levi insisted on walking you home after closing. You'd hesitated for a moment to answer, recalling all of the rainy, snowy, cold late nights that you'd walked home alone before, but the expression on his face told you that any protesting would be pointless. So, you let him.

Once you'd arrived at your front door, the two of you lingered silently on your porch, the only sound the soft creaking of the wood below and the brisk wind shuffling through the trees.

"Thanks for walking me home, Levi," you'd said, pulling your key out of your coat pocket and beginning to reach for the door. "Goodni-"

His hand clasped around your wrist, halting your movement. Your eyes snapped up to his face, his gaze secured onto his grip on your wrist. A stretched moment of quiet passed between you two, as you waited for him to say something, but he didn't.

"Okay," you said, drawing the word out, raising an eyebrow slightly as you look at him. "Are you holding me hostage because you think it'd be funny to see me freeze to death out here, or...?"

The tension in his expression dissipated slightly, your dry, teasing tone eased his frayed nerves with a comforting familiarity. He'd gotten used to you, to the way you spoke; it became one of the few, small things he'd ever allowed himself to rely on.

"Y/N," he said, his tone taking on a softness, a somewhat pleading vulnerability that you'd never heard before, as his eyes finally drifted up to meet your gaze. The cloudy grayness in his eye faded into a pale, ethereal blue under the moonlight, the features of his face illuminated, exposed.

He didn't have to say another word. You knew exactly what he meant. That was just the way you two worked.

"Yeah," you'd whispered, knowingly, the word pillowing into the cold air.

His hand slid down your wrist to your hand, his rough, calloused fingers gripping around yours with a sense of uncertainty and newness, like he was learning a new language. He tugged gently, drawing you in, close enough that when both of you breathed, the visible clouds mixed together.

His free hand rose to your face, slowly grasping around your jaw. His teeth clenched slightly, a hint of self-consciousness in his gaze as he looked at the gap his missing fingers left on your cheek; feeling unable to hold you completely.

"Don't," you whispered, somewhat sternly, urging the self-doubt out of his gaze. Your hand flew up to cover his, holding it against your face, the missing fingers not even a thought in your mind.

"You always do that." The words came out as a rough, tumbling statement.

Your lips curled into a faint smile, your head tilted into his palm. "Do what?"

"Protect me," he whispered, his eyes searching yours, "from myself, mostly."

"Can't help it," you whispered back, the words softening his gaze even further.

Before he could think about it more, before he could stop himself, he pulled you in closer, only a sliver of cold air between your lips. He paused for a beat, drawing in a shallow breath, before closing the space. His lips trembled against yours for a fleeting second, before melting against yours. A perfect fit.

His grip on your cheek tightened slightly, his lips moved against yours with a quiet desperation, as if communicating all the words he'd been wanting to say.

He broke the kiss just as suddenly as it started, his lips remaining parted, soft and glistening.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he whispered, before leaning in to press a kiss on your cheek by your ear, his thumb brushing against your jaw one last time. He took one last look at you, his expression somewhat unreadable, before turning and walking away, leaving you at your doorstep.

That night was not too long ago, only a few weeks had passed since. Your relationship was like a delicate melody -- starting slow and gentle, then blooming into a perfectly synchronized symphony.

He'd started walking you home every night, and he'd come inside for a while, sitting on your couch with you, talking more than he ever had (which still wasn't much, by most people's standards). You'd make dinner for the two of you, drape a blanket on his lap on the couch, gently tend to the scars on his face when they'd occasionally get irritated.

You'd lean your head on his shoulder, intertwine your fingers with his. Sometimes, he'd lean into your touch, slinging an arm around you and letting his head settle into the curve of your neck. Your fingers would stroke his hair softly or trace patterns up and down his back.

He'd always thank you at the end of the night and kiss you as if you were about to disappear into thin air. While he never specified what he was thanking you for, you knew he was thanking you for taking care of him.

That's all you really wanted to do -- care for him. You knew that his scars ran deeper than the visible ones, and the more he shared bits of his past with you, you could tell that he never had it easy. His life, until now, was one of fighting, survival, and loss. All you wanted was to alleviate some of the pain, some of the weight that had built up within him for so long.

So, you did these little things to dote on him, to show him what true affection felt like, in hopes that someday, he'd realize how deserving he is of it. That over time, the little things would grow into bigger things, that affection wouldn't be so foreign and unsettling to him. You were willing to wait.

He was standing by your front door now, slinging his jacket onto his shoulders, preparing to head home after another night spent together. You'd sat on the couch, his head on your shoulder, and he'd just finished telling you a simple story about Furlan and Isabel, who you'd learned about recently.

"Levi," you begin, your eyes shifting toward the window, at the powdery snow flurrying through the air. "It's freezing outside, you need more than a jacket."

His gaze follows yours out the window, his expression remaining unfazed. "It's just snow, Y/N."

You ignore him, and grab a knit, brightly colored scarf from the coat rack and hand it to him, your expression stern, but gentle. "Wear this."

"What? You can't be serious. I'll look ridiculous," he looks at you and the scarf dubiously, his brows pressed together with distaste. "I'll be fine."

"Would you just shut up and take it?" You roll your eyes, but you smile, affectionately. Before he can object further, you wrap the scarf around him, earning a groan from the back of his throat.

His nose scrunches slightly in disapproval, and the corners of his lips curve downward, but he lets you finish placing the scarf around his neck.

"Thanks, Y/N," he mumbles, leaning in to kiss your cheek, the touch soft and fleeting.

Mhm, you hum softly, satisfied with your little victory. You think he's about to turn and leave, but he doesn't -- he stands there, still, looking at you for a long moment.

"What, hoping to get a matching beanie?" You tease, warmly, a laugh escaping your lips.

He shakes his head.

"I told you a while ago that I never felt like I had a home before. Not a real one, anyway. But..." he says, his voice taking on a softened introspection, a gentleness to his face that you've discovered he reserves only for you. "I think this is it."

"Marley? Yeah, it's not so bad. Told you you'd get used to it," you say, a gentle, affectionate teasing in your voice, your fingers adjusting the scarf around his neck.

"No, Y/N. Not Marley," he corrects, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze remaining intently fixated on yours. "You. You're my home."

Your expression melts, a faint pink blush rising to your cheeks. Your hand drifts up from the scarf to cradle his cheek, your thumb tracing his cheekbone.

He turns his head, his eyes remaining on you, and he presses a soft kiss into your palm. The kiss feels like he's making a promise to always be yours, and for you to always be his.

Masterlist

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Requested by @beautiful-is-boring

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