#I’ll have to read through proper

[rainesol]

Smth I can't get over with both the trey and cater dreams is that Riddle isn't housewarden in either of them. Subconsciously neither of them want him in power which is like, a whole other thing to unpack

RIGHTTT it’s so fascinating

[cloudwisp]

𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 · 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦

contents: smut. minors dni 18+. reader wears a nightgown to subtly get the message across. attempt at seduction. lots of teasing and kissing. first time with him. size difference. fingering. borderline overstimulation. vaginal penetration. mostly sweet lovemaking but implications of leading to rougher sex. sylus has a huge dick (he is standing at 6’2 after all). 2.9k wc.

꒰ note ᰔ based off of this arranged marriage sylus x wife!reader post but can be read as a standalone. smut writing is never one of my strengths but I had fun with this one!! and I can only hope it’s an enjoyable read to those who were anticipating a sequel 🤍꒱

“Doing a little late night reading?” Sylus glances at your form through his peripheral as you enter his bedroom with a light skip in your steps. He’s perched at the end of his bed with a high profile report in hand, and with a tilt of your head and prying eyes you hover over the document between his fingers as you stand before him. You skim through a few lines before he tosses it aside, murmuring that it’s nothing of importance when something more interesting happens to catch his attention and you feel the heat of his gaze doing you a once-over.

Your cheeks warm and you feel a tad shyness wash over you when he quietly appraises your body clad in a gorgeous silk slip with lace embellishments. He hums in appreciation, a slow smirk curling on his lips before he reaches out to grasp your waist and pull you forward onto his lap. He secures one arm around you to keep you in place and his thumb sweeps over the delicate sleepwear and the bare skin of your thigh in a soft, languid motion. “You’ll catch a cold in just your nightgown, kitten. Or did you wear it for me?”

“Maybe I just wanted to change into something a little more comfortable.” You respond with a coy smile and playful shrug of your shoulder which causes the thin strap to fall from just a whisper of movement. He enjoys your little display and act of innocence if this is your way of telling him that you want to deepen the relationship through shared intimacy like normal marital couples do during this time of night. And truthfully, he’s been waiting far too long for this moment to come but he didn’t expect you to offer yourself on a silver platter. What a sweet and precious wife you are.

“I’m sure you could find something more suitable than a flimsy nightgown.” His knuckles brush up along your arm and hooks the fallen strap around his finger to slide it back into its proper place. “But then, perhaps you wanted to tease me, too?”

You click your tongue in disappointment. No matter what you do he was always two steps ahead of you—it’s thoughtful yet infuriating especially when you want him to act more surprised. “Nothing ever gets passed by you, it seems.”

His large hand slips under the lace trimmings of your nightgown and moves closest to your backside for a firm squeeze. “You should know by now how badly I want you, sweetheart. And with you sitting in my lap, looking breathtaking like that. I’m tempted to just rip this little thing off of you.”

You purse your lips into a small pout that’s adorable to him and grunt in disapproval. “What if this night dress is one of my favorites? Don’t I get a say in what you can and can’t tear?”

He arches a brow as though to challenge you by putting the theory into practice. You keep forgetting that he could read you like an open book, and he loves nothing more than proving you wrong at every chance. “Are you saying you wouldn’t enjoy it if I did? I’ll buy you new ones. Better ones.”

You mull over at the thought. “Sounds troublesome. I’ll have to keep making these frequent shopping trips.”

“I just mean the nightgown is in the way of me seeing all of you. You’re more than welcome to wear it any other time, but right now… I want it off.”

“Well, it’s only fair you make the next move.” He groans lowly when you shift your weight in his lap and rest your head against him. You drag your manicured finger down his chest and gently flick at the silver chain looped between his collar. “I did come all this way just for you.”

He understood your meaning and leans down close enough so his warm breath fans over your lips when he tilts your chin to look at him. “If you want me to take off my clothes, you’ll have to undress me yourself.” The soft spoken words in his deep voice send a tingle to the back of your brain, and the lingering kiss he places on the corner of your mouth adds a fluttering sensation in your stomach.

“Still making me work for it? And here I thought I would be cherished and wouldn’t even need to lift a finger.” You bring yourself upright and shove him down onto the bed to climb over him and straddle him. He gives you a knowing smirk at the sound of your cute gasp when you feel just how hard he is for you against your clothed cunt. You make quick work of undoing the underlay of buttons tucked beneath the thick fabric of his tailored dress shirt and remove it entirely to reveal every bit of lean muscle. His build akin to that of a spectacularly sculpted marble statue down to the details of his veins on his strong arms.

“Making you work for it is half the fun, kitten. But just remember who will be putting in the most work tonight.” His hand wanders up your thigh again and moves along the curve of your waist, the expensive silk bunches under his touch and he gropes the fullness of your breast. You feel the strap loosen around your shoulder once more. “Are you liking what you’re seeing? You’re allowed to mark what’s yours, you know. But I’d like to be able to mark you as mine too, wife.” His hungry eyes slowly roam over your matching panties and midriff before he returns your gaze.

Your smaller hand covers his knuckles meanwhile his thumb brushes across your nipple and he revels in the feeling of the bud hardening over the material. “You’re just always so straightforward, aren’t you?” You sensually wrap your finger around the other strap that’s perfectly intact and at your cue Sylus glides his hand down to the small of your back and watches as the dress cascades down to your midsection.

“And you’re so beautiful.” You’re a heavenly sight to behold with the way his amorous stare commits your very existence to his memory, particularly the swell of your lovely breasts that’s heavy with lust and begging for more of his attention. He gently reaches for your wrist and his fingers smooth under your palm to bring your hand up to his face. His thumb runs over the wedding band that binds you to him laying a light kiss against your knuckles, then places your hand over his shoulder waiting for your next move.

You don’t waste another second closing the distance between you two and crash your lips against his for a needy and desperate kiss. Your fingers tangle into his silver locks and your heat grinds against him hoping for some semblance of relief from the ache that’s building inside you. You feel him envelop your breasts fully with each caress and tender squeeze and a little bit of nipple play.

Sylus tastes faintly of sweet, tannic notes from the lingering aftertaste of red wine as your tongue meets his through parted lips. His arms and hands alternate between hugging your body and grip tightening on your hips, bucking himself up into your heat. You feel yourself needing more, wanting more and being closer to him so you hurriedly unbuckle his belt and suddenly the sound of fabric tearing reaches your ears.

You muffle in surprise against his lips and push him back just enough to see him wearing a smug expression. “I should’ve known you’d go against my wishes.” You scoff in disbelief and yet there’s a grin playing across your features that betrays your earlier words. You hate to admit he was right from the start—that you’d find the ripping more attractive instead of being carefully unwrapped like you both have all the patience in the world.

Sylus discards the now ruined piece of clothing aside. He lifts you with ease and your back embraces the cool sheets when he drops you down on the mattress and returns to his full height. “I was never one to follow rules. Besides, you look perfect like this.” You support yourself up on your elbows to follow his movements, and any smart comeback you have dies in your throat when he picks up where you left off by unfastening his belt and stripping out of his trousers. His boxer briefs follow suit and he thinks it’s adorable how you look mesmerized from this performance alone.

Your eyes settle on his huge cock. Almost gawking at it and you unconsciously clench your thighs together. It’s perfectly proportioned to the rest of him—long and notably thicker with an upward center curve and a few prominent veins here and there. He flushes a pretty shade of red that’s gradient from the head down and his pubes are neatly trimmed.

“You don’t have to look so scared, kitten.” He rasps an amused chuckle, and he feels you tense slightly when his hand scales up along your knee to your inner thigh and he dips his fingers between your legs. “I’ll take my time with you so you can handle me.”

Your breath hitches when he feels how drenched you are through your panties. He offers a gratified hum, his handsome face and broad shoulders become your main focus as he closes in on you. “Spread your legs wider.” He murmurs into your ear, and as soon as you give him more access he delves into your mouth for a bruising kiss and chases you down onto the bed. His ministrations on your clit feel absolutely sinful yet so wonderful and your arm wrap around his back meanwhile your hand explores the muscled panels of his upper body and the areas that are within your reach.

A string of saliva connects you both then disappears as your lips come apart. But he doesn’t stray far when the exquisite look on your face is a breath away and he pulls your panties aside to collect your arousal with two digits sliding through your puffy folds. Your lustful sounds escape in a warm exhale as soon as he slowly inserts his thick fingers into your tight pussy, and you’re quite the vision arching your back so tastefully.

“Mmh, that f-feels so good, Sylus.” Your eyes glaze over when he steadily pumps in and out of you, curling so deliciously at your sweet spot and he marvels at the way your cunt is greedily sucking in his fingers. There’s nothing else like him, the way he stretches you and reaches the deeper parts and hits the bits you can’t yourself. He adores the breathless sighs and mewls of his name when he pushes you to the edge even more while kissing you senselessly.

“You sound beautiful. I love the way my name tastes on your lips.” You can feel him smirk against you, but you’re too immersed in your pleasure to respond in words that aren’t broken syllables. He trails open-mouth kisses down to your jawline and along the column of your neck, grazing his teeth and softly sucking on your skin until hues of velvet purple form. Your head burrows into the soft cushion of the mattress, hips squirming as your hand clutches onto his forearm from tension coiling inside you.

“M’gonna come soon, Sy—!” Your pretty moans and pants grow heavier each second, and he loves feeling your body quiver when you’re pressed under him. He’s still knuckles deep inside you with every intention of bringing you up to heaven and back down to him. After all, he doesn’t believe in doing things halfway but can’t pass an opportunity to tease his darling wife.

“You’re getting so close already? I barely got started with you, sweetie.” He chuckles lowly yet his cock twitches as precum oozes and leaks down from the slit of his tip. “Don’t hold it in now. Let go and come for me.”

He’s met with your gorgeous o-face when the euphoric bliss courses through your entire body as your walls tighten around his fingers. Your moans turn into squeals and you try to shove his hand away to soften your orgasm but he doesn’t budge from being much stronger than you. The feeling is more than you can handle when your thighs clamp together to stop his movements. But you don’t want the addictive sensation to leave just yet when he borderline overstimulates you, turning you into a trembling and writhing mess.

You barely have a moment to catch your breath when a chortle escapes you from watching him bring his fingers coated in your cum to his mouth for a curious taste. “Mm. Sweet, just as I thought. You did great, kitten.” He leans down to plant a chaste kiss on your forehead, and the first wave of your drawn-out release slowly ebbs away. “Don’t you think you deserve one more?” Sylus pulls your soaked panties down your legs and casts them aside, leaving you completely bare under his gaze.

“I should hope so. Been wanting for you to stuff me with your fat cock tonight.” You’re still a little breathless when your finger glides down his toned chest in a sensual and playful manner. He makes a content hum at the sound of that with an upward quirk of his lips.

“What a bold and resilient wife I have on my hands. As long as I have you, I’ll never be bored again.” He gladly hoists your leg to wrap around his waist and spits down, giving himself a few strokes making it slick before aligning himself to your dripping cunt. His precum mixes with the remnants of your previous climax with the heavy drag of his tip from your opening up along your clit. He revels in the way your body responds with a little spasm. “I won’t have you going back on your words now.”

The flutter of your lashes steers away from his deep and enigmatic eyes, a nervous gnaw of your lower lips as you anticipate the painful stretch from taking him. “Go slow, okay? Because you know…” He knew you were implying about his sheer size, and you feel him grab hold of your hand and press your interlaced hand against the bed beside your head.

He captures your swollen lips that feel entirely too sweet and intimate, replacing your worries with a gentle tangle of his encompassing love and adoration that seeps into your soul. “I wouldn’t dream about hurting you. That’s a promise. But you have to let me in first.” Your breath hitches when his aching tip probes your entrance, yet the tension doesn’t leave your body until he tells you to focus on him with the exchange of kisses laced with a growing insistence. “You’ll let me know if it hurts, kitten? I want to make you feel good.”

With that said, your sharp nails dig into his shoulder blade and draw red lines at the burning stretch that feels too much yet so good at the same time. Your soft sighs and whimpers fill the hazy room and he’s fucking you slowly with just the tip to help ease the initial discomfort. He searches your face every now and again making sure you’re okay before he continues, letting out a guttural moan when he slips in a little more with each thrust until he carves his way into you completely.

“You’re in too deep—hah. Feel so full and good.” You shudder when he stills his movements, throbbing cock nestled inside you to the hilt and kissing your cervix. There’s a carnal desire brewing in his stomach seeing you pinned under his weight keeping him nice and warm. He wouldn’t mind spending the entire night with you, any plans and commitments he had prior be damned the moment you swayed in through the double doors. “Want you to m-move, please.”

The sound of your polite begging makes him twitch involuntarily, and he could only imagine what desperate pleas you have in store for him tonight and he’s looking forward to it. When your pretty lips implore him to fuck you faster and harder he won’t be able to hold back. After all, he has always been ready and waiting to give himself to you that aligns with your willingness to accept him. There is no love purer than his, this craving he has reserved only for you. “You know you only have to ask, and I’ll give you everything you want. Just be careful what you wish for, sweetie.”

Sylus chuckles at your cute whine shortly after—such a needy little thing you are. He falls into a sweet and slow rhythm that makes you feel each thrust, the head of his dick down to its shape and following the shaft that caresses the underside of your pleasure endings so incredibly good. Your legs wrap around his back and you pull him in deeper because close just isn’t close enough for you. You need to feel the heat of his body sear against your skin as you hold him, and in turn you feel him squeeze your interlaced hand. “Tonight, you’re all mine. Forget anyone else in the world but me.”

[moreaujeans]

urghdjf i need an interest to just absolutely throw myself into

[screampied]

can you please please write manhandling & squirting w gojo :(

❤︎ ໋𓈒 telling your best friend satoru that you can’t make yourself squirt

warnings. fem! reader, manhandling, praise, fingering, talking you through it, rev cowgirl, dirty talk, squírting, mdni.

legs sprawled, toes all curled up, you were desperately trying to make yourself squirt. it’s never happened to you and you wanted to experience what it was like—you read through various erotic stories of how it feels way different than just your everyday ordinary orgasm. with your teeth softly digging against your bottom lip, your fingers gently rummage throughout and against your clit. after a while though, you end up sighing—on the verge of giving up before as if on literal cue, your best friend gojo opens the door.

“hey, is it any more . . oh! uh,” he’d murmur, walking in on you with your legs sprawled all open. gojo suppresses a giggle that was about to escape from his lips before he utters. “. . . should i come back another time? you seem busy.”

there was smugness dripping underneath his tone and you were far too aroused to feel embarrassed. “no,” you puff. “i need help, satoru.”

“yeahh you seem like it,” he snickers. running a hand through his hair, he hums to himself before his eyes avert towards your lazily slid to the side panties. “is that what you call fingering yourself?”

“. . . shut up,” you chastise, and his sly smirk only widens. gojo stares at you for a long while before inching closer towards you—plopping down beside you. the mattress jolts a bit from his weight and he cocks his head to the left in pure amusement. “i need help. i can’t … i can’t squirt.”

gojo sneers. “oh, you sure can. you just don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, angel, heh.”

he had such a smart mouth, the dramatically frustrated sigh that deserts past your lips was too adorable—in his eyes at least.

the way you were so dedicated to making yourself have a proper finish was so cute . . but you couldn’t, you needed his help—you wanted his help.

“hm but okay,” he shrugs with a cheeky grin, getting right beside you. gojo lightly grabs your wrist, peering at how you’d already soak two of your digits with sloppy amounts of slick before he titters. “aw, poor thing. these useless fingers just can’t do shit, huh?”

“just fucking help me.” you grouse at him, a pouty scowl ceasing against your lips firmly.

“fine, girl fine,” he rolls his eyes. “i’ll take it from here.”

and he does because once he starts to ‘help’ you, it’s in a way that has you merely speechless.

with your neck slightly whirling towards the left, you’re mindlessly bouncing up at down on his thick cock. you’re faced the opposite way, your back leans up against his chest. gojo holds you up with no problem, a brief squeeze on your thighs and you start to whimper at how close his fat tip thwacks against a particularly sensitive spot.

“f— fuckk, ‘toru,” you’d whimper out, feeling him reach the deep components inside of you.

so deliciously good, you felt a few droplets of your own saliva trickle past your lips as you slump back against him. “so deep, stuffin’ me f— full, ‘toru.”

“. . . hah,” he pants heavily, tensed abs flexing each time he drags you up and down. he’s treating you like a rag doll. you didn’t expect him to do all this, having you all up and down. although, who were you to complain—he was reaching every spot without an ounce of trouble. “guess i can reach better than those fingers ever could, hm angel?”

“y—yes, yesss,” you stammer, your voice all shaky, trembling on each syllable that you spat out. “satoru, harder. fuck me, f—fuckkk me.”

you repeat the same words out your spit-glossed lips. with such a firm grip, he’s making your hips slam up and down—such a rigorous rhythm…

you try to grind a bit against him but you only end up slouching against his bare chest. it was simply no secret, gojo was known to be lengthy, longer than thick when it came to his cock. every orifice, he makes sure to locate every spot inside of your gummy walls with the crown of his shaft.

gush after gush, you’re spasming on him and you make a cute attempt at grabbing his wrist, clammy hands piercing into his skin. “s-so good, more ‘toru. right there, pleaseee . . !”

“i got ya.” he huffs, warm breaths waft right up against your earlobe. he’s holding you in place, each time he bounces you up again and again.

your eyes do that cute thing where it rolls all the way back into your cranium. it’s cute, lewd . . but cute.

with your pretty pupils dilated, all you see is nothing but pure splotches of white. his cock’s buried so deep that you’re stuck in a trance, a trance you never wanted to escape from.

“. . . awww,” he purrs against your ear, a big hand softly cupping your chin. he feels some of your translucent spit pour down the sides of your lips before smearing it over your mouth with his thumb. “such a messy baby. you feel it comin’ don’t you?” he teases, nipping a kiss near your neck once you squeeze his wrist a tad bit tighter. “oh. you want me to hold your hand, is that it?”

“sato—ru,” you whine, a cute trembly voice making a special appearance.

but oh, the stretch…

it was so good simply divine.

each second is spent with gojo’s dick delving into your clenched walls. a syrupy ear ringing whimper snatches right out of your throat before you speak once more, “satoru, ‘toru, s—satoru.”

“hey, that’s me,” he grunts with a coy grin, feeling how well you clamp down on him—of course, he’d make a joke out of nearly anything. you’re like a bobbling doll, feeling your cunt squeeze him tight before within seconds, your thighs began to quaver.

with your legs quavering, it was as if a volcano was preparing to erupt. violently, your legs start to tense and you’re steadily pulsing and pulsing. something’s coming and it’s coming fast…

it had to be exactly what you were thinking. it felt a bit different though. pressure presses down against you and you feel gojo’s fingers intertwine with yours. “heh, you’re kinda dramatic, huh?” he teases—and right before he can give you another snarky reply, he brings your hips to an abrupt halt. teeth chomping down together, your jaw insignificantly tightens and you feel a certain sharp twinge for at least three and a half seconds.

“i- i’m about to s-squirt, ‘toru,” you warn him, and he nips another chaste kiss near the crook of your neck.

“nuh uh. you’re going to squirt, trust me. give it to me, yeah. grind against me ‘n just listen to my voice, mhm.”

his voice.. just the way he spoke to you in such a playfully deep tone was enough to make you finish on the spot.

gojo holds you still. he’s still buried deep inside. stuffing you fill of hefty inches before he brings a hand towards your swollen puffy entrance. “damn, she really is so fuckin’ sloppy,” he grunts, starting to maneuver slow circles against your pussy. he makes haste with it though, and your lips part before moaning once you even hear the evidence yourself.

squelch, squelch, squelch..

it’s loud, it rings throughout your ears—each time, it’s louder than the next. he’s so sloppy with it too, no shame whatsoever. gojo then drags a soft thumb down your slit that was just sopping. everything felt so fervent - the way he’d strum his fingers against your cunt, only to then give it a concise spank.

“s-satoru, fuckkk.” you’d gasp, leaning way back with your legs still sprawled, “i—”

“now—don’t be rude, angel. she’s tryna speak to me, let her do her thing, baby,” and he clearly referring to your dripping wet pussy. he continues, rubbing against your clit at a much more rapid speed now. your legs could barely hold themselves open. mouth twitching, you feel a rupture on the very brink of rippling out of you before his spanks against your pussy come again, and again, and again…

“sloppy girl with a sloppy … fuckin’ … cunt.”

his words get more raspy and degrading and he’s way too into it to pause. with a thumb slowly tickling against your spasming nub, he watches at you moan a shrieking whine before not even seconds later, it happens. you gush out, and it’s a lot to where you even dampen gojo’s lap. thankfully he was prepared, keeping a towel underneath you just in case you were a bit too much of a soaked.

and soaked you were, it felt so good that you didn’t even know what to say… more like, you didn’t know what to think.

your mind was blank, equivalent to an empty canvas. he’s so mean, whispering such filthy murmurs into your ear before he lets you ride out your orgasm.

wet, you felt that entire word right between your legs. gojo’s still playing with you, cock stuffing your pussy full to the very brim before he feels you bare around him.

“. . seeeee,” he pants, humming in a soft tune.

he squeezes your folds tighter just to hear that honeyed mewl rip from your sweet lips. he gradually pulls out and now you’re just laying back against his chest with the dumbest expression. “told ya you didn’t know what the fuck you were doing,” he chaffs before making you turn your neck, dragging you into a deep kiss.

it catches you by surprise, you connect your lips against his and that’s when he makes you fall back. you watch with glossy eyes before he then grabs ahold of chin with one hand, brushing it tenderly against your skin. “say ah, open that pretty mouth for me ‘n taste what a messy girl you are.”

you felt your heartbeat go straight between your legs. once you loll out your tongue for him, staring right into his bright cerulean irises, he stuffs your mouth with two fingers. the same fingers that were covered in nothing but your sweet wet arousal. “yeah, run that tongue around my fingers ‘n taste it all, baby.”

you moan, swirling your tongue alongside his digits before you briefly end up gagging at the tips of his fingers massaging against the very back part of your throat.

“good girl,” he whispers—pulling his fingers out real slowly, he does this purposeful. a sheeny trail of your glistening saliva follows out from your lips before he gives you another long kiss before departing. “now, let’s do it again. but this time,” he utters, making you lie back against your back. “i’ll make you squirt just from my tongue, angel. let’s make that cute squirt velocity a little stronger, hm?”

[igorluvr]

‘LOVE AND LATTES

PAIRING: kang dae-ho x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: during the games, dae-ho promised to take you on a proper first date. now that you had both successfully made it out, he was going to keep his promise

CONTENT: fluff, literally the tiniest bit of angst, kinda corny, trauma, kissing on the first date smh, reader is implied to be black

AUTHORS NOTE: tryna get a lot of fics out for u guys bcs almost 400 likes on my first ??? omg yall r so sweet i swearrr, tysmm !!! ngl this might be kinda bad bcs im too tired to read over it …

word count: [2.5k]

IT’S been around 3 days since you got out of those hellish games, and you still can’t seem to process it. There was so much death, you felt guilty for taking the money, but it was your only chance at having a way out.

After surviving and splitting the money with a good handful of people, you found yourself dropped off in a dark alleyway. With only a large duffel bag at your side, you felt lost, unsure of where to go.

Eventually, you made your way to a bus station and caught a ride back to your apartment. It took a while to adjust to being in the real world again, a world where a gun wasn’t being held up to your head every hour of the day.

You remembered how you met the sweetest boy there. Kang Dae-ho. He was everything you could’ve asked for. The perfect man, met at a perfectly terrible time. Your mind flashed back to the end of mingle game.

‘I swear, when we get out of here I’m gonna take you on a real date. No guards, no games, just us two and the future ahead of us, okay?’ Dae-ho promised, cupping your face gently in his hands.

‘I love you with all of my heart, and I wanna see you when this is all over. We can move in with eachother and spend everyday in eachothers arms.’ He rambled with tears in his eyes, ‘I can’t lose you.’

Now in the present day, you wished you’d spend more time with him. You thought back to the last day in the games, when you wrote your number on his hand, hoping it wouldn’t be wiped off by the guards before he got home so you could live out the future you planned.

As the days passed, you lost hope in being able to reunite with your lover. Memories of him flashed through your mind. “Fuck, Dae-ho.” you whispered, “If only I had one more day with you..” and as if on cue, you heard your phone ring.

You stared for a couple seconds, confused as to who it could be. ‘It wouldn’t be Dae-ho, would it?’ With an ounce of hope left in your mind, you hurried and clicked the green answer button.

Silence lingered, then you heard a voice that made your heart explode.

“Hello?” Dae-ho’s wavering voice sounded “Is this you?”

You jumped up in joy, feeling a huge smile stretch across your face.

“Oh my God, Dae-ho!! It’s actually you!!” You exclaimed. “I missed you so much I thought we’d never talk again.”

A relieved sigh came from the other line, followed by a slight laugh. “I missed you more. How have you been? Where are you? Do you want me to come over?” he bombarded

“Okay woah, I can tell you missed me. I’m doing good, well better than I was a couple days ago, I’m at my house, and yes, I would love for you to come” You answered

The line went quiet for a moment, making you wonder if you’d lost the connection. Just as concern started to creep in, Dae-ho spoke again “Do you remember that promise I made before we got out?”

Of course you remember, his words have been playing on repeat in your mind like a record. Your heart skipped a beat as you thought of it actually coming true. You muttered a quick ‘mhm’ for him to continue.

“Tomorrow, meet me at the cafe down the street from that big market. I don’t know where you stay, so if it’s too far tell me and I’ll call you an uber.” he planned, “Dress up, even though I know you’ll look amazing in anything” You felt the butterflies in your stomach form as he carried on about what’ll happen the next day.

As the conversation came to a close and you got ready for bed, you found yourself thinking of any possible scenario that could happen tomorrow, good and bad.

‘What if my hair doesn’t cooperate?’

‘What if he doesn’t like how I look anymore?’

‘What if he’s setting me up?’

All these unlikely events start to run through your mind and it caused you to be overwhelmed with everything happening. When drifting off to sleep, you hope that everything turns out right.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

You woke up to a constant ‘ding’ blaring through your room every 10 seconds. Immediately, you pressed the power button on your phone thinking maybe you’d accidentally set an alarm. When it didn’t subside after this, you groggily opened your phone to locate the noise.

There were about 15 notifications from Dae-ho, them all texting you as if you’d died in your sleep or something.

A pool of ‘are you awake?’ and ‘are you okay?’ flooded on your lock screen. Not wanting him to worry any further, you decided to text him back

‘goodmorninggg, i’m up now sorry 😭 im okay, how are you?’ You typed, half asleep.

Immediately, your message was read and the bubbles on the left side of the screen appeared.

‘I’m okay. Why do you sleep so late? You scared me.’ the message read. You hadn’t even realized the time. ‘2:26pm’ the clock read. You always had a bad habit of sleeping in but it had gotten unusually bad after getting back from the games.

You quickly apologized in your message, explaining your situation to which he swiftly understood. As the conversation progressed, you discussed your date. You were the type of person that needed to know every detail before doing something, especially something like this.

The both of you decided to meet there at 7pm, to give you time to get ready, and to dress up—but not too much. To be honest, you weren’t sure if you guys had the same definition of too much but you decided to put it aside for now.

Immediately after you guys finished discussing the details, you rushed to get ready. Even though you had 4 hours, it didn’t seem like nearly enough time to see him.

The closet was your first thought, since you basically lived by the rule of getting dressed first, doing hair, then putting on makeup. You scanned your closet for anything that would impress Dae-ho.

It took about 30 minutes alone to pick out an outfit. You decided on a long black dress you bought for your halloween costume that you never got the chance to wear, due to the pickup for the games occurring the same day. You picked out jewelry and a coat to go with it, since it was the beginning of winter.

After getting dressed, you gathered all your makeup supplies and rushed to the bathroom. Doing your makeup took longer than you wanted it to, but you wanted everything to be perfect since this was the first time you’d see him outside of life-or-death situations.

Every wing of eyeliner had to be just right, your lip gloss needed just the right amount of shine, everything had to reflect how much you cared.

The hair was the part you’d been dreading. You didn’t know if it was the detangling, or getting your part straight, but it gave you a headache just thinking about it.

After stalling for about 20 minutes, you finally built up the strength to start on your hair. Pinterest was your best friend for situations like this. You quickly opened the board labeled “hairstyles” and scrolled through them to find the perfect one.

You’d found this beautiful blown-out hairstyle that would look amazing with your outfit and makeup. Since you knew it would take a long time, you silently braced yourself, this wouldn’t be an easy task. You grabbed the blow dryer, flat iron, heat protectant, and got to work.

In about 2 hours, you had finally finished at 6:50pm. The cafe was about 7 minutes away from you, so you grabbed your stuff and walked out of the door.

The drive there was the worst part. Your stomach was doing somersaults. Even though you’d seen eachother at your literal worsts, it still felt so scary. With all these anxieties flashing through your mind, you managed to push them to the back and keep a confident facade.

As you pulled up, you sent a quick text stating your arrival. You fidgeted with the ends of your dress absentmindedly, spacing out and hoping for the best.

The ding of your phone sent shivers down your spine as a text popped up reading ‘Perfect. Come inside and turn to the left, I’m here.’

You felt like throwing up as you walked up to the entrance of the café. The strong smell of caffeine and pastries hit your nose as you searched for Dae-ho in the warm lights.

Turning left as he instructed, you were met with his beaming face, looking like he’d seen the most beautiful sunrise. His eyes widened in awe, and for a moment, he seemed frozen. The corners of his mouth curled up into an infectious smile, and you felt a rush of warmth, knowing that in this moment, you had completely captivated him.

Almost immediately, he jumped up and gave you an engulfing hug. You didn’t know if it was because you were used to the smell of blood being around him, but he smelled astonishingly good. It was like the best mixture of his natural scent and a very expensive cologne.

As he pulled back slightly, you noticed a beautiful bouquet of flowers in his hands—delicate white lilies mixed with soft pink roses. “These are for you,” he said, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “I thought it was only right for our first date.”

His hair was down to his neck, loose and messy, quite different from the bun you were used to seeing him in during the games. The collar of his shirt was casually unbuttoned, too. He looked effortlessly flawless.

“You look… wow. You’re so beautiful,” Dae-ho complimented, sending electric shocks through your veins. A rush of shyness met your face—he really thought of you like that?

“It’s so good to see you,” you said, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and delight. “You look amazing too. I mean, I always thought you were handsome, but just… wow.” You took the bouquet from him, inhaling the sweet fragrance of the flowers.

His laughter danced through the air, a sound that brought you so much peace and clarity. “I’m just glad I could pull myself together after… well, everything.” His smile faded a bit, and you felt the silent weight of shared trauma hovering between you.

“Let’s not think about that tonight ,” you suggested softly, taking a seat across from him. “We deserve a night where those horrible games are the last of our worries.”

“Agreed,” he said, leaning forward, his gaze intensifying. “Tonight is about us, and starting fresh,together.”

As you scanned the cafe, adorned with twinkling fairy lights and the faint piano covers playing in the background,you felt the tension from earlier gradually melt away. You could see other people laughing, having the time of their lives. It felt surreal to be part of such a normal scene after everything you had both endured.

The waitress came up to your table and you both ordered drinks; he went for a dark roast coffee while you chose for a sweet vanilla latte. “It’s nice to be able to actually enjoy these little things.” you ranted, “After everything, I never even thought we’d get here.”

Dae-ho's eyes sparkled with that familiar warmth. “I’ve thought about this moment every day since I got back,” he admitted. “Dreamt about sitting across from you in a place that feels safe, where we can just be us.”

That sentiment made your heart swell. You immersed yourself in his beautiful sunkissed eyes. “What do you want for us, Dae-ho?” You asked, knowing that his answer could make or break you.

He hesitated for a moment, his expression solemn. “I want to build a life with you, whatever that looks like. It could be road trips everyday and always having new experiences together, or a cozy apartment with a beautiful family and no worries. I want us to share everything, the good, the bad—everything.”

The sincerity behind his words wrapped around your heart like a warm, familiar blanket. “I want that too,” you said softly, placing your hand over his. The connection was electric, sending sweet shivers up your body.

As you sipped your drinks, Dae-ho leaned in closer, a serious look in his eyes. “You know, I’ve thought about you every single day since we got out. I really missed you.”

“Really? I missed you too,” you replied, voice full of veracity. “It’s been hard without you.”

He took a long pause, as if he was searching for the right words. “I never realized how much I wanted someone like you in my life. Just knowing you were out there somewhere gave me hope.”

You felt your heart pang at his words, you spent all your life searching for a love like this, it felt so good to finally have it. “It was the same for me too. Every time I felt like giving up I had to remind myself of us, and our future.”

A soft smile grew on his face. “I knew we’d find our way back to each other. I just didn’t know how much it would mean to finally be here, like this.”

“Me either,” you said softly. “I was nervous about tonight. I worried that maybe everything would feel different.” You thought back to earlier and how stupid you were for thinking he would see you differently. This is genuinely all you could've asked for.

Dae-ho shook his head with his eyebrows fixed in a furrow. “I was nervous too, but being with you feels right. I could really see us living a perfect life someday”

Your heart swelled with warmth. With him, you felt like you can just be yourself without any fear. He was genuinely your safe space.

“I promise we’ll stay connected. No matter how hard things get, we’ll keep fighting for each other.” You swore, knowing how your past relationships ended and wanting to break the cycle.

“Thank you, really. It means the world to me,” Dae-ho said sincerely, his eyes meeting yours. “I just want us to have a future, no matter how hard it'll be.”

“Yeah, me too,” you replied, feeling a sense of calm settle over you. “It’s comforting to have someone you know will be there for you, even on the darker days.”

His smile deepened, and for a moment, everything else faded. Just the two of you were in the room—focused on your shared promise. Nothing else mattered in this moment, you were ready to finally create a new beginning.

Silence in the air was broken as he finally spoke up, “I want to build a life where we support each other through any and everything." he grinned. “Even the small moments matter. Like cooking together and trying not to burn the kitchen down.”

You chuckled softly, picturing you both in the kitchen attempting to cook and leaving something in the oven too long. “I can definitely see that happening.”

“And if we accidentally set the place on fire, at least I’ll have an excuse to scoop you up and look all heroic while I rescue you.” he joked, his expression growing more playful

Laughter erupts from you and your eyes sprinkle with joy, causing Dae-ho to lean in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You know, I really missed your laugh. It makes everything feel so much brighter.”

“Really?” you asked, feeling warmth spread through your chest, “I missed yours too, it’s cute.”

The atmosphere felt light, almost euphoric, as you both relaxed into the comfort of eachother's presence. “Believe it or not, I was really so nervous for tonight,” Dae-ho admitted, his voice softening as he brushes his hair back behind his ear. “I thought I’d forget how to talk to you.”

“Trust me,” you said, voice tender, “I was nervous too. But I realized that after everything, who else could understand us like this?”

“Exactly,” He said before taking a sip of his coffee. “I feel like I can be myself around you, like I’ve never been able to with anyone else. It’s so freeing.”

“Freedom and love. Isn’t that what life’s really all about?” you said, your voice filled with hope and longing. You felt a warmth in your heart as you spoke, realizing that these two things were what you truly cherished.

As the conversation flowed, you exchanged stories, laughter, and memories—you shared dreams and fears, and slowly the nervousness slowly melted away.

“I can’t believe we made it out,” he said, his voice stern. “I can’t stop thinking about the others we lost… what they would’ve did if they made it out too.”

A brief silence enveloped the moment, both of you remembering the friends that didn’t make it, the faces of people who had shared brutal experiences with you.

“I think they’d want us to live, like really live,” you said firmly, squeezing his hand gently. “To make the most of us getting out, we owe it to them.” Dae-ho silently nodded, the thick atmosphere slowly leaving.

As the evening progressed, you lost track of time, so caught up in the warmth of shared smiles and nervous laughter. You could hardly believe this was the same man who stepped up and took initiative at every rough point during the games, willing to sacrifice himself for everyone's safety.

The night ended slowly as Dae-ho walked you outside to your car. The stars twinkled like tiny beacons in the dark sky above. “It feels different tonight, doesn’t it?” you said, glancing up at the stars. “Yeah, it really does,” he replied, his voice soft but full of warmth.

As you strolled along, flowers in hand, you both shared stories from before you met, your voices mixing with the soft hum of the night. Every smile and nervous chuckle made you feel a little lighter. You realized how much you valued this moment, this time together, away from the chaos and pain that had once consumed you both.

You exchanged glances, and you both understood something unspoken between you. “I never thought I could feel this way again,” you said, a hint of vulnerability in your voice. Dae-ho stepped closer, his gaze steady. “Neither did I. But I’m glad we’re here together.”

Finally, you paused beneath a big, ancient tree. Its branches stretched out like arms, swallowing you both in its shadow. Dae-ho turned to you, his eyes beaming in the starlight. His stare locked onto yours, and he took a step closer, face inches from yours.

"I wish this could last forever baby, I love you." he whispered, breath caressing your skin. Then, without another word, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, gentle kiss. You felt a spark of connection, and your heart skipped a beat as you kissed him back, the warmth of his lips sending shivers down your spine. The kiss deepened, and everything else faded away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the sweetness of the moment.

As the kiss lingered, time itself seemed to stand still, the world around you fading into a beautiful blur. When you finally pulled away, his eyes searched yours, a mix of desperation and love radiating from him. "Whatever happens, I'll always be here" he said softly, his hand still cradling your face. You smiled, knowing that no matter where life took you, this memory would be a cherished part of your story, a promise of what could be.

[haveihitanerve]

Four Times the Batkids Forget They're Adopted, and The One Time Damian Forgets He Isn't

It had started off as a joke, as most things do, and Dick meant nothing behind it, really. It was amusing to him, actually, to tell his coworkers things about Batman and pass it off as his father. “Oh my dad? Yeah hes not big on talking. He loves showing me he cares though.” (this was, of course, in reference to Batman doing three back flips and a kick split when Nightwing had patrolled with him the other day, a classic Nightwing move) But it soon…went deeper. Dick stopped making jokes out of it, and actually began listing things about Bruce. About his Dad. It didn't help that his police friends were actually interested. “So did you and the old man do anything fun over the weekend?” Dick thought back to how he had wanted to surprise Bruce by stopping by for dinner and instead had ended up in the sewer eating granola bars on a stakeout for killer croc, who had escaped. Again. “Oh yeah we had a picnic.” Dick nodded, smiling at Randy. “Yeah. He’s, he’s kinda bad at remembering when to eat a meal on time and all that.” Dick laughed. “Its something I share too. Must be genetics.” He rolled his eyes. Randy laughed, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “I hear you. My old man smoked all the live long day. I try to keep it down, but that addiction gene is just strong eh?” Dick chuckled. “Yeah I guess.” His phone buzzed in his pocket and he waved to Randy, turning to tug it out. It was one, simple message from Babs. “Ur adopted genius. What genes.” 

Jason didn't even know how they had gotten on the topic. But here they were. “Yes. I got my mothers hair, of course, but I get my temper from my father.” Artemis was saying. “I have parents.” Bizarro grunted. Roy laughed, smacking him on the shoulder. “Well you certainly didn't get Kal’s looks buddy. But you do have his killer hair.” Starfire laughed. “That is true. I, for one, share my parents hair and have my fathers powers. But truly the best gene I was given were my mothers eyes.” They all turned to Jason. “What about you?” Roy asked. Jason scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, I used to have my dads eyes but um after the pit y'know,” He waved to his now green eyes. “And actually I have my dads dark black hair, and he’s graying early too, which might be why my white streak is so prominent.” They nodded in agreement. “But yeah, hes actually a little taller than me so maybe I’ll still grow a few inches but uh yeah. I don't… remember my mother enough to talk about her.” “Dang man. I wish we could meet your dad.” Roy murmured, laying a comforting hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Then we could really compare. I mean-” He laughed. “You sound like his carbon copy.” Jason frowned at his friend. “What do you mean? You’ve met Bruce?” They stared at him. “Jason,” Artemis began slowly. “Aren't you adopted?” 

Tim hunched over the information form, eyes straining to read the small print. His hand reached up to stifle a yawn and he settled for a sigh instead. It was late, but Tim needed to get the form done before he went to bed, otherwise everything would be far too stressful in the morning. He reached over and grabbed his coffee mug, a dark black cup that had a red R painted on it poorly. Bruce had made it for him a few years ago when he had first become Red Robin. He sipped it, staring down at the medical form. “Gods I hate having to do this.” He muttered, but reluctantly grabbed the thick medical binder Alfred had obligingly gotten for him when he had asked for medical records of the family. Tim did not under any circumstances, want to have to sit at the doctors office the next day and somehow lie his way through all the medical questions relating to his family history. He didn't have the time nor patience for it, and it was crucial he was given proper medical advice what with his missing spleen. “Any history of heart issues Bruce?” Tim muttered, flipping back past Martha and Thomas to Bruce’s great great great grandfather. “Nope, guess not.” Tim was halfway through the form when he realized the blood coursing through his veins wasn't Bruce’s. 

Steph rubbed a hand across her belly, staring at the monitor. “Your baby looks good Ms. Brown. They’re at the proper stage. Due in about two months. We’ll see you back here for your next check up.” “thank you doctor.” Steph murmured, sliding off the bed and dressing quickly before hurrying out to her car. The car door slammed shut behind her and she breathed, pressing her forehead to the steering wheel. Her phone buzzed. She lifted it and pressed it to her ear, hitting accept. “Hello?” “hey Steph.” Bruce’s voice vibrated through the phone. “How was your doctors appointment?” Steph gave a bitter laugh. “Everything looks good. The baby will come in about two months.” “Thats good. Thats real good.” Steph nodded, eyes closed. “You doing okay Stephanie?” Bruce asked, voice soft. “I don't know.” her voice broke and she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting tears. “I just- I’m so scared Bruce. So scared.” Bruce hummed comfortingly through the phone. “I know Steph. Its scary. And parenting, its hard.” Steph coughed out a watery chuckle. “Was that a hit?” She muttered, rubbing a hand over her face. Bruce chuckled. “No. Baby it wasn't. And just think, you’ll get to see all the firsts I didn't get with you. Their first steps. Their first wave. You might even get to hear them say mama before i kidnap- i mean adopt him or her.” Steph laughed again, and it sounded less watery. “Yeah. Well, when do kids start walking?” She asked in interest, sniffing and sitting up straight again. Bruce hummed. “Well i started walking almost immediately, but Im special.” Steph laughed. “Of course.” “alfred said i first started talking when I was around thirteen months old, and Talia said Damian was walking by ten, but she could have been lying.” Steph nodded. “Tell me more.” She whispered. Bruce obliged, happy to distract her. “Oh and whats probably going to be your favorite, babies, or at least I did, start laughing at around four months.” “laughing?” Steph gasped. “Oh Brucie!!! Thats too funny! Little chubby baby you, the future batman, laughing!” She cooed. She could almost feel his eye roll through the phone and stifled her laugh. “So yeah..” Bruce finished. “You should expect your kiddo to start walking around then. And laughing probably sooner. I would have if you'd be in my life at that time.” Steph was quiet. “Thank you B.” He hummed. “Anytime Steph. I’ll always be here to help you.” “Wait wait wait-” a new voice joined in the background of Bruce. “Are you guys serious right now?” Steph identified it as Jason. “What?” Bruce asked puzzled. “B, Stephs adopted. Her kid is as likely to walk at the same time you did as when she did!” 

“Damian?” “Go away Drake.” Damian called back, riffling through the papers. “Dami?” Tim poked his head into his younger brothers room. “Oh hey kiddo. Whatcha doing?” “I am busy Timothy.” Damian countered in annoyance, shoving the box back under his bed and moving to his desk. “What are you looking for?” Tim asked puzzled. Damian ignored him. “Dami.” “Go away Timothy.” Tim crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Come on Baby Bird. Tell me.” Damian shook his head, covering the blush on his cheeks by poking behind the desk. “Damian.” Tim’s hand was suddenly on his back. Damian jumped. Tim held up his hands in surrender. “Just tell me. I’m sure I can help you find it.” Damian sighed in acceptance, cheeks pink. “I have.. Lost my adoption papers.” He muttered, staring at the floor. But Tim didn't laugh or ridicule him. In fact, when he looked up, his brother seemed thoughtful. “Well i know me and dick and jason have them hung over our beds…” His gaze drifted to the very clearly empty space above Damians bed. “I know.” Damian jerked his head in a nod. “That is why I wished to find it.” Tim nodded in understanding. “Well, lets go look in the den. Thats where Alfred keeps all the legal stuff.” Damian trailed after his brother to the living room and watched as he opened the cabinet and pulled out three boxes. “You look through this one, I’ll search these two.” Tim ordered. Damian nodded, accepting the box. It was where Alfred found them, two hours later, broom in hand. “My dear sirs, what are you doing?” The butler asked in bafflement. “Looking for Damians adoption record.” Tim answered, nose still in some papers. Alfred looked at them. “Master Tim. Master Damian.” The two boys looked up. “Yes Alfred?” Tim asked. Alfred's face was fond and utterly confused. “Master Damian is not adopted. He is Master Bruce’s blood son.” 

@nonepizzawithleftglitter @zombiewithaflowercrown

you asked and you shall recieve!

[myownwholewildworld]

THE RIGHT KIND OF WRONG ― dbf!mechanic!joel oneshot

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: dbf!mechanic!joel x f!reader. summary: your car breaks down and you make a deal with your dad's best friend, joel, who happens to be the best mechanic in town. you'll work for him over the summer holidays to pay your debt back, but maybe you can find a pleasant shortcut to it? a/n: well, well, well... what can i say? this whole uniformed!joel shit is giving me proper brain rot. i don't know what came over me while writing this but i just rolled with it. i do appreciate any notes you may wanna leave to keep me motivated hehe. enjoy! x edit: forgot to mention this oneshot was prompted by this ask! warnings: 18+, mdni. no outbreak AU. juicy age gap (reader is 21, joel is 48). rough, ABSOLUTE filth & i'm not even sorry. some edging. semi-public groping? masturbation (f and m receiving). oral (f and m receiving). pussy pronouns (she/her). unprotected piv. mouth fucking. very mild brat taming kink. transactional sex. alternating pov. reader is female but that's about it. w/c: ~8.9k of pure filth. divider by @cafekitsune

“Ugh, not again, c’mon!”

Your cranky little car did not have it in it anymore. It was almost fifteen years old now, having passed down from your older brother to you when you turned sixteen five years ago. Out of pure frustration, you hit the steering wheel with the palm of your hand and let out a raspy grunt.

The check engine light had lit up on the dash, which was what caused your fit. And then, as if orchestrated by the universe, the engine made a loud, clicking noise. You flattened your forehead against the wheel, your fingers curling around the rubbery texture with a tight grip.

“You stupid car!”, you screamed at it as if it was a sentient being. “I’m broke, you cannot die on me like this!”

You were on the parking lot of a café. Early that afternoon you had met with some friends to celebrate the beginning of summer and the end of the academic year. One more and you would be done with your degree ― it looked so damn far away, but you still had this summer to look forward to.

Rummaging through your purse, you finally located your cellphone and quickly dialled your dad.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, dad. I’m at Betty’s. The fucking light has come on again?!”

“Watch your mouth!”, he reprimanded you from the other side of the line. You could hear him huff and puff with disapproval. “I think your car is on its last legs, gonna have to think about buying one.”

“You know I can’t afford that, all my savings are going into my degree. I’ll just have to get it fixed for now.”

“Take it to Joel’s then. See what he thinks.”

“But it’s a Sunday, you think he’ll be open?”

“That man is a workaholic, you bet his business is open today.”

“Alright, you reckon he’ll do it for free?”

“For free?” He laughed; you could imagine him shaking his head. “I doubt it, but maybe he’ll give you a discount. Gotta go, little bug. I’ll see you at dinner. If you can make it, obviously.” He mocked you.

“Ha, ha… So funny. Talk to you later.” And you hung up.

The drive to Joel’s garage was a fucking torture. Every time the engine made a squealing noise, your heart would jolt to your throat. You tried to encourage it, whispering sweet nothings in the hopes it would get appeased and make it to Joel’s repair shop.

You also got distracted by your filthy mind. Joel had been in your DILF radar since you were nineteen. Three years ago, your dad celebrated his 45th birthday with a barbecue in the middle of summer. Joel had turned up in a white tee shirt, khaki shorts and flipflops, with untamed silvery curls and a crate of beer under his arm.

When the Texan heat became unbearable, he had stripped himself of his clothes, fashioning a pair of short swim trunks that had left you breathless and wet. When you watched him get out of the water later that afternoon, you could have sworn that the tip of his dick had shown briefly before he discreetly tucked it away. That image had been burnt into your retinas and haunted you since then.

Unconsciously you licked your bottom lip, your core molten with slick, as the car came to a halt. You had arrived at your destination.

There was an old Ford at the front of the garage, someone working under the hood. When the driver’s door of your car slammed against the frame, Joel peeked up from the engine he was working on.

His eyes flickered with recognition. He grabbed an old rag to clean his big, veiny hands of grease and oil. You wondered what else would be big and veiny. Stop it, you dirty fucker, you told yourself.

“Hey, Joel!” You waved at him with a smile.

“What’s up, kiddo?”

You rolled your eyes at him, the grin staying on your plump lips.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Joel. Have not been for a long time now, y’know.” You punctuated, unsure of what you were trying to achieve with that comment. Well, you knew, but did not want to admit it to yourself.

“Oh, I know”, he husked, his voice suddenly gruff.

Tilting your head to one side, you looked at him with question marks in your pupils. Why had he accentuated that “know”? And why all the sudden was your cunt gushing? How could he make you wet with three simple words? You were going to need to request a booty call that night from your friend with benefits.

“Uh, uhmm”, you laughed nervously. “The engine light on my car has come on for the third time this week and the motor is making weird noises, could you check it out for me, please?”

“Sure thing, lemme see.” He took the keys from your hand, electricity cracking between you.

You pursed your lips, a gesture he did not pick up on. Joel walked to the driver’s side, activated something and then the hood popped open. He walked around to the front of the car and propped the hood up with the metal rod that was inside.

As Joel was inspecting the motor with his broad hands, you put one foot in front of the other in a vain attempt to rub your knees together and cause some friction in your needy cunt. You squeezed your thighs some more as you watched him work with his hands, and you imagined what it would feel like if he was working you instead.

Oof! Take it down a notch, girl, you thought to yourself when your clit twitched in desperation.

Then Joel turned around to look at you.

“When was the last time you changed the timing belt?”

“The... what now?” Your mind was hazy with lust, but even if you had been at your full mental capacity, you wouldn’t have known what he was talking about.

“The timing belt. In the engine. What ensures that the camshaft and crankshaft rotate in sync?” He looked at you with a cocked brow, cleaning his hands again on that old rag.

Oh, I would pay big bucks to be that rag.

“Are you even speaking English?”, you replied back, partially because you really had no idea what he was talking about, partially because your brain was all mushy with desire.

“I’ll take that as a ‘never’ then. You should really get it replaced, seems like that’s your problem. Have you had trouble starting the car?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, this very morning.”

“Yeah, sounds like it. You need to change it asap, if it breaks while you’re driving it would be bad, very bad. You could have an accident. Also trying to fix it after it’s broken will cost you even more.”

“So… will I need to break the bank?” You asked, already flinching at the idea.

Joel seemed to take a second to consider your options, leaning against the passenger’s door and scratching his scruffy beard.

“It’ll be $800.”

Your heart almost stopped, your mouth agape.

“Eight fucking hundred?” He nodded. “Well, can I― Can you not give me a bit of a discount here? You are best friends with my dad. Pretty please?” You laced your fingers together in a prayer and batted your eyelashes at him.

With a low grunt, he straightened his back and folded arms at his chest.

“I’m already giving you one. I would usually charge $1100. You’re already getting a bargain.”

“Well, what about $300?” You counteroffered.

Joel’s brows knitted together and then loudly scoffed.

“What? You think I’m a fucking charity? No, kiddo. $800 and that’s it. If I go any lower, I’d be losing money. Got a business to run here.”

You really did not have $800 bucks to spare. In fact, you barely had five hundred bucks to your name. Asking your family for money was not an option either ― not because you were proud (you were), but because money was tight. Your parents already had enough struggles as it was, you did not want to add to the pile.

You visibly pouted and stumped one foot against the gravel, vexed. A loud sigh slipped through your lips as you pressed the heel of your hands against your eye sockets. You needed the car.

Dropping your hands to your sides, you looked at Joel with puppy eyes, covering the distance that was between you. Pleading, you palmed his strong forearm, your fingers wrapping around the girth of his muscles.

For a brief second, you wondered if you would be able to fully grip his erection. Would your fingertips be able to touch your thumb? Or would he be so thick you would need both hands to handle him?

“Joel, pl―please?”, you stammered, your arousal playing games with your vocal cords.

Unwillingly, he scanned your body up and down ― slowly, taking his time, pondering his options.

Joel had wanted to fuck you for three years now, since your lustful eyes widened at the sight of only his tip on that dreadful summer day. He could vividly remember the way you had chewed your bottom lip as you watched him slide his cock back in his swim trunks, shamelessly, without blinking. You only stopped devouring him when someone talked to you, snapping out of your trance.

That night, when he got home, he had jerked himself off with you in his mind. He had imagined your plump lips sealed around his glans, the tip of your tongue playfully caressing the slit ― your sparkly eyes looking up at him, dreamy and teary, imploring. He had taken his sweet time, rejoicing in his fantasy, until he had spilled in the palm of his hand, as if he was a hormonal teenager. And every time he would fuck someone to find relief, he would visualize your cunt sheathing him, clamping down on his dick like a beartrap.

Ever since then, every time his eyes landed on you, his blood would boil and his cock would harden. Just like now, dick pounding against his boxers, begging to be paid due attention. With the eyes of his imagination, he saw himself letting go and throwing you into the back of your car, drilling your pussy relentlessly until you came wailing, asking for more.

Joel sucked in his breath ― he needed to calm down, distract himself with something else. You were his best friend’s daughter. He shouldn’t be daydreaming about fucking you stupid. He had seen you grow since you were a babe.

Never thought of you any other way until that fateful barbeque, when he realised you were a full grown ass woman. Suddenly he had seen you for what you were: a fuckable brat who could get his cock rock-hard with the simple lick a of a lip.

An idea formed as you begged him. You looked desperate ― desperate enough to him at least.

Joel cracked his tongue, his expression unwavering. But if you could see, you would know his cock was throbbing already.

“Well. I do have an idea.” His words dragged, his erection making him feel uncomfortable.

“You do? I’m all ears!” You exclaimed with a lopsided grin, your delicate fingers tighter around his forearm.

His head snapped to his right, pointing to a sign that read “Hand Car Wash”.

“If you help out all summer handwashing cars, I’ll consider part of your debt paid”, he explained, looking down at your hand touching him.

“In full?” You eyed him as if he was your goddamn saviour and that unsettled him.

“I said part of it, kiddo. I’ll leave it at $300.”

You batted your eyelashes at him. Did you know that your suggestiveness was wreaking havoc?

“Anything I can do so the $300 reduces to zero?”

“I’ll think about it”, he reluctantly conceded. Joel had a few ideas in mind, but none of them were precisely appropriate. Not for a twenty-one year old to do with a forty-eight year old at least, that was for sure. “Be here tomorrow at 9 AM, sharp. The team works from nine to twelve, Mondays to Fridays.”

You frantically nodded, almost squealing in excitement. The noise you made forced his cock to twitch. He could make you squeal too, only if you would let him.

“I’ll be here! Thanks, Joel.”

Before he could think, you let go of his forearm and hugged him close to your chest. To your round breasts. Those two meaty globes he wanted to palm so badly. He could swear your nipples were stabbing at him. You embraced him so close to your body, his bulge pressed gently against your lower belly, and he wondered if you could feel him.

And then you stepped back. Quickly, too quickly for his liking.

“You’ll need to leave your car here, don’t want you driving back in that junk. I’ll have a look at it tomorrow. I’ll give you a lift back”, he offered. “Lemme close first and I’ll be right back in five minutes.”

“No probs, take your time.” You smiled at him as you went back to your car to grab your things.

Soon you were on the passenger’s seat of Joel’s pickup truck. It was dusking on the horizon, the light scattering through the windshield. Joel put down the visor so he wouldn’t get blinded by the sun.

“So how’s college going?” His attempt at small talk made you smile.

“It’s good, hard but good. The first year was really bad though. I didn’t know anyone there, so had to make friends and everything.” You mentioned, shrugging, while mindlessly playing with your seatbelt.

“I’m sure you had no problems making friends”, Joel said distractedly, checking all the mirrors before turning at the streetlight.

You placed your elbow on the window frame, the back of your head resting on your palm, and you turned to look at him.

“How are you so sure?” You asked, curious to see what his take on you was. The man was like a brick wall.

“You’re so vivacious and talkative. You’re not the shy kind either, always were part of the popular group in high school, weren’t you?” You nodded, but he didn’t see you, all focused on the road ahead. “Bet’cha you have all the boys running after you.”

Well, that was unexpected. For both you and him, because you saw how his jaw clenched. It was almost imperceptible, but you were so aware of his every move, your body so in tune with his, you couldn’t have missed it.

Had he noticed you? Like, actually? Was it possible that Joel fucking Miller, your freaking dad’s best friend, could look at you with other than paternal eyes? Why would he make hat comment otherwise?

Your cunt, still wet from your previous innocent interaction, fluttered. You had no butterflies in your stomach ― they were actually clapping their fragile wings in between your legs. This man was a fucking menace to your senses, and he seemed oblivious to the effect he had on you. Or did he? Time to find out.

You giggled at his question and patted his upper thigh a couple of times, as if he had cracked the best joke you had ever heard. The pad of your fingers almost caressed his groin, that sweet dip where his thigh met his pelvis. The denim under your touch suddenly stretched as Joel flexed his leg, trying to release the tension that had rapidly built up.

You bit your bottom lip as he peered at you askance, your hand still too close to his crotch.

“I actually do, but none of them seem good enough, y’know? I want a man, not a boy”, you ventured, your top teeth sinking further in the soft pillow of your bottom lip.

You saw Joel sucking in his breath ― and the grin in your face grew. He was definitely not immune to you, at least not as much as you had originally thought. He looked so unattainable, always so distant, you had wondered if, in his eyes, you had never grown up.

“Do you now, kiddo?” He asked between gritted teeth, tone throaty.

His brown eyes drifted down for one second, watching the tips of your fingers rubbing the denim of his jeans slightly, and then he locked them back on the road. You heard a low grunt vibrating in his throat, although he tried his best to suppress it.

“Yeah. I’m sick and tired of stupid childish boys. They are just boring now, they lack― well, you know.” You let him brew with your unfinished sentence and removed your hand from his lap.

You could tell Joel finally was able to breathe again as his chest expanded slowly. His reaction to you left a prickling sensation in your pussy ― wet, throbbing, needy. You pressed your knees together, but what you really wanted was for him to reach for you and dunk his thick fingers in your slit.

“Your dad’s there.” He stated, succinct, after clearing his throat.

You looked over your shoulder and through the window to realise that, in fact, you had arrived home. Your father was already waiting for you on the porch, probably because he recognised the noise of Joel’s truck’s exhaust pipe. And then he started walking towards you.

You suppressed a pouting grimace ― you wanted just a few more minutes alone with Joel. A few more moves and, who knew? Maybe you would have him fingering the shit out of you. But thanks to your father, you would never find out.

Your father knocked on the passenger’s window and you rolled it down, smiling. Although what you really wanted to do was smack him for interrupting.

“Hey, dad.”

“Hey, sweetie. How’s the car?”

“Well…” You looked at Joel ― you had already forgotten what was it that needed replacing.

“The timing belt is going. Bit expensive but your daughter and I have reached an agreement. Will reduce the price for her but she’s gotta come work on the hand-wash business”, he explained, matter-of-factly.

“Sounds ‘bout right. Get your first taste of what the real world is like.” Your dad laughed at his own occurrence, while your mind drifted far, very far.

“I’d love to get a taste.” You answered feigning innocence, turning your face to Joel with a very wide smile painted on your mouth.

His eyes darkened, transfixed on yours. Oh, he knew exactly what you meant. He subtly stirred on his seat and you wanted to giggle so bad, but refrained.

“Hey, Joel. There’s a game on tomorrow night. You wanna come over? Can have something to eat, few beers, will be fun. I need the company, God knows this lady over here just complains while scrolling through her social media”, he pointed towards you with his thumb and you simply rolled your eyes at him.

Watching football with your old man was as boring as it got. However, if Joel Miller was there, he would have your undivided attention. Well, not him, the screen, obviously. Duh.

Your eyes shot to his, expectant. Your cunt was even more anticipative of his answer.

“Yeah, why not?”

Famous last words. That was Joel’s only thought as soon as he entered his best friend’s home. You greeted him at the door, all smiley and welcoming, ignoring the fact that you had been trying to get him hard the. whole. fucking. day.

You had come to work with some very short jeans ― every time you bent down to rub the sponge on the car’s bodywork, the bottom part of your perfectly round ass cheeks would show beneath the denim. Did you even wear any underwear? He thought not.

And then that white crop top was the fucking end of him. You had gotten it all wet when a loaded sponge dripped all over your front while you were talking to him about some trivial thing he could no longer remember. You had tittered and apologised while you scrunched it to get as much water out as possible. And the only thing he had been able to focus on were your pointy nipples, staring right at him, screaming for his caress.

After that, he had been at full mast the whole damn shift.

“Hi, Joel, come in!” You greeted him excitedly, swinging the door open.

He had taken a cold shower before coming over, but maybe what he needed was a fucking ice bath. Because the moment you batted your eyelashes at him, his cock twitched again. Joel had fisted his dick while showering, in the hopes that emptying his nuts before seeing you again would placate his lust for you.

Nope, hadn’t worked. Not one bit. This was probably a bad idea.

“Hey, kiddo.” He greeted you, emphasizing the last word.

He could literally be your fucking father, but that did not seem to deter you. If anything, it spurred you on. Had you no shame? Had he no shame? Because he should have stopped you the moment you started to be suggestive. Instead, he had let you go on, enjoying every single second of it.

Joel walked in and made his way to the kitchen, with you on his heels, where your father was lathering up some ribs with his secret sauce recipe.

“Hey, Joel. Let me get that from you”, he said before cleaning his hands on a kitchen towel and grabbing the beer crate from him.

Feeling they were still cold, his best friend cracked two open and handed him one. Joel lifted the can to his lips and saw you looking at him from the corner of his eye.

“Want one?” he asked, since you were of legal drinking age.

You shook your head no, wrinkling your nose in disgust.

“Eww, nah. I hate beer”, you sniggered and his dick spasmed some more.

“‘Course you do”, said your father before he could reply. “You only drink― What’s that crap again?”

“Gin and tonic, dad. It’s literally gin and tonic mixed. It’s not that fancy.” You huffed and puffed, shaking your head.

“This youth mixing everything because they can’t have proper alcohol. What’s next? Mixing beer with lemonade or something like that?”

“Well, that’s actually a thing. It’s called a shandy. Don’t be so old.”

Joel let you two have a go at each other. Observing the exchange, he sat down on one of the stools in front of the island, knees slightly bent.

“What?! You listening to this, Joel?” You father exclaimed with a joking tone. “Is Sarah like this too?”

“Yeah, exactly like this. Thinks beer is disgusting and everything. Thought I raised her better than that, but apparently not.” He jested, sipping from the tin can.

“How’s she doing?” His friend asked.

“She’s fine. She’s turning twenty-four in a couple of weeks. She moved out two months ago, gone to Houston for her new job.” He couldn’t help but be proud of his Sarah. She had accomplished so much. “She’s supposed to be here for her birthday, but we’ll see. She’s always so busy, don’t really know with what.”

“Aren’t they all? I barely see this one over here and she still lives under my roof.”

You folded arms, rolling your eyes again, while you sat down beside Joel on another stool.

“Sorry for having a social life? Like, what do you want me to do? Stay here with you watching football? Got better things to do, dad.”

“So you ain’t staying tonight then?” Your dad asked.

Joel turned to study you, interested in your answer. Could he have some reprieve tonight?

“Of course I’m stayin’. Would be rude not to when we have guests over, right, Joel?” And as the last words abandoned your mouth, you placed your left hand on his right thigh under the counter.

God have mercy.

Joel’s muscles stiffened, one in particular more than the others. His thighs were tense as he gripped the beer can with more strength than what was necessary. He kept his eyes to the front, taming his breathing.

He should have done something, slapping your hand away from his lap for instance. But he didn’t. And you took that as an invitation, because soon enough you were kneading his bulge under the kitchen island. Your palm rubbed harshly against the denim, and he saw you chewing your bottom lip.

Your father busied himself with seasoning the ribs and the French fries, oblivious to what was happening just a few meters away from him. This feels fucking wrong, but so fucking good, Joel thought to himself, your hand frisking his groin brazenly.

His cock was thudding with desire under his clothing, begging to be freed from its prison. You sensed his desperation, because you quickly tried to clasp your hand around it. Feeling your frustration at the inability of fisting him properly, Joel parted his legs to give you better access. If that was not an open invitation, nothing was.

I’m already going to hell. Joel had to stop himself of sucking his breath in when you started to unzip his jeans. His eyes slightly widened, but that was his only tell.

“So who do you reckon is going to win tonight?” Your father asked as your fingers dipped underneath his boxers.

Your warm skin against his beating cock dulled his senses. Then you took his dick out of his boxers and attempted to circle his girth while working him. Joel had to drink from his beer to shut himself up.

“Not sure, but I’d like for the Longhorns to win”, he spat the words out as best he could given the circumstances.

“Yeah, would be nice seeing our hometown win something this season”, your father continued with the small talk.

Joel’s thighs flexed when you started pumping him decisively. Fuck. He briefly looked down at his erection. It felt too damn good, your tiny fingers gripping him hard as you slowly moved your hand up and down on his lap. The tip of his cock was glistening with precum and you expertly rubbed it on his foreskin with your thumb.

As your father turned around to put everything in the oven, Joel took the chance to look at you. With your gaze averted, you pretended there was something interesting in the wall in front of you, while your right hand was buried underneath your slutty denim shorts. Joel could swear he could hear the squelching sounds your pussy was making while you played with yourself.

“Right, I think this is it. Gotta wait for an hour until everything’s properly cooked. Wanna move to the family room in the meantime?” He happily chattered as he walked around the kitchen island.

You reacted quickly and let go of his shaft. With his lap right under the kitchen counter, Joel hoped to hell his friend would not see anything out of the ordinary.

“Yeah”, he said with a coarse voice. “Need to go to the bathroom first.”

Your father just nodded as he sauntered towards the living room and Joel almost let go a sigh of relief. You simply chortled as you put your left thumb in your mouth, making it obvious that you were tasting his precum.

Joel’s cock jerked on his lap as he whispered a blasphemy. Quickly he tucked away his painful dick back in his boxers and zipped his jeans as he stood up. Then he retreated to the bathroom, needing a fucking moment to find his composure again.

Until he heard you.

“Gonna go get my phone charger, be back in a jiffy!”

Before Joel could close the door behind him, you slipped your hand in the door gap to stop him from shutting it. You caught him off guard, because he stepped back, brows knitting when he saw you under the door frame.

“What’cha doing?”, he questioned you.

You could feel the rigidity radiating from him. You entered the small bathroom and silently closed the door behind you, both of your hands holding onto the doorknob on your back.

“I came to finish what I started.”

You didn’t give him time to think ― if you did, you knew he would put an end to this. You were too turned on, your cunt beating every time your heart did. Your pussy lips were all wet and puffy ― you could feel your slick trapped between your folds, almost seeping into your panties. You had unleashed the beast and wanted it all for yourself.

So you threw yourself into Joel’s chest, your teeth softly scratching his Adam’s apple as one of your hands found its way back to his cock. He tilted his chin up and groaned at your touch. His pounding dick felt warm and velvety against your palm, so hard from working him under the kitchen counter a minute before.

Once he opened his eyes again, he looked down at you as you gripped his erection with both hands. Slowly you jerked him off, feeling powerful with him on the palm of your hands. Every time you pumped him, your clit would twitch in response. He had not touched you yet and your pussy was already palpitating for him. You could not wait to feel him inside you, stuffing you full.

 “We shouldn’t, your father is right there―”

You could not care less. And to make it evident, you sunk to your knees in front of him, still holding his cock, now at eye level.

Your tongue darted out and you leaned his dick forward until the tip rested flat against your tongue, your hands still working his veiny shaft.

“You were saying?” You asked before briefly pecking his glans.

“Fuck”, was the only thing he managed to mumble.

That was your cue to give free rein to your lust. You nudged his column with the tip of your nose as your mouth drifted down to kiss his balls. Then your tongue slid out in its full extension, and you flattened it against the underside of his cock, slowly lapping at it until you reached the top and sealed your lips around his mushroom head.

Glancing up at him, you saw pleasure softening his features as you took him in further and further down, until his cock reached the natural resistance at the end of your throat. When his tip bottomed out in your mouth, Joel’s eyes found yours. His jaw visibly clenched at the sight of you kneeling in front of him, cock burrowed in between your lips, tears gathering on your bottom eyelids because of how his dick was outstretching you.

You moaned as Joel pulled his hips back, his shaft leaving your wet cavity, now full of precum and saliva. You swallowed to make room as you avidly tipped your head towards him, your lips hunting down his dick again. Slurping so you wouldn’t drown in fluids, you ate his cock like if it was the last edible thing on earth.

At that moment, something shifted in the air. As if Joel, finally, let go of his prejudices and accepted what you were giving him: your mouth to use as he pleased. His fingers hovered over your temples and then they clamped down on your skull as he held you in place.

“Stay still”, he commanded, and you nodded, his cock sitting snugly in your mouth.

His hips moved back and then forward, rocking his dick in and out of your lips. First slow, then picking up a pace. You stayed put throughout while he fucked your mouth mercilessly, palms against your knees like the good girl you were. Then his glans breached your uvula and you inevitably gagged at the intrusion.

He forced you to remain still as he tried to go further down, but there was nowhere for him to go. Your eyes welled up while you fought back the need to cough, almost unable to breathe.

Joel snapped his hips back and your mouth became free. You started panting while trying to catch a breath. Joel cupped your chin up so you would look at him. His sly grin told you he was enjoying himself a bit too much.

“Can tell you’ve not eaten many cocks, have you? Despite pretending to be this slutty brat in front of everyone, hm?” He asked, his voice rumbling in his chest.

“Well, I―” He didn’t let you finish the sentence because as soon as you opened your mouth, he slotted his dick back in between your plump lips.

“I actually don’t wanna hear it.”

Inevitably your cunt gushed at his roughness. He was right though ― you had only given head to two guys before and their cocks did not measure up to his. Your jaw had actually started to hurt now due to the effort you were making to house his dick in your mouth.

Joel quickly resumed his pounding, fucking your mouth relentlessly ― his hips swaying back and forth in front of you.

“Sweetie! Can you bring my charger too please?” Your father’s question forced both of you to snap out of the sexual haziness you both were feeling.

You two froze in place, Joel’s cock still in your mouth.

“Or I can come get it.” Then you heard his booted steps coming up the corridor.

In a panic, Joel stumbled back and you sprang to your feet, eyes widened with fear.

“No! Don’t worry! I’m coming!” You shouted back, hoping that your voice sounded far away enough to him.

The steps stopped and you both listened to him walking back to the living room. “Thank you, sweetie!”

You turned to look at Joel, who had grabbed a bunch of toilet roll to clean off the mess on his still throbbing cock.

“Joel, I’m sorry, b―”

“Just go before he changes his mind and comes looking for you”, his voice was strained with effort. His erection had to be painful by now without any relief.

But he was right. You couldn’t risk it. Neither of you could. So with apologetic eyes, you slithered out the bathroom door and ran to your room to snatch a couple of phone chargers.

Fucking torture that was.

Joel had never been in a worse position than that. Sat on the couch with you, your father on the recliner just a couple of meters away ― and his dick still pulsating, his balls full of unspent cum. His cock would writhe in his boxers, asking for a relief that never came. He was in excruciating pain and was not able to concentrate at all. All the small talk your father did went over his head, didn’t pay attention to the TV’s commentary either.

From time to time, you would graze his thigh lightly ― and on one occasion you slid your naughty hand towards his groin. Luckily the living room was dark, the TV being the only source of light, so your father didn’t pay much attention to your provocations. You quietly kneaded his bulge, curling your fingers around his erection underneath, and it got to a point where Joel had to force your hand away, because he was too close to coming.

So, when he waved you both goodbye and got into his truck, he could literally not wait to get home. Under the dim light of the lampposts that filtered through the windows into the truck’s cabin, Joel freed his aching dick and fisted it from the base. With his head tilted back against the headrest, he furiously jerked off ― fast and with no measure, to the point it was almost hurting. Tension built up from his nuts upwards and when Joel finally got relief, he groaned audibly as his cum spurted out in white, thick streaks.

With a heavy sigh and some laboured breathing, he opened his eyes, looking for some tissues to clean the mess on his lap. As he was putting his cock back in his boxers, something caught his attention.

The darkness camouflaged you well, but he spotted you on the window of your room, watching him eagerly with half-lidded eyes and chewing your bottom lip. Then your head leaned forward, your chin almost touching your chest, and Joel suddenly understood what was happening. You had been touching yourself while observing him do the same thing, until you orgasmed too.

Your eyes locked on each other’s through the blackness, something dark and perverted floating in the atmosphere. The whole thing felt wrong. The right kind of wrong.

The next week had been a continuous dance between the two of you. You too suggestive, him too evasive. After you had seen him wanking in his car, you had thought you had him under your spell. He had looked like a damn teenager chasing his release, unable to contain it much longer.

But you couldn’t blame him ― you had had him on edge for almost five hours. First touching him under the counter, then sucking his dick in the bathroom, and finally kneading him on the couch with your dad only two meters away.

It all had affected you too, because as soon as you had scurried away to your room and had looked out the window, you fingered yourself with your eyes locked on him. You came so hard, that you had to steady yourself on the windowsill, trembling knees and all. And once the orgasm softened its grip on you, you had realised he had been watching you as you rode the last wave of your climax.

So yes, for a week you tried to seduce him again, because you needed to know how it all ended. Having him burrowed down to your guts was a necessity now. However, it got to a point where you almost gave up ― it was draining having to follow him around like a bitch in heat. You still had one ace up your sleeve though. One that you hoped to play this afternoon. Because if you didn’t fuck him today, you were going to lose your shit.

You focused on your task, which was rubbing the soaked sponge on the bodywork of the car. Two other people were doing the same thing on the back, while you were slightly bent over the hood trying to reach the middle. Your breasts brushed against the metalwork, your white tank top completely wet with soapy water, almost transparent now. The coldness was refreshing in the asphyxiating Texan heat and your nipples especially welcomed it, wrinkling tightly and showing through the fabric.

When you straightened, you caught a glimpse of Joel eyeing you intently. But you pretended you didn’t ― maybe you needed to play difficult, show him no interest. Reverse psychology. So for the rest of your shift you just ignored him, fully conscious of how his sight followed you at all times. Let him brew.

Joel didn’t say a word though, didn’t come close to you either. But you heard him wicker while you were openly teasing one of your teammates. Were you trying to make him jealous? Absolutely. So, you giggled and played with your hair at the tasteless joke your colleague told you. It wasn’t funny, but you wanted Joel to listen to your flirting.

Midday came around and the other two people working on the hand wash business said their goodbyes. Joel employed a father and son in the shop too, who left the garage to go home for lunch. And then it was only you and Joel left. Just as you had planned.

“Joel? Can you help me with this, please?” You politely asked him after lifting a bucket full of water up to your chest.

You took a couple of steps forward and the water spilt all over, soaking your shirt completely.

“Shit”, you heard him say under his breath, jogging towards you.

He slipped his arms underneath the bucket to release you from its weight and then placed it back down between both of you.

“What are you doing? You’re gonna hurt your back with such terrible manual handling.” He reprimanded you, tutting.

“Something hurts and it’s not my back, Joel.” You muttered, your fingers wrapping around his wrist to haul him closer to you.

You were done with subtlety. You guided his hand to your pussy and pressed it gently.

“Hurts right here.” The low, needy mumble poured from your lips like honey.

Joel’s eyes squinted just a tad, and his nostrils flared. You saw the inner battle in his chocolate eyes, and you fucking hoped he lost.

Soon you had the answer you had been looking for. The palm of his hand flattened against your crotch, holding you possessively, and pulled you against his broad chest. You couldn’t help but moan when your breasts pressed against him, your taut nipples aching with sensitivity.

“You’re so fucking nasty, kiddo. Been watching you all week, trying to get me hard all over again, haven’t you?” You shyly nodded, biting down your bottom lip as you glanced up at him, his palm rubbing your cunt with determination. “Of course you have, you’re so cock drunk. You loved sucking me, didn’t you?”

You shook your head yes, holding onto the waistband of his jeans. You whimpered when his thumb burrowed in your pants, trying to find your slit over all that clothing unsuccessfully.

“Joel, please.” You begged for mercy, for relief, for something ― anything he could give you, you would take.

“You want me to fuck you, kiddo?” His free hand cupped your chin, tilting your head up, while his thumb kept nudging your damp slit. His mouth hovered over yours as you simply nodded again. “Hm? You want me to destroy your pussy?”

“Yes, yes, YES.” You were already gushing at his dirty talk.

With no more prodding, Joel bowed down and sunk his tongue in your mouth, darting in with the ferocity only a man on the edge could feel. He swept your entire cavity in an open-mouth kiss that left your knees shaking and your pussy throbbing. You moaned into his breath and your tongue lapped at his, the span on his fingers gently covering your neck and squeezing lightly.

Joel’s hand between your legs moved to your ass, pressing you into him. His swollen lump poked at your lower belly intimately and you couldn’t resist the urge to dip your hand in his boxers. He audibly groaned as you attempted to circle his whole girth and failed. Just like a week before, you would need both of your hands around his shaft to properly grip him. You pumped him once, very slow, your hand gliding down till it found his balls.

Joel grunted in the middle of the sloppy kiss and pushed you to go backwards until your body met the back of his pickup truck, which was parked at the end of the driveway. Out of prying eyes, you hoped. Not that you cared that much at this precise moment, anyway.

His beard scratched the skin on your cheek as his lips drifted down to your neck. You looked up to the clear sky before you closed your eyes, giving his pulsing cock a light squeeze that snatched a moan out of him.

Without warning, Joel broke the messy kiss and knelt before you, his hands tugging at the waistband of your shorts with no difficulty. Soon your pants were around your ankles, your panties quickly following, leaving you naked from the waist down. Joel helped you take them off but left your tennis on.

Still on his knees, he peeked up with a devilish smile, then leaned forward and lapped at your mound. A heavy sigh slipped from your lips as your fingers raked his salt and pepper curls. The tip of his tongue brushed the point where your slit started and then licked upwards, his tongue skidding through your skin until it reached your belly button.

You pursed your lips, wanting him to go down, not up. In fact, you pushed him down ever so slightly and the cold of his breath against your wet skin when he laughed made you look down, frustrated.

He kissed the beginning of your slit again and when you thought he was going in, he stopped. You whimpered, thwarted, as he got back up to his feet and towered above you.

“You want me to touch you where it hurts, hm?” He questioned with his lips ghosting yours. “Your pussy? That’s where?”

Not waiting for your reply, his index dunked in your pearly furrow and traced it in its entirety, from your quivering hole to your thumping clit. And then he did it again, for good measure.

“You’re soaking, kiddo. I’ve barely touched you and you’re already dripping.” To emphasize his words, Joel suddenly dived his finger in your opening, a squelching sound making it obvious that you were, in fact, dripping. “You hear that?” He forced his finger out and then back in, the wet, sucking noise even louder this time.

You frantically nodded as he fingered you, his thumb caressing your begging clit as he did. You mewled into his chest, eyes shut, trying to calm the fluttering of your inner walls around his lonely finger. Lonely not for long, because Joel then introduced a second. You held onto his sides, his tee shirt scrunching in your fists, the orgasm building up.

“C’mon, squeeze your cunt for me. Show me how tight you are”, he whispered in your ear as his relentless fingering picked up a faster pace between your legs.

You happily obliged and squashed your walls together around his fingers as he dextrously stroked your g-spot. All of a sudden, a firing sensation built in your clit without warning and the haziness of pleasure took over your senses abruptly. You came hard, very hard, wailing his name as he kept on fingering you until the last wave of your climax washed over you.

What the actual fuck? You thought to yourself, amazed. You rested your forehead against his chest, catching a breath and feeling your arousal wetting your inner thighs.

Still recovering from your unexpected orgasm, Joel picked you up and settled you down on the edge of his truck’s cargo bed. Your feet dangled in front of you, and you parted your legs to make room for him while you wrapped his neck with your arms and licked into his mouth.

“Now I’m gonna eat you raw, kiddo. Give you some of your own medicine.” His hoarse tone gave you goosebumps. Palming both of your breasts over your wet tank top, he pushed you down until your back met the floor of the cargo bed, your legs hanging freely from your knees down. “Is that what you want? This old man feasting on your pussy, on her? ‘S she gonna like it?”

“Joel, please, just― Yes, eat my pussy. Eat her, eat me, please.” You begged with a small voice while you pinched your nipples over your shirt, eyes closed.

And finally, he did. With his hands on your knees to keep them apart, Joel lapped at your cunt in one sweet sweep. Your body trembled with elation, shivers firing down your spine. His tongue caressed all the crevices in your shiny slit, lips puffy and reddened. His thumb found your clit as the tip of his tongue played with your leaking hole, going in and out a few times ― fucking you with his tongue.

You were not able to take it for much longer ― with Joel’s tongue lodged in your creamy fold and your fingers playing with your nipples, you were done for. Soon you came undone, tension growing in your lower belly and molten lava finding its way out. You howled his name, your knees pressing against his head, holding him in place as you came in his mouth. Joel sipped from your fountain, leaving not even one drop behind, your pussy licked clean of your own discharge.

His turn to find relief.

Even though Joel had been fisting himself while eating you raw, the roughness of his palm could not compare to your warmth. He just knew your pussy would hug his cock just right. And he was dying to find out.

Pushing his work jeans and boxers down to his ankles, he kicked his feet until they came off. Soon his security shoes and socks were kicked to the side too. With renewed energy, Joel jumped on to the cargo bed. You propped your torso up with the help of your elbows to study his erection, wetting your lips unknowingly.

Your eyes lingered on his cock for too damn long and it twitched on his hand.

“Spread your legs, kiddo.”

And so you did without complaints. You stretched your legs, Joel having a perfect view of your glistening pussy. You were so horny, he could literally see your cunt palpitating from this angle. Knelt between your legs, he leaned forward until the tip of his dick brushed against your slit, so damp again it just slid off. Jerking himself off, he nudged your soaked entrance with his mushroom head and your mouth opened, shaping a perfect O.

“So needy, isn’t she? Aren’t you? Playing difficult to catch today, trying to make me jealous with that stupid boy, but in reality, you’re just a desperate brat wanting to get her pussy drilled by her dad’s best friend.” His dirty talk did not stop while he pushed in, your flesh parting to house him until he bottomed out.

Joel moaned, sweat gathering on his brow, his hands on either side of your head. He stood still for a long minute while your cunt fluttered around him, sheathing his whole length. He could feel your inner muscles adjusting to him.

You were so cockstruck you didn’t even reply.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, so take it well, kiddo.” He warned before tilting his hips back and abruptly back in.

You wailed loudly at the first thrust, and Joel had to muffle your screams by covering your mouth with his hand. You licked his palm, but he didn’t let go. He did not want you to alert the neighbours around the garage. His hips bucked against yours and then, after a few teasing shoves, Joel started jackhammering you fast and viciously hard.

You draped your legs around his waist, the heels of your white tennis pushing on his ass cheeks, encouraging to go deeper and quicker. And so he did, uncovering your mouth to replace it with his.

Joel fucked you mercilessly, filthily. He drove his dick in and out of you in quick succession, drilling your tacky pussy. And he knew you were loving every single second of it. Your soft sobs only spurred him on and when your moist pussy clutched around his drumming cock announcing your orgasm, he couldn’t restraint himself for much longer.

He stoically let you come while riding your own climax. His balls tightened and his belly muscles strained, signalling his own relief.

“Where?”, was the only word that he managed to whisper.

Your eyes were still closed, a languid smile lingering on your lips, all blissful and satisfied while he was still fucking suffering.

“In my mouth.” Your reply was almost his undoing.

Joel snapped his hips back, his hard, throbbing cock slipping out. He dragged his body across yours until his thick, hairy thighs were on each side of your head and his nuts were resting on your chin, his ass hanging over your breasts.

“Open”, he husked, raspy and throaty.

Still with your eyes closed, you parted your lips, and Joel shoved his beating cock down your throat unceremoniously. He leaned forward over you ― his hands holding his weight off you, flat against the cargo bed’s floor. And then Joel started fucking your mouth mindlessly, as if it was your cunt ― his testicles slapping against your chin and your eyes welling up.

He could feel your head almost rocking up and down below him with the strength of his thrusts. You only stopped swaying underneath him when your hands grabbed his buttocks, your fingers sinking in his flesh.

With a guttural growl, Joel came undone and his thick cum filled your mouth. You stayed still while the last white ropes spurted out the slit on his tip, finally reaching the bliss he had been chasing for a week.

Joel lifted his hips off your face and his dick came out of your mouth with a pop.

“Eat it, kiddo.” He requested of you, towering above you.

From this angle, flat on your back and with Joel almost sat on your face, you saw first his balls and then his soft cock hovering over your eyes. What had just happened was filthy, and you loved it, even though you were sure that your throat would hurt tomorrow.

“It’s $300 if I swallow”, you kidded out of nowhere, almost gargling with his cum as your mouth was full of it.

Joel chuckled as he came off you, sitting down on your left.

“Deal”, he agreed.

And so you gulped his cum down, letting it slip down your throat until it landed in your belly. You smiled at him before opening your mouth to show him it was empty.

Joel’s chest rumbled with satisfaction.

“Good girl.”

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

suguru is too well-mannered for his own good.

when you walk into his living room, a lidded paper cup in hand, he’s seated on the couch. right in front of the coffee table, his fingers tapping the keys of his laptop, a series of clicks filling the open air.

he’s just as beautiful as always.

light shines in from the veranda, through parted curtains, licking along the contours of his face; illuminating his face lines, soft crows’ feet by his eyes. he’s got his hair tied up into a bun, raven locks and silver strands — only slightly grayed, some of them tickling the back of his neck — eyes narrowing in concentration behind a pair of reading glasses.

you can see his age, like this, but also not at all. he looks younger than ever with the sun as his gown.

suddenly, he raises his head — meeting your adoring gaze with his own. two pools of amber, always warm, like they were made to reflect sunlight, made to pull you in. his lips curling up into a fond, fond smile.

but your gaze strays down to his hands.

big, steady hands. hands that always find their way to the dips of your waist, to the tender juncture of skin between your shoulders and neck, to the top of your head. reaching out to pinch your cheeks, soothe your headaches after long lectures, mend and mold any lump of clay you place into his waiting palms — guide it into whatever shape he pleases, with those skilled fingers, calloused thumbs and nimble pinkies.

when you think of suguru, you think of pottery. you think of something beautiful — and there he is.

and he’s holding a cup.

as you step into his line of vision — hungry for a proper look at him — you can’t help but notice it. painted a deep, dark green, his favorite, but the shape is all wrong. uneven, rough around the edges, not nearly polished enough. when he puts it back down on the table, it wobbles — stumbles.

(you visibly cringe.)

”hi, sweetie.”

that deep, honeyed voice tugs you back into reality, your gaze pulled up like a puppet on a string. suguru is patient, just taking you in, waiting for a response. there’s never any rush, when it comes to him. 

a shy smile blooms on your lips. 

”hi,” you echo, stepping closer; raising a hand up into his view, the one carrying the paper cup, swaying it lightly side to side. ”i got you a latte.”

”oh?” he lets out a soft noise, something like a coo, eyes blooming with fondness. ”chai?”

”mhm.”

his smile only grows. you watch him lean back, absently crossing his arms, thick muscles hidden under the turtleneck he’s sporting. when you take a step closer, eager to hand it to him, he stops you. 

”why don’t you give it a taste for me?” he asks, giving you a sweet tilt of his head. eyes soft and amused.

you blink.

after a moment, you raise the cup to your lips; taking a tentative sip of the brew. it’s hot on your tongue, a dash of pleasant spices, but mellow and sweet. just the way he likes it. you sigh out in bliss.

he only chuckles. ”how is it?”

”tasty,” you hum, licking your lips. holding it out for him to take. ”not too sweet, don’t worry.”

suguru accepts the cup with a smile, his thumb lingering on your hand for a moment, caressing the skin in a soothing, circular motion. his voice a low, tender murmur. ”thank you, honey.”

a warm feeling sprouts in your chest.

”i’ll get you a cup next time i pass by a café,” he continues, taking a tentative sip of his own. he visibly perks up at the taste. ”what would you like?”

”you don’t have to!” you’re quick to assure him, blinking sheepishly. but, of course, he won’t have it.

”i want to,” he chuckles. ”you’ll make me very happy if you let me.”

…

there’s no use protesting, when it comes to things like this. when he gets like this. telling suguru not to take care of you is like asking the sun not to shine.

so you let out a sigh.

”i… want a caramel frappe, please.”

another chuckle. his voice is soft, as always, like a coo is resting on the tip of his tongue. ”understood.”

suguru watches you, silently, for just a moment or two more. you’re meeting his gaze with a shy pair of eyes, always a little flustered by his attention, his care. his sweet little baby bird, coming over just to give him something to drink. straight out of class. 

(you must be in need of some pampering.)

he pats his lap. ”come here,” he croons, parting his legs to give you space to take up. ”keep me company while i work. i want to hear about your day, sweetie.”

you blink, again. looking down at his lap, then back up at him, at the light catching onto the silver of his half-rim frames. he gives you a patient, closed-eyed smile — waiting for you to take your rightful place.

and you do.

his thighs feel solid, beneath you — big arms curling around your waist as you crawl into his lap and get comfy. one hand goes to rest on your hip, the other on your lower back, cradling you close, so secure in his embrace. you wrap your arms around his neck, legs draped over his thighs, leaning into his touch; inhaling the scent of sandalwood and tea leaves.

”… it was pretty boring.”

”oh, i’m sure you can do better than that.” he grins, brushing his thumb over the fabric of your jeans, an absentminded gesture. ”any interesting lectures?”

”uhhh…” 

as you attempt to recollect your long and tiring day, suguru leans forward — reaching for the cup. the ugly one. the stumbling one. pulling it closer, putting the ceramic to his lips, to finish whatever he was drinking before you came in. green tea, you’d guess. the sip he takes resounds in your ear, your eyes sticking to his fingers as he places it back on the wooden table with a clink — it wobbles again. 

you give it a look of silent contempt.

… a look suguru seems to notice. because his keen, warm eyes trail down to where yours are still resting, and then back up at your cute little frown. he raises a brow, but he’s still smiling, an amused curl of his lips.

 ”… what?”

a moment passes. you consider staying silent — but the nagging curiosity gets the better of you. avoiding his gaze, still glancing down at the cup in question…

you absently clear your throat.

”you still… use that one?” you ask him, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. thinking to yourself that it should be stashed away in some forgotten cupboard, not out in the open — but maybe your boyfriend is just too polite to do something like that. 

suguru only blinks.

”why wouldn’t i?”

…

you give him a look.

he returns it with a look of his own; silent, coaxing, that one questioning raise of his brow that demands an answer. he pairs it with a gentle squeeze to your hip, knowing it’ll make you relent. and he’s right.

”it’s…” you part your lips, searching for the right word, frowning down at the little ceramic bundle of joy. with its bumpy texture, that awkward-looking handle, the uneven bottom layer. ”so ugly, suguru.”

”ugly?” he echoes, a spark of amusement in his amber eyes. but he sounds a little discontent, suddenly, almost protective. ”now, now. beauty is in the eye of the beholder, my love.”

his deep voice buzzes in your ear, as he reaches out again — cradling the cup with one large hand. gazing down at it with a look you can’t quite place, so sweet it makes you shiver. a burst of vanilla on your tongue.

out of the corner of your eye, you notice him giving you a pointed look. 

”… and i happen to think this cup is very charming.”

you can’t help but pout, shying away from his gaze, heavy as it is. gnawing at your bottom lip, crossing your arms and resting your cheek near the crook of his neck; muttering under your breath. ”what’s charming about a cup that can barely stand…?”

”you made it,” he answers, simply. ”with your own hands and fingers. and you gave it to me.”

ever so gently, he grips your jaw; his pointer and middle finger tilting your chin to meet his gaze, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. 

”… don’t you think there’s an awful lot of charm in that?”

(warm. his eyes look warm enough to fall into.)

a sigh slips past your lips. he gives you a soft tilt of his head, and you part your lips in pliant response, sulking like a petulant child. ”the ones you’ve made for me are so much better, though…”

you think of all the bowls, the cups and plates he’s given you — the same ones you use every single day, sitting tall and proud on your dorm room shelves, made entirely by him. by an artist. in all kinds of elegant patterns, your initials carved at the bottom of every single one. he always gives you the ones he’s most proud of, after he’s finished with his classes.

(… in comparison, yours is just…)

”we don’t make art for needless comparison,” he shushes you, ever so fondly. ”there’s no end to that. we make it because it’s fun. your pieces aren’t lesser than mine just because i happen to be more experienced.”

…

when you don’t respond, suguru shifts — cradling you close, lifting the cup up to catch the light of the evening sun. it cascades down the ceramic, a mellow orange glow gliding across the green expanse. he watches it with barely concealed adoration.

”… this is my favorite one, you know. in my entire collection.” a joyous little hum buzzes in his throat. ”i’ve never made a cup i liked as much as this.”

you watch his expression change, eyes flickering with something soft and subtle, crinkled at the edges. his voice is nothing but sincere — coated in that sturdy, reliable tilt, like nothing he says could possibly be a lie. even if he tried, you doubt he could fake this kind of delight. putting the cup back down, as gentle as he can, as if it’s a cherished possession. he only looks more delighted when it wobbles a bit.

without thinking, the words slip past your lips.

”… i’ll make you another one.”

suguru’s gaze flicks down to meet yours. all bright and determined, your cheek squished against his shoulder, enough to make him want to coo. he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

”oh…? joining us in the studio again?”

”joining you,” you correct, letting out a quiet huff. ”i… don’t want your students to make fun of me.”

a raspy chuckle leaves his lips.

”they won’t,” he assures you, a hint of pride in his voice. ”they’re much too well-behaved.”

”well-behaved around you, maybe,” you mutter, with a roll of your eyes. nuzzling against his jaw, frowning softly. ”… you’re coddling them.”

”i coddle you,” he purrs, with an affectionate squeeze to your hip. ”i don’t see you complaining, do i?”

”… that’s different.” 

the tiny pout on your lips makes him laugh, he can’t help it. but he indulges you, always, all too eager to let you have your way. ”of course it is,” he coos, deep and teasing. ”how could i ever suggest otherwise?”

you fail to stifle a smile. feeling his skin against yours, his fingers rubbing absentminded patterns into your back, that soothing voice rumbling in your ear. when he leans down, to pick up the paper cup, you’re filled with a sense of purpose. you’ll just have to make a better cup next time — one that doesn’t wobble, with a smoother texture, perfectly symmetrical. one he can show off to his students and coworkers, the same way you do with all the pottery he’s given you.

suguru deserves nothing but the best, after all.

… what you don’t realize is that it won’t matter. even if you give him a better option, he’ll continue to use the cup he has now — with a sheepish little smile, and a sorry, honey. it seems i’ve gotten attached.

(… you suppose it’s the thought that counts.)

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Oh Make Me Over - Emily Prentiss

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Reader and Emily agreeing to do each other’s makeup devolves into lewd activities.

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: saw a tiktok that made me so insanely feral so here we are.

TW: dom!emily, lap sitting, cockwarming + penetration (w/ a strap), slight fingering, degradation kink, slight praise, playful thigh slapping, fem + afab reader

Rating: R (mostly smut again, oops)

——

“Emily, will you do my makeup?” You approached her from behind, wrapping your arms around her waist.

“Only if you’ll do mine.” She replied, setting the hot tool in her hand on the counter. She looked at you through the mirror, admiring the way your chin sat so perfectly on her shoulder.

“Let me finish my hair and we can start, go get everything together and I’ll be right in.” She smiled, turning to kiss your cheek.

You padded out of the bathroom, collecting both of your makeup bags and setting them on the nightstand while you relaxed on the bed. You pulled out the book you were reading, scanning through a chapter until Emily walked in.

“You first babe, I have an idea for mine.” She hinted, peaking your curiosity. She joined you on the bed, grabbing your makeup bag and moving to straddle your lap. She laid out the contents of the bag on the bed next to you, asking you to hold certain things as she went to work making you over.

Having her on top of you made your body temperature rise, your heart rate increasing every time she bit her lip in concentration and held your chin to move your face whichever way she needed you to face.

“Look down.” She commanded, ready to apply the smokey eye you had requested for your first proper date night in months. Your gaze dropped, giving you an eyeful of her ample cleavage in the low-cut top she had chosen. Something told you she was doing this on purpose but you weren’t complaining. The next thing you knew she was gripping your chin, holding you firmly in place.

“I’m doing your eyeliner, don’t move.” She was a little extra firm this time and you could tell she was in one of her dominant moods today. That thought had you clenching your thighs together, wondering what she would do to you when you got home from your date.

“Lashes?” She asked, holding up your favorite pair of falsies. You nodded, wanting to look extra pretty for her. She applied the lashes, blowing softly against your eyelids to help the glue completely dry. The new sensation sent a shiver down your spine, and you almost whined when she leaned away from you to grab a mirror.

“Thoughts?” She watched your expression, loving the way your eyes lit up when you took the look in.

“You always make me look so pretty.” You praised her handiwork.

“You’re always gorgeous.” She sighed, a little disappointed in your backdoor self-depreciation but always loving to hear that she’s made you happy. You blushed, still not fully sure how to feel comfortable receiving compliments, even from your girlfriend of 2 years.

“So what is your idea for yours?” The curiosity was driving you wild, Emily always has the best ideas.

She got off the bed, going over to the dresser and opening the drawer the two of you kept your toys in. You watched her carefully, trying to see what she was grabbing until she turned around, strap in hand. You gulped, cheeks flushing.

“We have to leave soon or we’ll miss our reservation, I don’t think we have time to do your makeup and do that.” You reminded her, trying to remain rational.

“Not if we do both at the same time.” She smirked, stepping into the harness and tightening it around her hips. You remained silent, still a bit confused until she climbed on the bed, settling with her back against the headboard, strap resting erect in her lap.

“Come here.” She beckoned you toward her, her hands resting on your hips as you hovered only inches from the toy between you.

“Have you ever heard of cockwarming?” This line of questioning was not what you were expecting when you imagined your first date night in months. You shook your head, the name giving you an idea but not 100% sure on the definition.

“I want you to sit on my lap with this inside you and do my makeup. You can do whatever you want on it, as long as you stay focused and get my makeup done in time to make our reservation.” Her eyes sparkled and even though you were a little unsure, the ache between your thighs was growing by the second and the concept of getting some relief was more than enough to convince you.

“Okay, I think I can do that.” You finally answer after a moment, reaching for her makeup bag and splaying the contents on the bed like Emily had done with yours. When you were ready you draped your hand over her shoulder, lifting your hips and holding your skirt up so you should position yourself above the fake cock. You reached down, pumping your fingers into your entrance to double check that your desperation had aroused you enough to safely sink onto it before positioning the head in place of your fingers, the stretch drawing a gasp of air from your lungs. You sank down completely, pausing for a moment to adjust to the feeling before reaching for Emily’s primer, ready to start your task.

You got to work, applying her base products as you slowly swiveled your hips, allowing yourself just enough stimulation to keep you satisfied but still focused on what you were doing. An issue began to arise when you reached for her eyeshadow palette, ready to start getting into the more tedious details. The slight friction wasn’t enough anymore, the carnal desire inside of you beginning to overwhelm.

You started bouncing your hips, starting out slower as you laid down a transition shade on Emily’s eyelids, pausing briefly to grab a different brush to put the dark shade of brown on her outer corners. You tried your best to blend the two shades seamlessly, but your hips seemed to have a mind of their own as you continued to increase your pace. You were chasing a slowly approaching orgasm and your focus was quickly slipping, pausing your work a little too long for Emily’s taste.

“Stop.” She commanded, her hands gripping your hips to pull you down to a stop.

“If you don’t focus we’re going to miss our reservation, is that what you want?” She chided, holding you still.

“No, I’m sorry.” You mumbled, grabbing a new brush to add the final eyeshadow shade. You held her still this time, your free hand gripping her chin as you did her eyeliner. When you grabbed her mascara, instructing her to blink as you applied the dark coating to her lashes, she let go of your hips, silently telling you to start moving again.

You reached for her setting spray, bouncing your hips once again as you shook the bottle, finally spraying the last step over her face. She took the mirror, inspecting your work as you continued attempting to get yourself off.

“You did a pretty good job for a selfish brat.” You didn’t want to admit it but hearing her demean you like that had you chasing your orgasm even harder, too turned on to question why. You were too lost in pleasure to realize that Emily had packed up her makeup, clearing the bed to make space for her to flip you onto your back, driving her hips into you as hard as she could.

“You want to cum, slut? You better hurry up, we only have a few minutes.” She taunted, her thumb finding your clit as you cried out underneath her, each thrust of her hips into your aching cunt rubbing perfectly against that soft spot inside you.

“Do you like when I make you fuck yourself for my entertainment?” You barely registered her question as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, so close to release.

“Answer me.” She demanded, slapping your thigh.

“Yes!” You cried out, euphoria washing over you as your orgasm finally hit, back arching and hands clutching at the sheets beneath you. As you came down Emily pulled out of you, planting kisses across your collarbone.

“Are you okay, love?” She asked, slight concern in her voice.

“More than okay.” You panted, still catching your breath.

“We really do need to leave in a couple minutes, what panties do you want?” She looked to you, opening your underwear drawer.

“Pink flowers.” The words had barely left your lips when she was already at your feet with the pair, helping pull them up your legs.

“I love you.” You smiled down at her, loving the dynamic the two of you share.

“I love you too babydoll.” She replied, taking your hand to help you to your feet to finally leave for your date.

——

Tag List: DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or Emily Prentiss taglist :)

[luveline]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

When someone hurts you, you and Aaron both need time to get better, and to put things right. fem, 8k

cw canon typical violence, graphic scenes and imagery of assault/battery, recovery, mentions of being sick, issues eating. established relationship, lots of angst and comfort, hotch being vulnerable, jack being sweet 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

You lay backward over the luxurious stretch of the couch and sigh as your spine gives a sharp crick. Your head feels heavy after a long shower, your arms ache from a day at work, but the feeling of soft cotton on your legs deters any moping. 

I hope these are more comfortable, his note read, a white post it note stuck to a boutique bag. You wrap an arm around your waist remembering how Aaron’s message had made you feel: spoiled, and considered. 

You’d mentioned in passing that all your pyjamas are old and rough as a consequence, thought nothing of it, and promptly forgot about the conversation entirely. 

When Aaron finally comes home tonight, you’re going to give him a proper thank you. You can imagine his reaction to such a thing, his smile as he says it’s no problem, his eyes shuttering closed as you press a kiss to his cheek. You hadn’t realised how prevalent affection would become in your life after meeting him, but everything he does inspires love. Awful, soft, marshmallowy love where he looks at you and you want to sit in his lap. 

You slide your phone up your chest lazily and click the button on the side to light the display. Aaron hasn’t claimed to know when he’ll be home tonight. All he’d said was to let yourself in. 

It’s odd but not the worst thing in the world to be alone in his apartment. There’s less and less free space each time you visit as Jack begins to outgrow his and his fathers lodgings, but there’s never a stain or bad smell, the Hotchner apartment feels homey. You’re excited whenever you’re invited to spend the night with them. 

Maybe some time soon he’ll ask you to move in, or better, to marry him. You’re not a hundred percent sure how you feel about marriage, about being someone’s wife, but there’s a great well of pleasure to be found in the idea that Aaron would want to marry you. He makes you feel loved already in a hundred different ways but the ring might be nice, like a symbol to signify how much you mean to him. 

You rest your hand across your eyes. It’s silly to think of. Sillier to want so soon. You’ve been together for just under a year, and you have no false hopes about rushing into the future, but it’s certainly a future you want with him (and with Jack, too). He’s taking things slowly for a hundred different reasons but he loves you, and gifts like your new pyjamas cement that. He really listens to you. 

Your phone rings a moment later. 

You smile at the screen. It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves you too. 

“Hey,” Aaron says when you answer, his voice warm even through the phone, “I didn’t think you’d answer.”

“How come?” You sit up with a little start. 

“It’s getting late, honey. I called Jess and Jack was already gone.” He doesn’t say anything further. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I wanted to hear your voice, I think.” 

“Well, where are you?” You struggle to envision him speaking saccharinely like this where his colleagues could hear him. He’s nice to you often, but he’s a reserved man. 

“I’m just,” —a crunching sound of metal, the trunk of his car closing— “about to get in the car. I’ll be home before ten. Can I have you until then?” 

“I don’t see any reason to say no. But do you think you could come home a little faster? I have a crick in my neck.” 

“And you want me to fix that?” 

“You always fix my neck.” 

“How have you done it?” There’s a sound you assume to be the car door closing, but you can’t hear anything beyond that. 

“I have bad posture.” 

“You have perfect posture.” 

“No, it’s quite bad.”

He laughs loudly. It took some time to draw the humour from him but he isn’t as stony as you’d think, and for a while he didn’t have much worth laughing for, anyways. Whenever you hear it, you try to prompt it twice. 

“You don’t have to lie to me, Aaron, it’s just like when you said my weird rash wasn’t weird.” 

He laughs again, to your pleasure. “It wasn’t weird, it was a heat rash, I promise. You act like you’ve never seen heat rash.” 

“One of us goes to hot cities all the time and one of us lives permanently in Virginia.” 

“What are you talking about? Virginia’s far from cold. You’re being argumentative, I can see your smile in my head. I’m never going to fix your crick if you keep acting like that.” 

“No, don’t be like that,” you laugh, tipping back into the cushions. “You’re always such a sore loser.” 

“What did I lose?” 

You can tell from his tone that you’ve promised yourself one of those hugs that borders on a straight jacket tightness, his face tucked into your neck as he asks you to repeat yourself. What did I lose? he’ll ask again, kissing your chin, the line of your jaw. Tell me clearly.  

“It hurts,” you say honestly, “please don’t be mad. I really need one.” 

“I’m not mad… I’m going under the overpass, my signal might cut out.” 

“Okie dokie. Hey, did you eat? I can make you something for when you get home. I got groceries.” 

“I’m not hungry, but you can make yourself hot cocoa, and I’ll drink it when I get there,” he says. 

“Or I could make us both some?” 

“It’s much more fun if I drink yours before you can, honey. You know that—”

You pause in the quiet, then hear a quick beeping. You pull your phone from your ear and find the call disconnected. 

Cruel overpass, you think. 

Sure he’ll call you back, you take your phone into his kitchen and set about finding all the things you’ll need for hot cocoa. One mug, because you should hate when he forces you to share, but you love the feeling of his fingers on yours as he takes it and the thankful kiss he dots on your cheek. 

The kettle is uncomplicated. You toy with the stovetop, set the kettle on the burner, and let the temperature rise. It begins whistling lightly a mere thirty seconds later. 

You click your phone on again. He’ll have passed through the tunnel now and will be calling you back any minute. You stare at the phone, hoping to summon him, slouched over the counter with the tin of cocoa powder by your fingers. The kettle whines with growing heat, but cool air kisses your back. 

Goosebumps rise. Up and down the lengths of your arms, the back of your neck—

A sudden chill. 

The lack of air comes before the hand, the pain a rush, a burst to be away from. Leather on your neck creaking without sympathy as a hand tightens and drags your body back against something hard. 

Not Aaron. Your scream comes strangled under cruel fingers as you fight to move forward again, straight for the burner, the kettle shoved across the burner grate and exploding with scalding water, heat of the burner kissing your chest— you scream, only it’s worse than a scream, sound from the deepest part of you forcing itself past the heat at your neck as you try to fling yourself away from the pain. 

You fall with a hard clout. “Stay still!” comes out enraged against the back of your neck. You drop to your knees, the pain lighting flaring up your chest, your gaze frantic as you search for a flame that isn’t there. You’re not on fire, you’re crawling and then scampering up into a standing position when the heavy weight drops itself on you again and smashes your face into the floor. 

All your fight leaves you. Your ears ring. Your panic wanes but the pain stays alert in your mouth. 

A hand grabs you by the back of the head and drives your face into the ground. It’s like light in your eyes and your nose, the brunt of it, the crack of your bone and the hot trickle of blood that swiftly follows. You gurgle in pain, spluttering and gagging against the linoleum, waiting for Aaron to turn you over and say sorry. It’s an accident.

Blood drains from your nose in spurts to match your racing pulse, so much blood you can see your eyes reflected in the dark stretch of it. Water drips down the front of the stove, your breath aches and begs, and your attacker takes a measured breath. 

He flips you over. You can’t slide away, there’s nothing left in you, your head a second body as he raises something. 

Your phone rings on the counter. 

“Please, don’t,” you plead with a sob.

You pass out as the pain connects. Just as quickly as it started, your body takes the reins. 

—

There’s a strange darkness waiting for you. Like waking before your alarm and stealing those last minutes, body aching, not wanting to get up and face the day. Aaron gets up early every morning, sometimes as early as four AM, and whenever you get up with him your eyes hurt for hours. 

Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

Hey, hey, I think your boyfriend’s coming.

What will he make of my handiwork?

You didn’t stay awake long enough for that one, did you? But you’re waking up now.

The pain is enough to wake you up again, a hot drag down the side of you to your hip and in. You aren’t aware of the sounds you make, but you can hear them. Your panicked squealing as the heat presses further and further in. Your crying, and your whispering, “Stop, stop.” 

“There’s handsome,” the dark voice says. “I’ve gotta go hide somewhere, does he carry after hours? I think I’ll find out.” 

“Oh,” you say, feeling sickly. You attempt to curl into yourself, when did you turn onto your back? “No,” you mumble, lips wet with something hot. 

“Honey?” a voice asks. 

“Honey,” you repeat, woozy again, darkness falling in all over again, where it stays. 

Honey, are you in here?

—

The window behind Aaron’s shoulder is cold. Rain patters fast like floods, thunder occasionally chewing through clouds, and Jack Hotchner cries sluggish tears into his dad’s shoulder. 

Aaron has his eyes closed. They’ve been at this for a while. “Shh, shh shh, buddy,” he says softly, patting the bottom of Jack’s back. He’d sway him back and forth if his arms weren’t about to fall off. 

Jack squirms closer, no room left between them. 

“I know it’s scary,” Aaron says. 

Jack just cries. This approach of quiet support isn’t working; Jack isn’t a baby that needs to be put to sleep, he’s a panicking little kid, and Aaron needs to change gears. He ushers him away from his chest and crosses his arm behind Jack’s back. Careful, he shifts Jack’s weight to free his other arm and brings his fingers up to the silky brown hair dropping onto Jack’s forehead. 

“She’s okay,” Aaron says, stroking Jack’s hair. His little forehead is clammy. “She’s not hurting. I know it looks scary, honey, but… she’s just resting.” 

Jack looks him in the eyes. “Her face.” 

“I know.” He nods emphatically. “It’s hard to see. Blood isn’t nice. You don’t have to see her again today, not if it’s too scary.” 

Jack lifts a hand to Aaron’s face. Clumsy but with clear attempts to be careful, he wipes at the skin under Aaron’s eye. Aaron bites back a smile. 

“I look tired,” he says. 

“Yeah.” Jack brings his hand back to wipe his eyes. He sobs as he does it. Aaron can’t describe the ache it gives him to see it. 

“Buddy, I’ll do it. Let me wipe your face. I can do it.” 

Jack drops his hands. Aaron turns his hand and wipes the smudge of Jack’s tears from hot cheeks, testing the waters with a little smile. 

“I couldn’t see you under all those tears.” 

Jack does a little smile back. “Yes you can.” 

“I couldn’t! But now I’ve wiped all your face I can see you again. You’re handsome, did we know that?” 

Jack giggles. He sniffles, and he presses his palm to Aaron’s neck. “I don’t want her to be sad, dad.” 

“She’s going to be sad, because something scary happened, but it’s okay. I’m gonna take care of her.” 

Aaron would offer to take him home, but they can’t go home. They may not go home for a long time —the team is still trying to work out how someone made it into the apartment without alerting the building’s security or Aaron’s internal system. And then escaped again without Aaron’s notice. Until then, Aaron has to make a decision about a safe house, for himself, Jack, and Jess, though she's extremely unreceptive to the idea. 

Aaron has to look after Jack, and he needs to take care of you. 

“What do you think, bud?” he asks, cupping Jack’s head in his hand. “Do you want to go home?” 

“You said I can give her a hug.” 

“If it’s too scary, we don’t have to. I don’t want you to get upset again.” 

“I’m not scared. I want to give her the hug,” he says. 

Aaron pulls him in for a hug of his own. “Okay, buddy. Just try to think of it like this. She’s where she needs to be to get better. Everybody here is looking after her. She’ll be okay soon.” 

Aaron looks over Jack’s head down the hospital hallway. It’s a quiet ward, and here between the main ward doors and the hallway that leads down to the individual rooms there’s complete silence. Night is approaching quickly again, and with it comes Aaron’s panic. Your head turned into a puddle, your face lax of expression in the dark. He can’t stop finding the women he loves bloody and on their backs. 

“Ready?” he murmurs. “Can you walk with me? My arms are tired.”

“Yeah.” 

Aaron puts Jack down gently onto his feet. He neatens his hair, chucking him under the chin as he goes to see his smile. He’s so pretty, like Haley was, with shiny eyes. He’s a beautiful kid. Aaron takes his hand and together they make their way down the hallway to your room. 

You’re sleeping. 

Aaron herds Jack through the door and to the plastic covered chair by your side, where he lifts him up and sits him down. He stays between you both. Jack isn’t scared of you, just the blood, but he wants to show Jack that he’s going to protect him from anything he needs protecting from. He also desperately wants to touch you, and reassure himself that you’re still breathing. 

He looks for your hand. Your pinky finger is splinted, but he can take it with care, give the palm of it a squeeze. 

The blood matted in your hair has finally been washed away after a turbulent day, as well as the staining that marred your face. Your nose is broken, and looks it, the bruises so fierce your eyes have turned puffy and your top lip has inflamed. There are second degree burns in multiple places but most affectedly on your chest. There’s a stab wound at your hip, allegedly done with a small blade. It nicked your small intestine. The bandages laid over you are a lump under your hospital gown. 

Aaron looks at you, and he feels a passionate disdain for himself. He wishes he could… be someone else. Someone who doesn’t have such a deep connection to a job that hurts the people around him, over and over. Haley used to say he was obsessed with being the hero, but this doesn’t feel heroic. 

“Do you wanna give her your cuddle?” he asks softly. 

Jack stays sitting. 

He’ll have to give it to you himself. Careful, Aaron leans down over your prone body and presses a half kiss to your ear, the only place that won’t hurt. 

You have an IV drip going into your arm, painkillers, an ECG monitor to the left. The room is white but busy, you’re a burst of colour against it all, your cuts and bruises, the evidence of violence he can’t remove. Aaron’s tired. He perches on the gap of bed by your leg and holds your hand, turning to Jack, who watches with a frown. 

“She’s sleeping,” Aaron says. 

“When can she come home?” 

“In a few days.” He feels the pad of your hand, terrified of your broken finger but needing to hold a part of you. 

“Why is she sleeping all day?” 

Traumatic experiences are exhausting. “I think she might want to be alone, so she sleeps.” 

“Should we go?” 

Aaron shakes his head. “I think we should stay. When she wakes up again she’ll be happy to see us, because we’re not strangers.” 

“We’re family,” Jack says. He’d liked that, when the nurse asked you how Aaron was related to you. Family only.

“We’re her family,” Aaron agrees. 

If he somehow miraculously fell out of love with you, you’d still be family to them. You’ve given so much of your heart since you met them. Aaron wants everything you have to give. 

You wake in a slow, slow upheaval. It takes effort on your part, the opening of sore eyes, the dreary decision to face your pain. Your hand jumps in his but relaxes when he shushes you, your slimmer fingers stilling under his rubbing thumb. For a split second, you keep your gaze half-lidded, jaw soft, like you’ve been indulging in a stolen nap. 

Then your breath catches and you screw your eyes tightly. 

“You’re okay,” he says, quietly, and not as lightly as he means to, “you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” in quick succession. 

“Hurts,” you say, and gasp, a whine stuck in your throat. 

He doesn’t know what to do. Jack shouldn’t watch this but he can’t leave you alone. “It’s okay,” he says, holding your wrist to stop it climbing up your bruised face. 

You were worse the first time you woke up. Catatonic, then sobbing. You mumble and whimper now, pain threading goosebumps down your arms. 

“It hurts too much,” you say. A sob falls out of you like you’ve been ripped open. 

Aaron doesn’t think, but an instinct sparks. The pain, to hit you right out of the gate like this, to make you say something like that when you’ve always always made your problems small, must be torture. It must feel new and sudden all over again. 

Aaron checks that Jack is alright and leaves the room. He looks down one hallway and then the other, but there’s no nurse around —he races to the reception desk and begs the two nurses there for help with you, “She’s in intense pain,” he says, grasping the desk. 

The nurse he’s more familiar with clears her throat. “Mr. Hotchner, she’s already had enough motrin for two people at your request, she really shouldn’t need–”

“Pain is just as important to treat as the injury.” 

A second nurse puts her salad down with raised brows. “Do you want to overdose her?” 

“Excuse me?” 

Aaron has always seen himself as a gentleman, but the argument that ensues is tricky to navigate while remaining respectful, and he’s no closer to better treatment for you by the end of it. He gives each nurse a disapproving glower and takes his phone from his pocket, turning on the spot, ready to call whoever it is he needs to call for a second opinion. He’s not gonna listen to you cry when there’s no need. 

He pushes the door open with the phone still clutched in his other hand. Jack’s climbed onto your bed. He cuddles your face, sitting by your pillows and bent over you protectively. 

Aaron lets out a breath. 

“It’s okay,” he says, his arm behind your head and his arm on your shoulder. “W’gonna take care of you.” 

“I know,” you say, crying without sound, shaking under his arms.

His cheek smushes against your forehead. Your eyes are closed and your face braced for contact Jack doesn’t make, careful not to hurt you as he rubs his cheek into your skin. Your blankets are falling off of you from the squirming and your bruises shine with tears in the light, but Jack has calmed you down some. 

Aaron shouldn’t have left Jack with you. He’s been so scatterbrained since he found you when he should be the opposite, but Jack is doing better than Aaron managed alone. 

“I’m sorry for crying,” you say slowly. “I’m hurting, but it’s not bad. I’m okay.” 

“That’s good. You have a big scratch on your face, and bruises.” 

“I know.” 

“Dad says you have a bruise on your tummy too.” 

“I got lots of bruises, but it’s okay. Don’t worry about me.” You bring your hand up injured and uncaring to rub his leg. “You’re being a really brave boy, thank you.” 

A tear rolls down your cheek. 

“It’s teamwork,” Jack says. “I hug you and you hug me.” 

“Is that what you want? You want a hug?” 

“I want to go home,” he says, hugging you harder. 

You grasp his arm loosely where it’s just under your chin. “Jack, can you move your arm?” you whisper. 

Your breath comes quickly, but Jack moves his arm away from your bruised neck and you try to calm yourself down. 

Aaron jolts himself back into action. “Sweetheart,” he says, rushing to sit Jack back and give you more space. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

He watches. Not sure what to say. Not sure saying anything is wise. You squint at him through your lashes, eyes opening slowly, your mouth a line pressed hard to stop from crying. 

“I think it's time for Jack to go home,” he suggests gently. 

“Yeah,” you say, eyes swimming with tears. 

“No.” Jack squeezes your head again, to your panic. 

“Jack, buddy, please don’t touch her neck,” Aaron says, grabbing Jack from your pillow. 

He erupts into tears again. Frantic and vying for you, Aaron tries to calm him and he kicks against his chest, tears turning to disgruntled sobs at not getting what he wants. You wince, pressing your face completely into the pillow. 

Aaron carries Jack from your room, phone in hand. 

—

Is she breathing? Can she talk? 

I don’t– I don’t know, I don’t– She’s breathing. Honey, can you hear me? I don’t know what to stop. I don’t know where it’s all coming from. 

Where’s the worst of the blood? 

It’s everywhere. 

Abdominal? Chest? 

I can’t tell. I can’t tell. 

Mr. Hotchner, you can’t panic. Does she have a chest wound?

Yes. Yes, but– 

Is she conscious? How’s her pulse? Be ready to start chest compressions. 

Honey, can you hear me? 

Your name said clearly. 

“Hey, can you hear me?” 

“Yes,” you murmur. 

“If you need a minute, that’s okay.” 

You cover your mouth with your hand. Emily Prentiss has a soft voice like your boyfriend’s when she wants to have it. She’s never spoken to you like this, none of his colleagues have, but since the incident, everybody treats you like you’re made of glass. 

Cognitive interviews are meant to happen immediately after an accident, but you weren’t up for company. Aaron promised this would be on your terms, that Emily is the most practised, and that she’s reaped the most information from them than the rest of the team. So far, it’s worked to drag bad memories to the surface. 

“Maybe we should start from the beginning.” 

There isn’t a beginning. There’s just conversation. Aaron’s hand on your heart and his shaky voice, so unlike him.

“Okay.” 

Emily reaches for your hand. She smiles, and her nice features get nicer. That’s another thing they all share, good looks. “Okay. What did you notice, in the kitchen? It’ll help if you close your eyes,” she reminds you. 

You close your eyes. 

“What stuck out?” 

“Nothing,” you murmur. “I’ve been in there lots of times, and nothing ever changes.” 

“Nothing? Not even the drawings on the fridge?” 

“Jack’s particular about his best work, even if I think they should all be on display.” 

Emily’s voice turns to a shard of itself. “What did you do? Can you take me through it step by step? Make yourself a cup of hot chocolate.” 

“I never got that far.”

“What did you do?” 

“I filled the kettle.” 

“What kettle?” 

You don’t understand the need for specificity, but you answer. “Aaron got it for me, when he… he told me he loved me, and when we got home he’d bought me a kettle and a bunch of stuff to make my being there easier. The kettle, because… he said something about superheated water. How the microwave can be dangerous, and this would be easier than a pan.” 

“Alright. Okay, and what did you do after that?” 

“I put the kettle on the stove.” You lit the burner, and heat kissed your palm, and suddenly the room had felt cold. “I got goosebumps.” 

“When?” 

“The kettle started to whistle, and it was cold.”

“And then–”

“Then he grabbed me.” 

“Yeah,” Emily says softly. 

You touch your nose. “I tried… He didn’t feel like a person. He didn’t feel like someone I was fighting, it was just painful.” 

“Like he was quick on his feet?” 

“He was silent. I didn’t hear him until I made him fall.” 

“How big did he feel?” 

Your stomach churns. Big. He’d felt big. 

Where’s the worst of the blood?

“He said he was going to hide,” you remember. 

“He said that? He said ‘hide’?

“Yeah. And he asked me if Aaron carries after hours.” 

“When was this?” 

It’s a headache. You try to remember more, because that’s what they need right now. If you ever want to go home, if you want Jack to go home, you need to remember more. The BAU are good, but nobody can make a map out of slivers. 

“That was at the end,” you say. 

“After he stabbed you?” 

You wince. “Yes. After.” 

“You’re doing so good,” she praises, “I just want to fill in the gaps.” 

“I can’t remember. I was unconscious.” 

“When Hotch found you?” 

“No, before.”

“Before?” she asks. 

You’re sick of sitting there with your eyes closed. Sick of your hands shaking with nowhere to hide them, and sick of feeling sick, your nausea as present as the stinging pain of your burned wrist against your sleeve each time you move. 

You open your eyes and look around the conference room for something interesting. How nice would it be to think of something else for a few minutes?

“He called it handiwork when he cut me. Asked if I thought Aaron would like it,” you say, bordering monotonous as your gaze fizzles, unfocused, across the room. 

“Okay, Y/N. Okay. I know you’re tired.” She reaches for your hands to squeeze at the same time. “You did really well. Any details at all are details we can use to find him.” 

You’re not in the mood for talking anymore. Tears burn your eyes, waiting for a blink to set them loose. 

“I want to see Aaron,” you confess quietly. 

“I’ll find him for you.” Emily stands but bends, the dark of her hair a contrast to her pale face. She’s lovely, and her hand is gentle on yours. “Are you okay? Can I get you something to eat?” 

So Aaron’s not keeping that to himself. “I want to see him, please.” 

“Yeah. Okay.” 

This is a horrible room. It’s not their fault, but the big white board is tacked with bad photos of grisly cases —currently your own. You stare at a photograph of your blood in the kitchen and don’t know what to do. Should you look away? You hadn’t realised you bled so much. 

You turn your chair toward the door. Emily looks back as she leaves and smiles at you softly, but your eyes are already moving to the smaller dry erase board by the doorway. It’s ‘Hotch’s turn to clean up on Thursdays. How strange that they make the boss clean the conference room. 

You can picture him picking up coffee cups and wiping down the table. You can always picture Aaron. 

You can see him hovering over you, his hand pressed to the bloody mess of your hip to stop the blood. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper to yourself, wanting to break from the memory, following Aaron’s example. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” You repeat it into your hands, head tilting down. You sink until your knuckles touch your knees. 

That’s all he says when you panic. He’ll say it over and over again until you can breathe right. I have you, I have you, you’re okay. 

He’s much quieter this time. You hear his footsteps, his familiar gait, your head pounding too hard to move. Aaron makes a sound between a sigh and a hum, like he’s saying a sorry hello as he kneels in front of you. His hand takes your face, rubs softly over your ear. 

“My head’s just hurting,” you murmur. 

He doesn’t respond. You sit together for some time as your mind races with bad memories, your fear a rush of goosebumps down the lengths of your arms and thighs. It’s hard not to think about what happened, mostly because you’re still a walking bruise, your stitches sting when you move, the blisters on your chest ache, all of it inescapable. But it’s your anxiety that plagues you most. You’re in a constant state of dread. 

You had no idea someone could hurt you as badly as they had until it happened, and now you’re desperate not to be hurt again. 

“You have to look after me,” you say eventually, throat sore with how awful it feels to say. 

“Yes, I do.” 

“Please don’t let me get hurt again.” 

Total silence. You sniffle at his lack of an answer, only slightly comforted by his hands at your wrists now, pulling them from your face. “Let’s sit up,” he says, standing himself. “Come on, let’s sit up. You shouldn’t be putting so much pressure on your abdomen.” 

You lean back and everything aches like a stretch after a long run or a bad night’s sleep. 

Aaron pulls a chair next to yours. When he sits, your knees are pressed in between one another’s thighs, so close he could hug you. You might need one.  He’s given you a ridiculous amount of them each day, some for him and some for you. 

He has with him a takeout box and a bottle of water. 

“Here,” he says, popping the seal of the drink. “Three sips.” 

You feel like crying, but you drink. He opens the takeout box to reveal a normal looking sandwich already cut into two halves, but he takes a plastic knife from his pocket, peels away the wrapping, and cuts the sandwich again into quarters. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” you say. 

“No, you’re not. You won’t be.” He presses the sandwich flat with his hands and holds it to you until you take it. “Please, Y/N. You only have to eat what you can.” 

“I don’t want it.” 

“Please.” 

“Did Emily tell you about my interview?” 

He reaches for your thigh. Mildly unlike him when you aren’t at home. You assume it to be a tether for your sake. “No. Is there something you think I should know?” 

“I don’t want to say it again.” 

“Then you don’t have to. Someone will tell me when I get back.” 

You pinch the fluffy bread in your hands, eyeing wearily at the wet insides. “Can I come with you?” 

“You’re having trouble in the cognitive interviews, you won’t want to hear what we have to say.” 

You split the sandwich in half again, watching as salad and mayonnaise ooze from the bread. 

“If you don’t eat, you won’t get better,” he says, a touch stern. 

“I can’t eat when you won’t let me come with you.” 

“I’m not the only person capable of protecting you. I…” He circles your wrist before you can make a mess. “Can you please eat it?” 

You take a bite to appease him, your stomach roiling, food wet and cold on your tongue. You eat the whole quarter queasily, a lump at the back of your throat begging you to stop. 

Aaron takes an empty hand and rubs it tenderly. “Thank you,” he says, that rubbing turned more forceful, his hand journeying to your elbow and back again. 

It’s sweet how attuned he is to your needing his touch, but mortifying. This entire experience had been embarrassing from start to end. Couldn’t defend yourself, can’t get to grips with it, and can’t keep anything down. Aaron looks at you and your bruises and you wonder if he’s seeing you with blood matted in your hair, or hearing you beg for him to get you something stronger. All you’d wanted was a sedative. 

“I’m far from the only person capable of protecting you,” he says. 

“You saved me,” you say. You mean it in every sense of the world. 

“…This is my fault.” 

“I want to be with you,” you say honestly. “I don’t feel okay by myself right now, I just need you, or I feel so sick I wish that I died.” The anxiety is marrow deep. 

Aaron looks gutted. “Don’t say that.” His hand goes back to yours, back to tenderness. “I know you're scared.” 

“Then why won’t you listen?” you ask weakly. 

“I’m listening to you,” he says, his tone a dulcet, pleasing softness you’ve never ever heard before, “I need you to be safe, and I need Jack to be safe, and I can’t do that while he’s still out there.” His brows pinch together, agonised. “I’m sorry you’re scared. I didn’t protect you. But I won’t let anything happen to you again.

“I love you. Please believe that I’m doing what’s best for you right now.” 

You turn your head away. He cups your cheek regardless. 

“I love you,” he says again. 

“I know.” 

“No, I love you.” 

He’s saying sorry.

“I love you,” you mumble back. 

“How are you feeling? Is anything hurting more? Weeping?” 

Your eyes are heavy at his touch. “You only looked at me a couple of hours ago.” 

“Alright. Can I kiss you? I need to go.” 

You don’t answer. Aaron kisses your chin, your jawline, the type of roving, teasing kisses he’d give as he squeezed your sides, only he doesn’t squeeze you, he can’t without hurting you. His hand hesitates just above your deepest wound. 

His bright kiss works to spark a modicum of life back into you. Not a lot, but enough. It was likely his intention, some quick prodding kisses to remind you of something happy between you both. 

You curl your fingers over his hand and turn your face for a chaste peck. He smiles, the curve of his lips evident and relieving against yours. 

“Someone will take you back to the safe house, okay? Give Jack a kiss for me,” he says. 

You nod. Aaron strokes your cheek. 

—

Your assailant could have killed you while you were vulnerable, but he didn’t. “He assumes he’ll have another chance,” Emily surmises. 

“That’s cocky,” JJ mutters. 

“It’s telling,” Aaron says. “But he won’t.” 

The coaching has been extensive. You, sick, a breath from tears and hurting, your shoulders in his hands and his grip too tight. If someone tells you I’m dead, you wait. If Morgan tells you I’m dead, you ask Rossi. If he says I’m dead, you ask Emily. You can’t believe the first thing someone says. No one is going to move you from this safe house to another without seeing me first. If I do get hurt, you and Jack will be moved separately. You will always get my confirmation before you’re moved. 

I’m not gullible, you’d said, wincing at his sharp tone. 

It’s not about that. People will lie, and they will lie well. They will talk their way into the house if you let them. You can’t let them. 

I won’t. 

He’s racing against a countdown, because no matter what he says, what you know, or how many agents wait outside your house, sometimes it’s a force of will. 

Foyet didn’t need much more than that. 

He admittedly feels on surer footing knowing where you are. The decision to guard you without putting you in WITSEC is aching and scary but better, too. He knows where you are. He can be there in ten minutes. No guessing games, but no hiding for you either. 

Your dread is taking over everything you do. Today’s the first day since you came home almost two weeks ago that you could function without a live-in nurse or Jess there to look after Jack, and already he’s worried, because he’d convinced you total honesty was what’s best for the both of you, and so your texts are candid. 

One an hour for his sake, more if you're up to it.

Threw up my beta blockers. Jack misses you, he wants to make you a Lego boat and fishing rod, but I’m not sure how to do it. Please make sure you eat dinner. 

Your next message makes him smile, thankfully. I’m kidding about the dinner thing. Ha. I had one of those gels you got for me, and Jack wants fries, so I’m making waffle fries. 

He texts back quickly. Eat dinner. Please tell Jack I miss him too, and don’t worry about the boat, he’ll work it out. Then, feeling awful, he adds, I love you

Aaron should go home. He’d feel better if he knew he was there to help you keep your medication down, but if he leaves… He knows his team will give you everything they have, but he has more. He can fix this. 

He can’t fix this, god, his head hurts badly. You’re covered in cuts and bruises and burns and he thinks he can make up for that? You’ve been brutalised. Aaron can’t believe this is happening again. 

He rubs his brow. 

“You okay?” Emily asks. 

When he looks up, JJ is gone. 

“I’m fine.” 

“It’s okay if you’re not.” 

He’s not fine, but he knows what she’s asking. “I’m okay enough to do this,” he says. 

It’s hard not to confuse you with memory, your hurting similar to his own, your situation one that he’s already lived. Haley will haunt him for life. It doesn’t usually feel as punishing as he fears he deserves: he gets to remember the best parts of her everyday. He sees her in Jack all the time. He sees her in you, occasionally —you’ll touch his hair or rub his arm like she would’ve done, and it doesn’t make him miss her any more than he does, he’s not in the business of wishing you weren’t yourself, he loves you, but he remembers her. Aaron remembers how he failed her every day. 

He can’t fail you, too. 

“Is it ever easy?” Emily asks. 

Aaron looks around for a bottle of water. “Is what?” 

“Being in love.” 

He thinks about it. “I must make it look hard.” 

She laughs softly. “Sometimes, yeah.” 

Maybe that’s not fair, then, to you. For him to make it seem difficult to love you. To fail to correct Emily when she asks. 

He chooses his words carefully. “Loving her is the easiest thing in the world. But… I continue to work a job I know makes me hard to love in return.” And that puts you in danger. 

It doesn’t feel wrong to be sincere. Perhaps it’s easier with Emily. She saw so much of him during Foyet, and she’s family, truly. He can tell her how intense it’s felt. 

“Well, it doesn’t seem hard for her,” Emily says. 

He shakes his head. 

She continues regardless, “Even during her cognitive, she mentioned the first time you told her you loved her. When it was over she wanted to see you over anything else.” 

But I put her here, he wants to say. Or doesn’t want to say at all, but instead knows with surety. 

“She can’t eat if I’m not home,” he says. What a thing to do to someone. “It’s my fault.” 

Emily smiles, hair slipping off of her shoulder as her expression turns to playfulness. “I think you’re seeing it all wrong. Something bad happened to her, and you’re so safe to her that you make it better when you’re with her. That’s not fault, Hotch. Just love.” 

He turns his attention back to the board without another word. 

—

When the day comes, when they find the man who hurt you, you’re sitting at home with Jack Hotchner in your lap. You’re laughing at his laughing, cartoon fish on the TV, and Aaron’s got a gun in his hand fifty miles away. You both giggle, nearly in hysterics as the safe house living room glows pink and red, Jack’s favourite character swimming hurriedly across the screen, as Aaron negotiates the arrest. 

Usually capable of mediation, Aaron finds his patience completely unravelled. He offers the UnSub two choices: he surrenders now, immediately, and he keeps his life, or he deliberates and Aaron kills him. 

He has reason to believe the UnSub will try again, of course. Will keep hurting you until it sticks. 

He goes home satisfied.

“Dad’s home!” you say excitedly, your movie long finished, your thighs numb and stitches stinging where Jack has leaned against you. You encourage him off of you as the front door closes, the cold air from outside rushing in. 

“Honey?” Aaron calls. 

“Yeah!” You stumble into a standing position, sure you look about as disgusting as you have since the situation began, promptly sitting back down as head rush hits. 

Jack races for the door, meeting Aaron in the hallway with a whoosh. “Hey!” 

“Hi, buddy, what are you doing?” 

“We watched Finding Nemo,” Jack says, “and now I’m hugging you, duh.” 

“Duh. Well, I need to talk to Y/N for five minutes. Can you wash your hands for dinner?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“I’m fine.”

You hear the sound of a light kiss, and then Jack rockets across the hallway and up the stairs. Aaron walks into the doorway, tie still knotted but with no suit jacket, and you know what he’s going to say before he says it. He wears a strange expression.

“You got him?” you ask. 

He puts a white bag on the coffee table, looking down at you fondly. “I got him.” 

“How did you find him?” 

He crouches down in front of you. He’s so careful to be harmless to you now, so tentative. “You’re not the only woman he hurt. We dealt with him in the past. From the information you gave Emily during your interview, and the information he left behind, we found him… If you weren’t as brave as you are, I couldn’t have kept you and Jack safe.” He holds your knee. “Thank you.” 

You stare at him. Staring, wondering what he means. “Brave?” 

“Brave.” 

“I’m a coward.” 

He shakes his head. “No. You’re not.” 

All you've done for days is cry and throw up and bleed, literally. You’ve ruined clothes and sheets, thrown up in his lap, terrified and aching. Each time was met with the same gentleness. A kiss on the cheek, or a hand rubbing your back. Is that bravery? You feel like a baby. 

Aaron’s brow is relaxed. He takes your two legs into his hands, and he looks at you with a reverence that leaves you breathless. 

“You’re hurt forever because of me,” he says quietly, you strain to hear him, “because of who I am, and what I choose to be.” 

“How can you say that? It’s not your fault.” 

“It wouldn’t have happened to you if I hadn’t missed his MO the first time.” 

“You’re not putting the knife in anyone’s hand,” you argue. 

“But it keeps happening.” 

His hair shines dark and wet. It must be raining outside, the safe house walls are thick, the windows shuttered permanently, you haven’t heard a peep. You stroke it back from his forehead. 

“Remember… when we first got together, and you told me you were sorry for how hard being with you could be. And I said it was okay, that it wasn’t hard, and you said it would be?” 

“I remember,” he says, practically mouths. 

“I was so afraid when...” You swallow roughly. “I still am. But not– not of you. Not of what you can do. When you told me it was going to be hard, I thought, well, it’s worth it, because I really liked you then and I love you now.” Tears collect in your eyes. Safe. I’m safe. “And you look after me, so– so–” 

You stop as your voice turns to glass, worried you’ll make a fool of yourself and cry in his hands. 

“I didn’t want this for you,” he says. 

“Nobody wants this. Bad things happen to everyone, but who has someone like you to look after them?” 

He breathes out heavily. “Please… don’t cry.” 

You wipe your cheeks, taking a lengthy pause before you say, “I’m okay now.” 

He looks at you in silence. 

“Come and sit with me,” you say, scrubbing your cheeks, hot tears cooling on the backs of your hands. “Your knees.” 

He actually smiles. It changes his entire face. “What about my knees?” 

Aaron sits on the couch next to you atop Jack’s blanket, a bag of pretzels tipping between your leg and his. You attempt to rake his damp hair into submission as his fingers run against your thighs, fishing for pretzels to put back into the bag. 

You’d like for him to grab you and kiss you harshly, give you one of his straight jacket hugs, some roughhousing, but you won’t get that from him until you're better, and even then, it’s up in the air. So much has changed. 

But not everything. 

“I love you,” you murmur, fingertips scratching down behind his ear to the back of his head. 

He turns to you, sagging with relief and exhaustion. “Kiss?” he asks quietly. 

You nod. He holds your cheek, and you close your eyes at the same time for a kiss. It’s not a lot, but you have time. He can give you another one when you’re both better recovered. 

He pulls away. You open your eyes, finding his closed, his face downturned. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“Was Jack good?” 

“Jack’s always good.” 

“Did the nurse have anything to say about your chest?” 

“She said it’s healing okay. That I need to use, uh, scar patches when they start to scab.” 

“I can get those.” 

“I know, I knew you would.” 

He gathers you up for a hug. For a moment, you think he’ll move on, that the end of your nightmare will kill his remorse, but he breathes in, nose wedged against your cheek. 

“Do you think that tonight, we could pretend it didn’t happen?” You’d like to just sit with him, press your hand to his chest and doze. It’s the first night in a while that you’ll feel completely. 

“Yeah. I can do that.” He hugs you rather tightly. “Do you want to see your present?” he asks, relaxing his grip. 

“My present?” 

He grabs the bag on the coffee table and places it in your lap. “I’m worried it’ll remind you of bad memories, but I wanted you to have nice things then, and I still do.” 

In the bag, there’s a pair of pyjamas. Very different to the ones you’d been wearing when you were attacked, they were girly and sweet, soft in your hands, these are sturdy. Still soft, but thick. The shirt is short-sleeved and the pants cuffed at the ankles, a hoodie tucked underneath them, and a packet of minky socks. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

Thanks for everything, for saving you twice, for taking care of you at your worst, and for wanting you to have something comfortable to wear at the end of it. To have experienced an abjectly cruel battering will leave its marks in your forever, but you meant what you told him. He looks after you, and you love him. 

He kisses your shoulder. “You don't need to say that.” 

He doesn’t add anything else, his nose pressed to your shoulder, his hand on your hip. Whatever goes unsaid can be felt in the other’s touch. 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thank u for reading!! it’s been a long time since I wrote a fic for hotch and it’s hard to write him being vulnerable but I hope this is alright anyways and that you enjoyed :D please consider reblogging if you did enjoy it (cos that way my fics get shown to more people <3) ❤️

[hana-no-seiiki]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐒 𝐔𝐏 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 ?

╰┈➤ [ CH 02.1 ] LEAP OF FAITH

pairings: yandere! various (batfam, spiderverse) x miles morales! reader

tw/cw: mild yandere themes, stalking, spoilers for the spiderverse movies (this part covers a majority of the first one) and spiderman games. VV LONG PART!! Lots of canon divergences!!! reader gets called a kid multiple times but they’re an adult.

status: severely unedited

a/n: although i included spanish and uncle aaron, please be reminded that [y/n] looks however you’d like! you may even alter how unc looks since i don’t describe his appearance anyways. i’ll also be adding stuff from the spiderman games to expand on some characters so everything is not one to one from the movies.

wanted to get this out sooner for you all so this part will be divided into two or more depending on how far i get into the movie

[previous] [masterlist] [next]

The dark, putrid alleyways of Gotham was a place that should never be treaded by a small, weak kid like you. You cringed at the sound and feel of your favorite shoes sinking into the water with every step, and then frowned at the thought that your mom wouldn’t be the one washing these later now that you lived in a dorm. Still, even if those criminals didn’t capture you for ransom, or maybe your favorite vigilantes didn’t accidentally kill you, you were sure your dad would — no absolutely will. Maybe having a new home to go to wasn’t so bad.

“I’m gonna get in so much trouble.”

You muttered with a massive grin on your features. Fear always treated you a little differently. If anything it made you walk a little faster. It had been a while since you and Aaron had little fun together, and you definitely wouldn’t let a future sermon get in the way of such a rare opportunity.

Your uncle, his hands tucked into his puffer jacket-hoodie hybrid nudged you with his shoulder. Your much smaller, younger frame almost toppled over.

“Hey man, tell him your art teacher made ya.”

“How’d you know about this place?”

“Did an Engineering job down here.” Whew, even hearing the word Engineering from your Uncle made you shudder. “What?” He asked, you couldn’t tell if he was concerned, weirded out, or just chillin’. He was always hard to read.

“Nothing.” You took a deep breath in, “Dad wants me to get into Engineering.”

You two stop at some metal fencing with a door, which was conveniently climbable. Your uncle quickly demonstrated how with a few swift moments. Damn, it was almost as if he was used to breaking and entering.

“And you?” He smirked.

“I-“ You took a deep breath, It wasn’t as if you weren’t used to getting into shenanigans and sneaking into places yourself. You jumped, barely able to reach the door’s height, awkwardly heaved your body upwards to the gap between the fence and the ceiling, before not so gracefully squeezing yourself and your backpack through. “augh — don’t know yet.”

“Whassup?” You looked at your uncle, a huge and crooked grin of triumph in your features.

“Hahaha— I knew we were related. I’ll tell you something though. Just make sure you can pay the bills and sort out your taxes.”

You groaned in response to his advise. You definitely weren’t ready to be a proper adult yet.

You two then proceeded to the best spot you’ve ever seen in Gotham yet.

“Whoa!” Your mouth was so wide open in awe that it almost hurt. You yelled, “Gothaamm!!” Jumping giddily at the echo.

“There’s a lot of history on these walls.” Your uncle let his hand graze across the old graffiti, tracing each line with a soft, yet proud look on his face.

Excited, you swiftly dropped your backpack, taking out a few cans of paint. “This is so fresh.” And so you did your thing. Letting your instincts guide you as you got back into the groove of spray painting. It had been a while, your hands were shaky at times, but nonetheless you were in your element. Free. Unafraid of mistakes or the far future.

You smiled, truly, for once since your enrolment. There was just a few last touches.

“A little help?”

“Wow.”

“Too crazy?”

“Nah, man. [N/N] I see exactly what you’re doing here.” Aaron patted you on the back before he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “You know, your dad and I used to do this back in the day.”

“Stop lyin’! A guy a like him? I bet he snitch on ya right after.”

“No, no, it’s true! But then he took on the cop thing and . . . I don’t know.” Your uncle had a tense look appear on his face. As if he tasted something bitter. And then, a distant, yet sweet nostalgic one replaced it as the words escaped his lips, “He’s a good guy . . . just . . . you know what I’m sayin?”

“Speaking of good. You don’t have to act all strong when you’re with me.” He gave you a light punch to your arm. “I knew you two were close. Heck, I made a couple of bets that you two would get married in the future. Didn’t know I’d lose to nature of all things.”

“Wait. Hang on— bets?!” Blood rushed to your face. You feel warm and cold at the same time. Were you two that obvious?

“I didn’t know him that well. But what I do know is that he put a huge smile on your face. Bigger than any of the ones I could ever draw on ya.” His rubs his thumb to the corner of your lips, “So feeling bad that he’s gone? That’s a given, kid.”

“Thanks, unc.” You leaned into his touch, “But it really isn’t Miguel. It’s—“

His phone rang. Damn.

“Sorry, [N/N]. I gotta roll.”

“No problema.”

A grave look flicked across your uncle’s features. Must have been the stress from work you supposed. Being called at this hour? You were dreading Engineering even more.

“[Y/N]! We gotta go.”

Turns out spending most of the night outside in the cold right before school was a bad idea. It was as if everything was irritating you. Your clothes felt tighter, your sweats… sweatier. Wait. This could only mean one thing.

“I think I hit puberty!” You exclaimed. Finally you could be as tall as those other kids in school.

Realizing you yelled that out loud and startled your roommate was a tad bit embarrassing though. “. . . Ehehe. . . sorry.”

‘I gotta get new clothes.’

‘Wait, why is the voice in my head so loud?’

“Watch where you’re—“ Of all the people you bump into . . . “[L/N].” Damian’s beautiful green eyes would have been great to stare at if he didn’t use them to glare at everyone. You almost shriek at the random tingle you feel behind your neck. Why were you getting goosebumps all of a sudden? I mean he is hot but not that hot.

“You know my—“

“Yeah. I know everyone’s.” He quickly overtook your attempt at a conversation. “6pm. Weekend. Don’t be late, 42.” And there he goes.

Wait, wasn’t that your raffle number?

“How does he know— He- He really has some issues.” You shook your head. Your mom often brought you around the community to help and whatnot, as such you weren’t that fazed when people just knew stuff about you without knowing who they are.

“Talk about it.” In anycase, you know who’s actually that hot?

“Gwen!”

“Hi. You called me by name for once.” Her eyes traveled all over your body, and it took everything in you not to grin like an idiot, scream and turn red all at the same time. “Are you alright or . . ? You’re sweating, like a lot.”

Shit. Damn your body for betraying you! “I am?”

“Hang on.” She brings forth a face towel, a little damp to the touch, but useful nonetheless.

“Sorry, it has my own sweat on it.”

“It’s great, I mean fine! Thank you.” Holy shit you just sweat melded with Gwen. Laughing awkwardly you give it back to her. Or at least attempt to.

“Uh, you can let go now.”

“I think . . . I think it’s stuck to my hand?”

“What?”

“I- It won’t come off!”

You suddenly feel a static, and judging from Gwen’s face, you know she felt it too.

“What was that?!”

“Okay, [Y/N] listen. Pay close attention. I need you to calm down.”

“Calm down?! How does calming down help?!”

“It’ll be much more helpful for you to be calm rather than panicked at the very least!” Gwen slowly inhaled and exhaled. Damn was she good at everything she does? How is she not panicking like you were? “Breathe in, and out.”

In anycase, a couple of breathing exercises later and a horrid excuse to not make your crush — and hence why your nerves were on end despite the calm atmosphere of a library — that obvious. You two part ways.

Well not without a final word from her.

“We have to talk later” She says. The lighthearted, calm tone turned serious.

You don’t know how you got to this moment. Somewhere, sometime when you were running away from the school guards because of your new found powers — you found yourself in a middle of a fight between Spiderman and The Lizard.

“Dr. Curtis, listen to me! You cannot open up a portal to another dimension. Gotham is not zoned for that. We’re barely surviving here in the first place!” Geez harsh dig, but man was he right. You don’t know how many days your mom spent crying wondering if your dad would come back after being sent to fight Joker of all people.

Still your dad never fails to intimidate you. Despite your powers being oddly similar to Spiderman, you think it’d be best if you left before your parents started calling—

“It’s not up to me!”

You gulped, perhaps the lizard looked a little more imposing than a sermon.

“Why won’t you quit?!”

“I guess I like Gotham not being sucked into a black hole?! Metropolis maybe, not Gotham!”

You gasp as the floor beneath you disappears, you find yourself free falling.

THWIP!

“You’re cute. And your shoes are untied.” As if you weren’t already out of breath, Spiderman just had to call you cute while you were basically heaving from all the physical activity and the anxiety of having a giant lizard on your ass. “I’m basically wearing a onesie so I don’t really have to worry about it.” The man makes it worse and approaches you, holding up your Air Jordan’s and tying it laces.

You feel a tingle down your spine that flows down your limbs. One that looped over and over like some sort of feedback. Same as Gwen’s but somehow stronger.

Spiderman snapped his head from your shoes to your face once more. The white eye-like part of his mask widened.

“You’re a Spider, too? Damn.” Spiderman mouthed the last word breathlessly, though it didn’t seem to be out of being tired. He seemed quite . . . relaxed almost. He was in his element.

You shook your head, “I don’t want to be . . .” And clearly, you weren’t being good enough for it if you couldn’t handle even half of what he’s doing.

“We don’t have a choice.” The unyielding nature of his statement took you aback. You weren’t sure if it was out of awe or fear for the future.

“Got a lot going through your head I’m sure. You’re gonna be fine, I can help you. Show you the ropes? I just needta destroy that big machine before the space time continuum collapses. Try not to move around too much.” He gives your shoes one last tug, and you see the mask shift a little around his mouth area. He’s smiling.

He then styles on you by backflipping unto a rail, doing the classic “hero stake out” pose before he saluted, “See ya.”

“Crap.” Spiderman mouthed as the entire contraption collapsed.

“What happened there?! Are you alright?!" You ran to his frankly, horrid state of self. On the floor, bruised and beaten. His mask torn on one of his eyes, revealing a brilliant blue.

“Talk later, escape now.” He coughed, spitting out some blood.

“Right. Where do I. . .?” Crap. Were you really going to learn about Spiderman's real identity just like that? You wondered were such a man lived. Prolly up town where all the socialites were. Dude's probably neighbors with the likes of Bruce Wayn-

“ . . . Gotham Visions Dormitory.”

“I can’t believe Spiderman just slept next door and he’s a senior in my school!”

“Sshhhh! And yeah, well. The world is a small place. Gotham’s even smaller.” He puts a finger on your lips. A sigh escaped his. Seconds pass before he continued, “I just can’t believe Papa’s kid would be my protégé.”

“You-You-Y-You heard that?!”

“I hear a lot of things.”

You nodded at him. You too have heard many things since your powers first manifested. You wonder how he can handle so much stimuli every single day while going to Visions and being a badass hero.

What were you supposed to do again? Right - ! You had a spider to save. You swiftly shuffled through his belongings. Strangely enough you don't see any pictures of him lying around. Not that you wanted to sneak a peek as to how those pretty blue eyes fit into the picture. Not at all.

After a minute or so, you find a first aid kid and begin mending the most damaging areas of his body. Thankfully you don't spot nor feel foreign objects stuck inside him and it seems as if he's already healed many of the minor wounds.

Superheroes man. So cool.

“You seem pretty experienced with handling this kind of stuff. Should I be concerned?”

“Had a friend that got beaten up quite a lot. Picked it up for him. May I?" You gestured to his mask.

“I . . . see. And go ahead. I need a breather and this thing ain't helping."

You patted his face and neck for any indication of where to pull, finding a slit underneath his chin. Gingerly, you tugged on the latex like fabric.

Your [e/c] meeting those baby blues once more, only more clearly now.

And the fan blogs about him were so right, he is blond!

That would make him the second blondie you've had the feedback loop with now that you thought about it. You were about to mention Gwen but -

“Harry!” Spiderman covered the rest of his body with blanket so quickly that you barely even processed the new person by the time he finished making his move.

What the heck- why'd he even let you- was he just making fun of you- using you-

“Pete. Woah. You look . . .” 'Harry' looked at your new Spider tutor with a mildly concerned glance. Not even moving to help you with the first aid.

“Yeah yeah. You know the drill."

“And you . . .” Harry's eyes drift to your spot. You look away, scared of making direct eye contact. Great, another hot guy.

“Papa’s kid. I know.” You mumbled. A rising sense of resentment for your father ebbed and flowed within your spider venom infested veins.

“No no. There is that yeah, but I mean. You’re the one Peter kept—“

“Harry!” 'Peter' groaned. Huh, you never expected Spiderman to have such a nerdy name.

“Fine. Though, he wasn’t lying. You really are cute.”

Peter groaned even louder this time, an achievement considering his face was buried in a pillow for this round.

“You called me cute earlier too, why are you hiding now?”

“That’s different!”

“Woah, Peter called you cute? To your face? Who are you and what have you done to my friend?”

“Shut up.”

You sense an upcoming wave of awkward silence. As such, the kind person that you were, you quickly finished helping Peter with the injuries he had exposed and stated, “That should be it. My room is just next door. To the left. I’ll be there if you need me.”

You silently return the first aid kid where it belonged and sneak your way to the door as if the two men weren't staring at you at this moment. "Goodbye um- sir Peter. Sir Harry."

And then you were gone.

“You don’t mind if we share right?”

“Harry. Could you not? I’m serious.”

“Woah. What’s with the attitude and volume?”

“I. . . like them. A lot. You know this already.” Peter suddenly had this longing look on his face. Equal parts in hopeless romantic and obsession.

“Clearly I didn’t truly comprehend the extent of your yearning ‘til now. Sheesh. Okay, they’re all yours.” Harry paused for dramatic effect, “For now.”

“Harry!”

“Hey, uh — Gwen. Got caught up in something. I’ll talk to you after I’m done with . . . everything. I should be free just before next week starts. See ya.”

Click!

You were never really good with excuses. Your mind raked through everything you knew just to give Gwen that message.

In anycase, overwhelmed as you were. Your feet took you to one place the anxiety and stress seemed to melt away (aside from Uncle Aaron’s crib).

“This week just keeps getting worse.” You sighed, slamming the window to your room shut after sneaking in.

Well, getting in and getting caught right after.

“Police! Put your hands up!” Your father exclaimed. But his voice doesn’t alert you at all. If anything you were bracing yourself for the sermon right after.

“Wait a sec. [Y/N]?” Your mother appeared from behind him with a frying pan in hand.

You took a deep breath. Facing them both.

How could you say that you were afraid? Scared? Unbelievably crushed underneath all this pressure about going to Gotham Visions and possibly becoming a hero of your own soon.

You'd have to fight giant lizards. Giant sandstorm creating men.

And all you had was you,

and your family.

“[Y/N]—? Why aren’t you at—“ You rushed to hug your dad. Encasing the old man with your arms so tight that it almost took the wind out of the poor officer. “Woah woah. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“. . . No. No it’s . . . “ Not. Everything is not okay. You were about to take on the responsibility of a lifetime. Something you couldn’t – shouldn’t — escape even if you all you wished was to run away from it all.

“[Y/N]? Qué te pasa? Is it the earthquake?” Your mother joined in the hug. Rubbing your back as her other hand held her husband (frying pan put aside).

“Can I sleep here tonight?” You asked.

“[Y/N], it’s a weeknight. You made a commitment to that school.”

“Jeff, they’re upset.”

“Of course you can stay.” Your father immediately changed tune. Heh, he really was weak to your mother.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you really hate Spiderman?”

“Yeah. . ? I mean, for a vigilante he isn’t as bad as that friend of his, Red Hood—“

“Jeff, mi amor?”

“What? They asked me! Baby you know how I feel about those people c’mon.” Your father’s voice fades away, taking your mother’s stern look as a sign that he may not be wanted there all too much at the moment.

“Tú sabes que él te quiere mucho. That’s why he’s tough on you. You know that, right?”

“Mhm. I . . . I know.” You knew. But most of the time than not you couldn’t fully comprehend or understand your father. Despite clearly never appreciating or responding well to his tough love approach, he kept doubling down and forcing what he thought was good for you. “Mami. Do you ever think about moving out of Gotham?”

Your mother shook her head.

“Our family doesn’t run from things, [Y/N].”

“What’s this?” You gestured the red box Peter handed you. It was wrapped by some blue ribbon.

“My old suit. Figured we should get that part right before anything else.” He watches you with a smile as you opened it. “It’ll just be a placeholder before I give your measurements to my aunt.”

“Your aunt?”

“My partner in crime. Well — fighting crime. Aside from Jace. But we don't talk about him behind his back otherwise he'll just suddenly appear like the devil." He whispered the last part into your ear. Jace? Was that another vigilante? Sounds like a pompous name. Or maybe you’ve been watching Arcane way too much in anticipation for the next season.

“This is . . . a bit too big.”

“Who knows? It might fit, eventually. Spider puberty is a little finicky.”

“Tell me about it.” You’ve gone through a lot of your handkerchiefs from all the sweat you’ve been excreting.

“You mind?” He gestured his hands in a pulling down motion. You tilted your head in confusion but then slowly pieced together that he wanted to help you put it on.

“Go ahead.”

“That should be it.” He patted your back after securing your suit on.

It sagged a bit on your body, but worked nonetheless.

“That static, tingly thing in our heads. What’s that?”

“Spider-sense. It alerts you of incoming danger. It should do you well to listen to it.”

“Listen to static??”

“You’ll learn its language soon enough. In anycase, first on today’s agenda! Web-slinging. Very important. That’s how we get to any place at any time, whenever someone needs us. It’s what puts me — now us — Spiderpeople ahead of other vigilantes in the area.” He said with what you could assume was a big grin on his face by the way his mask moved.

“Alright. What do I do?”

“Just jump across and —“ Peter flicked his wrist forward, almost hitting you with the sticky goo that makes up his web.

You nod. This should be easy enough right?

Jump and flick. Jump and flick.

What you failed to calculate within your plans was that flicking your wrist needed to be timed precisely otherwise your web would not reach its proper destination.

“AAAAAAAH—!” You screamed as your webs landed on air, your body falling down.

With your eyes sewn shut, you fully expected a crash and the painful reality of falling at least 5 stories.

But somehow, you miraculously get caught. You opened your eyes and . . .

“Woah.” Your mouth went agape. If Peter was cute, whoever just saved your ass (literally) was pretty. Impeccable pale skin, dark and mysterious blue eyes that screamed sleepless but nonetheless striking, and oh his hair. Jet black. Perfectly framing his face.

And as if the heavens decided to reward you for trusting Peter's guidance and taking the fall (literally), it seemed that the ogling was not one-sided, “Are you an angel from heaven?” You both say in sync.

It had not been a moment since that came out from your mouth and you already regretted it. Augh. Cringe.

“Timmy! Old pal!” Peter landed behind him with a large smack to the shoulder, almost making this ‘Timmy’ drop you. “I see you’ve met my protégé.”

“Spider . . .” Peter struggled to put a title on you, “ . . . baby meet Timothy “Tim.” Drake, my underclassman. Timsies, meet my new partner.”

“He knows?” You whispered, as if Tim wasn't there still holding unto to you.

“Yep, he’s actually the Red Robin.” Peter whispered back, playing along with you.

“Peter!” Tim whisper-shouted, smacking Peter’s nape. Not before putting you down gently, of course. What a gentleman.

“R-r-red RobIN?! I’m such a huge fan! I - I bought all of your merch and—“ An alarm went off from inside your suit. You curse as you realized that getting your phone out to close it would take ages. Thankfully you knew what it meant however.“Crap. I gotta go.”

“Go where—?” Peter questioned.

“Well, I have this project with this kid from my class, Damian Wayne?”

“You were partnered with him? Good luck.” Tim had a look of both pity and a hint of delight.

“That happens to be Tim’s little brother.” ‘Barely’ the person in question muttered. “Why don’t I bring you there? Think I should have given you a proper example before throwing you off a building.”

“Why am I not surprised that you almost broke someone’s back with your antics? One day you’ll get ‘em killed.”

Peter doesn’t even answer him properly, “Oh no, your coffee.”

“Ah.” Tim stared at the brown stain in the snow. “I’ll just buy another one. Take care you two.”

And you somehow don’t throw up as Peter took you to the skies. He gives you pointers once on air. Something about wrist angles, pendulum theories and a whole bunch of physics. Unfortunately for him, half of the time was spent with you being thinking and being distracted by how pretty Tim was.

“You’re a godsend. Sometimes.” At least, even with the crap spider tutelage, being a baby spider meant free, fast rides across the New York.

“Just your friendly neighborhood spider.”

You heard lightning in the distance.

“Never gets old.” Peter put his hands on his hips. Neither surprised nor creeped out by the eerie ambiance. “Don’t worry about the creepy atmosphere, the Waynes are huge softies inside. I’ll pick you up at . . . ?”

“Oh, no no no! I’ll be fine. You’ve already helped a lot. (and almost killed me a couple of times) Thank you.” You vehemently denied his help. Fearing for what may happen despite the safe journey here.

“Always here to help. Or not. Good luck, Spiderbaby!”

“You’re on time.” The green-eyed classmate of yours looked raised his annoyingly perfect eyebrows. Considering your track record with classes, you couldn’t blame him.

“Of course.” Damian terrified you way too much for you to be late. He does not reply, so you open your mouth to keep the atmosphere from being too awkward, “Nice place you—“

“No small talk. Now that you’re done fulfilling the bare minimum. We can begin. Follow me.”

He led you through a bunch of hallways. Probably filled with antiques that would make your entire neighborhood go bankrupt. Your past experiences in rich people’s houses made you repeat one thing in your head as your treaded the extravagantly carpeted hall

‘Keep your arms to the side.’ His voice bounced around in your head. Echoes of the past that you've buried for so long. The moment you even raised a finger, you could be charged for theft. Especially if the owner was extra elitist and a douche. Like how his dad used to be.

“Woah, you draw too? These are so cool!” You ogled as you and Damian reached his room. It was as fancy as you expected it to be. Dreary and dark if not for the presence of animal toys and art supplies.

“I said no—“

You continued yapping, far too excited by the concept of Damian having something in common with you to stop. “A whole Windsor and Newton set, of course. I could only wish to have these.” You sighed dramatically. If only you could—

You feel static down your spine. Just by the width of a hair you managed to dodge Damian throwing a paintbrush at you. You look behind to see the wooden end of it stuck within a wall.

“What the heck, that could have hurt!”

“You have good reflexes.”

“Not even a sorry?” Damian raised one of his eyebrows (which are super thick now that you looked closely) and then gave you one scathing hot glare. “Fine, fine.”

It took about half an hour before you found yourself dosing off to dreamland.

“What are you doing? We don’t have all night to work—“

“I’m done. Been waiting for you for forever.”

“Give me that.” He snatched your paper off of your hands.

“Hey!”

“This is . . . acceptable.” He then waved your paper around before slamming it unto the table. “Only that it doesn’t hold any substance at all. It’s too vague. Our teacher told us to talk about our personal experiences. Not hypothetical ones.”

“I’m afraid if I write my personal experiences it’d be way too depressing.” You half joked. Trying yet failing to get a laugh out of your partner to ease the mood. A terrible one to pick for that reason but hey, playing dumb this entire year was your forte at this point.

Maybe cause you were actually a little stupid in some places.

“Then write it.”

“I just said—“

“So what if your life is depressing? It’s your own life. Your story. If she judges you for being honest then it’s her fault.”

“Damian?” Your mouth agape in awe, you said, “You’re so cool, y’know that?”

Besides being the son of Bruce Wayne, he was also the little brother of your favorite hero. You’ve also heard of the rumors. How perfect Damian was at everything. Some people were just favored by the Gods you supposed.

“I know. Besides it’s what was written in the instructions.” Damian huffed. Again, seemingly unaffected by your words. Understandably so, he probably got praised on the daily with how utterly immaculate he was.

Kind of makes you want to push his buttons.

“To be honest, you seemed so scary I almost bailed. Glad my fear of angering you outweighed my fear of you in general.”

“Hm.” Nope. Nothing at all. At least, nothing that you’ll ever see. As the moment you looked away out of boredom, an ever so faint smirk etches itself unto Damian’s countenance.

The rest of the evening passed in silence. Nothing comfortable, you were in an eerie mansion with one of the scariest people you knew after all, but nothing too awkward or chilling either.

“Bye Damian! It was nice working with you!” You waved, making your exit. A sense of relaxation and slight euphoria in your veins as you finally got whatever that was done.

“They seemed nice.”

Damian does not reply to Alfred’s words verbally. Only nodding as a polite response before he left.

Alfred stared at your form as it grew smaller. “. . . albeit a tad familiar.”

“Hey, Mig.” Your body instinctively relaxed as you saw the picture frame above his gravestone, right next to a large bouquet of fresh flowers; a thin layer of snow atop of it.

You wiped it off from both items, before proceeding to kneel down as you always did during your visits, “I missed ya.” You began.

“I’ve been a bit behind on my Spanish lessons, and I haven’t had much use for it since, you know.” Your hand moved around, animated. “Everything has just been so hectic. I feel like every single time I thought things were at its worst the world just piles on more duties for me to take.” And then it fell back to your side.

You bury your face into your knees.

“Is this what you felt like?” You recalled the hours he spent perfecting table manners and speech. The way his life was turned upside down by a single revelation of his parenthood. “Your dad got a lot nicer when you were gone. Your death was definitely a wake-up call to his prejudices. He even offered to pay for my fees at Visions.”

Of course, you refused. Citing the fact that now that Miguel was gone there was no use to niceties. It was too late, your opinion of him and those rich folks who walked all over you would never change no matter how much they poured.

. . . Actually, you change your mind. With the way the current Spiderman was teaching you, you might need some help paying a couple hospital bills along with damages of property.

“You are supposed to be where I am. I bet you’d do a lot better as a Spiderman too.”

In fact, you believed that he would have been perfect. Miguel was the kindest, most self sacrificing person you knew. He would have taken this responsibility with stride and his head held high.

If only you had a better teacher. Someone who was more practical and had more experience.

“Hey Kid.”

After what felt like a chase and a half, you managed to bring the man you knocked out back home. It took a while but you knew your father had some rope, a punching bag, and a place where you wouldn’t get caught (your room, securely locked with a table).

But most importantly, what your dad had was a lot of movies with cops/detectives in them. Interrogation techniques were always something he’d discuss and use on you whenever you’d do something against the house’s ‘laws.’ Which was… more often than not.

“Why do you look like Peter?”

“Because I am Peter.”

You looked at him with a face of utter disbelief. Gesturing to his form you questioned, “Then why are you older? Why is your hair different? Why is your nose broken? And why is your body a-a different . . . shape?”

“Did you just call me fat?”

“N-no- just different!”

“Hey listen kid. Fat shaming isn’t a part of cute privilege alright?”

Ignoring the part where this random ass stranger called you cute, for the sake of this conversation’s brevity and your curiosity you surmised the following, “Are you . . . Are you from another dimension, like from a parallel universe where things are like this universe but different and you’re Spiderman in that universe but somehow traveled to this universe, but-but you don’t know how?”

“Wow cute and smart. That was really just a guess?”

“Learned about it in physics. Visions really drills those in within the first month.”

“Quantum Theory.” You two mouthed in sync.

“This is amazing! I can have two teachers! You seem a bit more experienced too. Maybe I can minimize the bones I break this way!”

“Yeah right.” He swiftly dismissed your idea. Groaning at the thought of dealing with what was basically a child in comparison to his experience.

“Please?”

“Well here’s lesson one kid; don’t watch the mouth. Watch the hands.” And the whole thing that tied him to the punching bag unraveled. Damn it, that took you at least an hour to do! Not only that but the man then kicked the thing at you, making you slam backwards unto a door. Yikes.

“Other Peter, seriously—!” And now you have his web all over your mouth. Great.

“Trust me, kid. This’ll all make you a better Spiderman.” Peter—or whoever this rude man was—jumped out of your window and slung a web, ready to leave. But before he could take off, his body suddenly glitched, the distortion rippling across his form, and he crashed downward, slamming through a set of stairs with a loud thud.

“Hey, are you - are you . . . okay?” You asked, wiping off the remnants of his web from your lips. “What’s going on with your body?”

“I don’t think my atoms are all jazzed about being in the wrong dimension.” He turned his body around, facing you and glitching once more. “Look, I’m not looking for a side gig as a Spiderman coach. ‘Sides you already have one! With a not broken nose! And I got a little going lot on in my dimension.”

“I heard a wise guy once saying that with great power comes great—“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence! Don’t do it! I’m sick of it!” He pointed at you with an accusatory finger, his voice trembling with frustration. And then he glitches again. Huh you might have felt bad if he didn’t just kick and webbed you. “Want my advice? Go back to being a regular kid. We already have a bunch of vigilantes in Gotham I’m sure they can work things out.” He spoke as he hung from a platform with one hand.

“I’m part of this now. I can’t just run away! That supercollider could potentially destroy my universe, everything and everyone I know!”

“What did you say?” Suddenly, Peter turned his head to look at you.

“I can’t just run away?”

He started walking towards you, feet sticking to the brick walls like a natural, “Blah blah responsibility! Who cares about that? Where’s this collider?”

“Under Fisk Tower.”

“Goodbye.” He walks back down the walls. Tearing the eye contact he held with you just seconds ago like it was nothing.

“Where are you going?”

“When it runs, I’ll jump in and get back to my life.”

“You can’t let them run it! You don’t even know if you’ll get sent to the correct dimension much less be alive through it all!” You attempt to follow him, not so gracefully sliding down the walls, “We’re supposed to destroy it so it doesn’t run at all and cause — I don’t know — a rupture in the—“

“‘Space time continuum’ That is what they always say. But there’s always a little bit of time before everybody dies and that’s when I do my best work.”

“You’re really gonna go home and leave me, a kid mind you, to figure this out all by myself?”

“No, I’m leaving you with other, frankly speaking, much more responsible vigilantes to fix whatever aftereffects of that thing is.”

“You good with that Spiderman?”

“Yeah.”

You sighed, falling to your knees.

Older Peter looks back at you from the rooftop with the most unamused look he's ever had this whole night. “What are you doing?”

“Using my ‘cute privilege’ to make you feel guilty. Is it working?”

“I hate kids. How could it— No. Look at me. Does it look like it’s working? No, no it’s —Ohohoho. AAAHH! NO! NO! DO NOT LET THEM WIN!”

You muster all your will not to smile or laugh at his mighty attitude falling at the face of your cuteness.

“Alright kid, you win. We don’t have a second to lose. Bring me to your Spiderman mentor you mentioned.”

“Mmm. I love this burger. So delicious. Mmm. One of the best burgers I’ve ever had. In my universe this place closed six years ago. Mmm. I don’t know why. I really don’t. Mmm!” Peter Burnout spoke as he gorged himself in food. Some of the ketchup spraying to yours and OG Peter's face.

A waiter passes by and drops a bill on your table.

“You have money, right? I’m not very liquid right now.”

“I can’t believe you replaced me!” Peter cried as he looked at his older, more . . . rotund counterpart.

“Peter. Sir. Respectfully speaking super healing doesn’t really help with pain from broken bones. If anything I’m just grateful I didn’t give my parents a whole buttload of debt from my injuries.”

“And I was — pfft — really sorry about that!”

“You’re still laughing about it!” You yelled, watching Peter do his best to hide his amusement at your predicament. This man who so calmly took care of a giant wizard and a world ending collider, did not have the chops for acting or lying at all. “Back to the topic at hand people. Any Spiderman tips Other-Peter?”

“Yeah I got plenty.” He said as he licked his fingers clean. Gross.

“Disinfect the mask. You’re gonna wanna use baby powder in the suit, heavy on the joints. You don’t want any chafing, right?”

“That . . . is actually pretty useful.” You nod, bringing out your phone to quickly type down his words. Although you didn’t have a proper suit yet, you always wonder how heroes felt underneath all that tight latex like material. Of course, you’ve attempted cosplays and whatnot but those have always been with cheap, sweat inducing products.

“Speaking of, your suit should be ready in a bit. Do you have a color of preference?” Your Peter brings up.

“Think I’ll go with [Color(s)] and Red. Just to match up with you a little.” You replied, attempting your best version of your Uncle’s cool nonchalant smile as you were gushing in excitement inside. You then looked back to Peter B. “Anything else?”

“Nope, that was everything.”

“And I thought OG Peter was bad.”

“Hey!” Peter clutched his chest as he feigned hurt. You only deadpan at him, a broken heart won’t soothe your broken bones.

“Look up more about Fisk Tower and whoever you fought at the collider.” Peter B. instructed as he grabbed your french fries.

“Kingpin.” You muttered, typing down ‘Fisk Tower’ as per his instruction.

“Him? Must have been tough that one.”

“Alchemax?”

“Great. We have a lead. Now check where it is.”

“Hudson Valley.”

“Other-Peter can teach me to swing on the way there!” You make a ‘thwip’ ‘thwip’ ‘thwip’ motion with your hands, a huge excited smile gracing your features.

And… it’s quickly replaced with a disappointed frown once you three stepped into a bus, “I’m not swinging to the Hudson Valley! Not after a hearty burger breakfast. Keep your arms and legs fresh. You’re gonna thank me later.”

“Still think I’m a bad teacher.” Peter nudges you with his elbow, a stupidly cute grin on his face.

“Yep.” Peter loses his confident smirk real quick, “Not the worst but still bad. To be fair to Peter B. he hasn’t gotten me injured yet.”

“That’s a no on the cape.”

“But it’s my latest Robin merch I wanna have it for my first mission—“

“No.” The two Spidermen stated in sync, though one much more sternly than the other.

OG Peter pinches the bridge of his nose, “Do you know how many times I’ve had to help the Robins with their cape related problems? I’ve told every single one of them that it won’t work, but they just have to follow Batman’s footsteps.”

“So the theory about the Robins being different people really is true huh…” You thought to yourself, knowing that your two mentors could probably hear you even if you mumbled.

Other Peter also pinches the bridge of his (less perfect) nose, “Yeah take that off. It’s disrespectful. Both to the mantle of Spiderman and every Incredibles movie there is.”

You pout but heed their advice. You took off the yellow and black cape, a sniff in grief follows.

“Okay spiderfolks here’s the plan: Step 1, we infiltrate the lab. 2 Find the head scientist’s computer.” Peter B. Parker started laying down the plan. A surprisingly detailed one considering. . . Well the man’s incompetent to say the least. “Step 4: I download the important stuff. Then 5, I grab a bagel from the cafeteria and run.”

“What are we supposed to do?” You asked, already knowing what he’ll answer with but still clinging unto hope.

“Step 6: Lookout. That’s a very important job. Watch and learn kid I’ll quiz you later!”

“I’m totally the better teacher right?” OG Peter asks you. His puppy eyes on display.

“Anything is better than janky, old, broke hobo spider.”

“Fair enou—“ Peter began his reply but was interrupted by you absolutely decimating a boulder with your fist. “That’s new. And good to know. That’ll come in handy in fights annndddd when I know you’re angry.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Touché. We goin’ in?”

“Oh we’re definitely going in.”

“Whoa!”

“You alright?”

“Not so much with you on top of me!” You whisper shouted. Seriously, even with your new super strength this man was built like a fridge.

“Let’s go. Other Peter!” You whisper shouted again, crawling through the vents with much more noise than needed. Slamming face first unto the Burnout’s ass.“Ah! Other Peter!”

“What are you doing here?!”

“Kingpin’s here. Just move your butt over.” You moved between his legs and then his arms before shimmying yourself beside him.

“Augh, you’re stepping on my foot. Get back outside!”

“No! I - We can’t just sit and let you get caught — or - or die without doing anything about it. I’m not doing that again!” You felt guilty enough with how fucked up Peter OG was after the fight last time, you’re sure as hell ain’t letting that happen again under your watch.

Peter Burnout just stares at you. Silent and unmoving.

“What?”

“Most people I meet in the workplace try to kill me, so . . . you’re a nice change of pace.”

“You have such a low bar. You need to surround yourself with better people. A proper support system is really important for hero mental health.”

“I’m guessing there’s no more room for me there.” Peter pipes up from behind the two of you.

“No.”

“No.”

“Mr. Fisk. Look at this data. I know you can’t really understand it but these are really good numbers.”

“ . . . Anddd I got the password!”

“Wait wh-“ You looked at him, incredulous. Other Peter can be cool sometimes.

“Um, Mr. Fisk, if we fire again this week, there could be a black hole under Gotham. You see this and this? This is multiple dimensions beginning to crash into each other.”

Peter puppets his hand as she speaks.“This is pretty standard Spider stakes. You get used to it.”

You turned your head to OG Peter for confirmation. That couldn’t be right, right? He was just a kid like you! I mean you never felt any threats to your safety at all during your whole time at Gotham, but then again you lived with a cop dad and an incredibly rich b—

OG Peter nods. He nods! You have a mini anxiety attack inside. You make a mental note to give him more respect in the future. “You get used to hearing threats to your safety and the world? I think you both just need therapy.” Okay but not too much that you don’t get to cash in a quip. What? You were a Spider. It was literally in your blood.

“Watch this.” Peter B. tapped your shoulder several times to get your attention back, “He’s gonna say, “You’ve got 24 hours’”

“You’ve got 24 hours.” He winks at you.

“What this means is that there’s going to be a rupture in the space time continuum!” Dr. Olivia continued.

“Ooh. That’s bad. Actually, everything she said was bad I was lying before.”

“Good to see you admit and communicate your feelings and concerns in a healthy matter, Mr. Other Parker.” You nod in approval. The two of you then move out, one more gracefully than the other.

“Wooh, it was getting a lil tiring just staring at other me’s ass.”

“Just his?” You asked, almost offended that your cake wasn’t mentioned.“Sorry didn’t mean to flirt on the job—“

“No, no, no! Flirting is very much welcomed. I’m single.” OG Peter admitted. His body practically trembling at the awkwardness of his confession.

“Not to be the savior of this awkward atmosphere you kids are creating but a little help here? What are you doing bud?”

“I- I’m stuck! I can’t move!” Not this again.

“Okay, relax your fingers. We don’t have time. Just let go. Be in the moment.”

“I am in the moment! It’s a terrible moment!”

“[Y/N]. Breathe in and out.” OG Peter tried to pull you off but is unable to due to his super strength potentially decimating the octagon shaped lights.

“They’re right there, they’re gonna see you! [Y/N], you gotta unstick. What do you do to relax?”

“You listen to music right? Why don’t you think of a tune that helps you chill out?”

“Relax. Okay, okay, okay.” You close your eyes. Thinking of what you always did when you wanted to relax.

The Robins.

Ah yes, the perfect specimen that is the OG Robin. His musculature that rivaled the Greek sculptures of old. And better yet, his ass? Good lord. You were so glad when he moved on to be Nightwing and shed off that horrid cape. Maybe Spiderman was right, capes were no good.

“Ah . . . Nightwing.” You think back to the pictures you drew of your OC and the vigilante and a finger unsticks. You reminisce of the times you’ve seen them in real life, out at night when your family thought you were asleep and another finger pops off.

You fall once you remember the moment you took a photo with him. “Nightwing. . .”

“Teenagers. Just the worst.” Peter Broken Nose sighed at your hormonal moment.

“Wait, where did [Y/N] go?” Peter Perfect Nose asked, whipping his head around as if you might materialize out of thin air.

“I’m right here.”

“Where? We can’t see you.”

“Pete, I’m literally right in front of you.” You looked down at your hands, stunned to see that you were in fact, invisible, “Can Spider-Man turn invisible in your universe?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Ow!” You groaned as you reeled from Peter B’s slap. “What was that for?”

“This is incredible! Some kind of fight or flight thing.”

“What’s that?”

Pop! And you disappeared. Out of sight. But never out of mind.

"This might pinch a little." She then shoved him unto a chair that automatically strapped him on. You were about to gawk at the kind of furniture she kept around. Thankfully OG Peter had his uses and kept you on track.

"Organize your desktop, lady." You sweated at the amount of icons she had on there. Insane behavior this was.

"This'll take too long. Grab everything before she spots us." And he takes to the ceiling.

"Wow, just complete cellular decay. Never seen anything like this!" Dr. Olivia observed cheek cells she swabbed out of Peter Burnout. You slowed down in concern. Glitching must be completely painful. You had to get him back to his dimension as soon as possible.

And so you followed your tutor’s command.

"What are you two doing?" Peter shook his head as he spots a floating PC and monitor, you, slowly moving to the exit.

"Just taking the whole thing!"

"And obviously you've been glitching."

"Oh god, [Y/N] hurry up!" OG Peter whisper shouts.

"You stay on this dimension for too long your body will start to disintegrate. Do you know how painful that would be, Peter Parker?"

"Oh, I don't know."

"You can't imagine. And I for one, can't wait to watch."

You look to Peter above you, a silent pause as if to say, "This lady is actually insane." Like seriously, how can she teach students like you with a mouth like that?

"What did you say your name was?"

She stood up. A relaxed posture to her form. Her hands reached up to remove her octagonal glasses. "Dr. Olivia Octavius."

Holy shi—

[AUTHOR’S NOTE]:

Character: *breathes*

Author: You’re part of the harem now.

(removed those that couldn’t be tagged) TAGLIST IS FULL!!! SO SORRY FOR THE REST!!! I’LL TAG YOU ON A REBLOG!!!

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[fastandcarlos]

My Little Graduate : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: you're all prepared to graduate with your family by your side, and an unexpected extra sneaking into the crowd

“There she is...my little graduate!” Max cheered as he watched you walk through the crowd of people, opening his arms up and inviting you straight into the room. 

You were lifted up of your feet as soon as Max’s arms wrapped around you, your hand reaching up to keep a hold of your cap that was on the top of your head. Max pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek before pulling away, studying you closely. His hand slipped into yours as he twirled you around, his eyes drawn to the wide smile on your face. 

It was everything that Max wanted to see, after watching you stress and suffer for so many months, he was finally seeing the proper you in front of him again. 

“You’ve got no idea how proud I am of you,” Max smiled, taking both of your hands into his, “you’ve worked so hard to get that moment today.” 

He was in awe of how hard you’d worked, relentlessly researching, typing, proofreading, whatever you needed to do in order to get yourself your degree that you’d dreamed of for so long. Max was hardworking himself, but nothing could compare to how hard you’d pushed yourself. 

Little did Max know the part that he had played though. The constant late night visits, dashes to the shop to help you, offers to read over what you’d written to make sure that it made sense in your sleep state.  

“Graduation suits you too,” Max complimented, taking a closer look at you. 

The slight breeze blew your gown up slightly, showing off the dress that you wore underneath. The finishing touch for Max though was the cap that you wore on top of your head, the one thing you’d talked about wanting to wear for so long, and at last it was finally yours. 

“I can’t believe I’m dating a graduate,” Max smiled, keeping his eyes firmly on you. “How does it feel to finally receive the recognition that you deserve?” 

“This is the moment I dreamt of when I sent that application in all those years ago,” you chuckled, smoothing down your gown. “There were plenty of moments too when I was sure that I wasn’t actually going to see the end of this degree.” 

There had been many conversations between you and Max when you felt like giving up. He was there every time though, reminding you of how hard you’d worked and how rewarding it would be if you saw it through to the end. 

He wasn’t sure at the time whether you truly believed him, but now as you celebrated your moment, he was relieved that you had listened and stuck it out, no matter how many times you wanted to turn around and say no. 

“I always knew you’d get here,” Max shrugged, as if it was the easiest thing in the world that you’d achieved. “There was no doubt in my mind with that incredibly smart mind of yours.” 

Your hands rested against Max’s chest, tilting your head back to look up at him. “I don’t think I’d have got to this moment without you, you’ve always been my biggest cheerleader.” 

As your eyes met Max’s, you couldn’t help but smile, reaching up and taking your cap off. You twirled it in your hands before placing it on top of Max’s head instead, taking a step back so that you could admire how well it suited him. Although your degree was yours, Max had played a huge part in it too. His smile turned up as he positioned the cap so that it was straight, allowing you to pull your phone out and take a picture of him. 

Once he had it, Max didn’t want to take it off, finding himself quite comfortable with a graduate cap on his head. He knew it was never going to be his, but he didn’t take for granted how appreciative you were of everything that he had done for you over the past couple of years. 

“You deserve to wear that for a moment,” you told him, handing it back as Max went to take it off. “It probably doesn’t compare to all those fancy trophies that you win on a podium, but that to me is probably the biggest trophy I’ll ever earn. So, I want you to hold it, like you tell me to do with yours.” 

“This is all yours,” Max protested, taking the cap and popping it back onto the top of your head. “I’m just enjoying the fact that there’s so many graduates around here today, and yet I’m dating the best one.” 

“I’m emotional enough as it is today without you getting soppy.” 

You hit hard against Max’s chest as his arms snaked back around your frame. He pressed a kiss against the top of your head, blocking out everything that was going on around you. Despite the hundreds of names that had been read as people walked across the stage, there was only one that meant anything to him. 

A hand poked against your side, dragging you out of your daydream. “What’s the plan now that you’ve got a super official degree to your name?” 

“I guess I have to go and get a job now,” you chuckled, “I can’t study and travel the world supporting you forever, as nice as it’s been for the past couple of years.” 

“You’ll still come to some races though, won’t you? Even though you’re going to be busy?” Max nervously asked you. 

It didn’t matter how career driven you were, there was no way you were going to stop going to races completely. Depending on what direction you were about to go in, you knew every race would be impossible, but if there was any chance that you could get there, then you absolutely would. 

“Wherever you go next, I’ll be supporting you,” Max assured you, “and wherever that place is, I know you’re going to go on and do absolutely amazing things too.” 

“I should probably go and collect a few more degrees to try and match all your world championships.” 

“Yours is a lot more impressive than mine,” Max grinned. 

Your eyes narrowed back at him, “millions of people get degrees, but there’s only one champion of the world, and that just so happens to be you.” 

Although you had a point, Max was still far more impressed by what you achieved then what he had. He was at the top in his field, and he knew now that the world was your oyster that you were absolutely going to rise to the top of your field too. 

“I really am proud of you,” Max told you once again, kissing against your forehead. 

“I know you are,” you giggled, “it’s taken a lot of blood, sweat and tears to get to this moment, but I’m so happy that we’re finally here.” 

“I’m just looking forward to having you back, without the stress, the late trips to the library,” Max couldn’t help but joke, “it’s just going to be you again, with that big, beautiful smile on your face.” 

Your eyes widened as Max spoke, “are you suggesting that I’ve been stressed and stroppy over the past few months?” You challenged. 

“Love, you’ve been an absolute nightmare.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

X♡X♡ [SEVEN DAYS] Day 4

You've already won.

Tags/Warnings: Porn with a lot of plot basically, inexperienced!reader, Dom!Jungkook, BDSM themes and elements, discussion of past bad experiences (sexual and general relationships), toys, jk is more dominant in this, NSFW, size kink if you squint, Subspace, a teeny bit of Angst, a little of fluff, brat behavior

Wordcount: 6k

-> Masterlist

There is no taglist for this fic.

A/N: screw it i can't hold this back any longer. Sorry if it's disappointing..

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You never really knew that Jungkook is actually a pretty good home-cook.

Obviously, he is no michelin star collector, his chaotic nature bleeding through his every move- but it's still clear that he has skill and a genuine passion for what he’s doing. It feeds, however, also into your own personal observation about him; that while he is a dominant person by nature who enjoys controlling situations to their fullest, he’s also a pleaser. He seems to thrive most the moment you tell him you trust him, when you let him lead or even just seek out physical contact to him. It reminds you of what he told you before.

‘As long as you make me feel wanted, I’ll be just fine.’

“You’re staring.” Jungkook chuckles as he finishes cleaning the dishes from your shared breakfast earlier. There has been some tension between you, and you know he’s waiting for you this time. The training wheels are slowly coming off, and he’s becoming less and less easy on you. It's exciting because you also feel.. like you could challenge him.

And whatever the punishment, you’ll take it.

But no matter what you tried and try, nothing really seems to get a proper reaction out of him. So when you sit in front of him now on the couch that acts as your bed as well for this week, you’re stunned. “What?” You ask, making him repeat his words. You’ve just offered him yourself, told him you want to have proper sex, and instead of taking the chance, he wants to…?

“I said:” He smiles impishly as he speaks, “Get me off without touching me, and I’ll fuck you the way you want.” He repeats his lewd sentence freely as ever, long having shed the shame about the topic.

Well, the task itself isn’t what you didn’t understand. It’s more so, that you don’t understand why it needs to be so difficult? “but- I thought you want this?” You argue weakly, and he nods.

“I do.” He agrees. “that, and so much more. But you also wanted me to stop being so soft with you.” He repeats your request, and in a way, you want to smack your past self for making this so difficult for you now. “also, trust me- it’ll be a lot more interesting this way.” He almost seems to joke, and you can clearly see and feel just how excited he is as well.

Because deep down, you can understand it.

And you’re ready to take on the challenge.

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The entire rest of the day, you attempt to distract him from his placed challenge the best you can. If you can trick him into forgetting his own rules, maybe you can somehow cheat your way to the goal?

Jungkook however sems to have a sixth sense for your antics however. No matter what you do to try and get his attention, his patience never seems to snap. If anything, it just seems to amuse him- and that’s not quite what you were aiming for.

What you also weren’t aiming for was the fact that he could turn your wonderful plans against you in a heartbeat- the remote controlled toy inside you buzzing to life yet again while you went to read something on your phone on the couch. It’s been happening for almost an hour now, randomly- and never enough to really get you off properly.

Your plan was simple; after a bit of research, you read that some guys are really into the controlling part of the toy, but that it would often lead to more than that later on. So you not-so-subtly told Jungkook that you had taken the toy, and not only that- you'd mentioned that you were ‘wearing’ it, too. The look on Jungkook’s face was surprised at first- but quickly shifted, gaze changing as he acknowledged what you had informed him of.

What you didn’t think about, was that Jungkook isn’t just some guy.

He knows how to control himself, and he knows how to control others even better it feels like. A text on your phone makes your skin run hot, as it only displays a simple message.

[Don’t you dare cum.]

It’s not even like he can see you! The buzzing of the toy is a strange rhythm, and you move your hands between your thighs to shift things a bit, when Jungkook’s voice is heard.

“Can’t follow basic instructions when you’re not supervised, huh?” He chuckles, walking into the open kitchen to open the fridge and take out a bottle of soda. “I said don’t cum. Get your hands off your cunt.” He commands before unscrewing the plastic cap and bringing the neck of the bottle towards his lips to drink from it.

For some reason, you do exactly as he says. But the way he said it did not really make your situation any better.

“Not too sure where you were going with this plan of yours-” He teases, as he walks closer to you, bottle still in hand. “-But I’m giving points for creativity.” He chuckles, holding the bottle out for you. “You look thirsty, darling.” He jokes.

You glare at him, trying not to shift in order not to make it worse for yourself. But still, you look at the beverage with a bit of longing- maybe drinking something can help you calm down?

Wrong.

Especially when it’s his hand underneath your chin that holds your face at the right angle to make you drink from the bottle, look in his eyes sharp and devilish to say the least. He’s visibly happy about the clear display of dominance over you, maybe even amused by it? In a way, you don’t care. This side of Jungkook is new, and you feel excitement over the whole ordeal.

Maybe your plan is working?

But as soon as you’re done drinking, he reaches into the pocket of his pants, and turns off the device with a simple tap on his touchscreen.

“Take it out, princess.” He says, nodding towards your legs.

You stare, and wait.

“Too hard to follow?” He asks you in fake worry. “Okay, simpler terms then. Get up.” He waves his hand up, and your legs seem to move for a second without your command- making you embarrassed, before you roll your eyes and still follow his request. Standing in front of him, he nods, before he taps at your hips. “Strip.” He tells you as a next step, and you almost stubbornly kick off your shorts. “Strip further, baby.” He emphasizes, but there’s a dangerous undertone to it.

You’re testing a limit.

You slowly move to push your panties off your legs- fabric clinging to your wet folds for a second before it falls to your feet. Much to your surprise however, Jungkook gets to his knees right in front of your exposed legs- before he taps your thighs on the inside- a silent command to part your legs.

This is an oddly embarrassing position to be in. Strangely. Because technically, he’s seen it all- so why does this make you feel so.. Small?

Maybe it’s his gaze. Maybe it’s the fact that despite being in a lower position, he still controls the situation. Or maybe it’s just because it’s him.

His fingers pull on the tail of the toy that’s still outside, making your core clench involuntarily. “No.” Jungkook lowly warns. “Give it up.” He commands, and you want to look away from the scene so badly as you relax your muscles- toy finally slipping out, hanging warm and wet from Jungkook’s fingers that still hold onto the tail end of it.

You feel empty.

“Go wash up.” He kisses your cheek, tone kind again. “But no fun times in there. I’ll be checking when you come out.” Jungkook warns, and you groan in agony-

Though you have to admit, that it’s kind of fun.

◇━━━━━━━━━━X♡X♡━━━━━━━━━━━◇

Its late, and you’re both breathing heavily.

This happened rather spontaneously to be honest- a commercial break having broken your attention to the TV show you were both watching, making Jungkook turn it off entirely before focusing on you instead. After that steamy Makeout session of the two lovers in the show, you’d stolen glances at Jungkook any second you could, stolen orgasms from the entire early day still leaving you unsatisfied and hungry for any kind of release.

And it did not go unnoticed.

Maybe it's been tough on him too, because it feels as if he can’t undress you fast enough- hands struggling with the clasp of your bra in the back for a moment, before he groans in anger about it, and just pushes the whole garment up to reveal your chest to him, fabric pulled over your head in it’s entirety. He’s hungry, clearly so- but you’re struggling on your end, despite the misery.

This is what you wanted. Something soft, slow, romantic. But right now, all it does is cause you frustration.

And you wonder why.

Did he taint you so much that you’re now forever stained with the way he does things, so much so that you’ll forever seek what he’s offered? Has he ruined you to the point of no return, that no ‘normal’ form of bedroom love can fulfill your needs any longer? This is what you had wanted at the start- something calm, casual, something you know. But for some reason, there’s something awoken inside you that makes you yearn for his touch to be more demanding, more exciting, more enticing than this. Have you gone mad?

Or are you simply not seeing the bigger picture?

His lips on your skin are sensual, warm but not hot, gentle, caring, affectionate. His hands never grab too hard, only brush over you, map out your body as if he needs to remind himself of every curve you have.

You want more. Need more. This is too slow. Or is it?

His tongue over your chest makes your breath hitch, back arching off the mattress as he gently bites your hardened bud, pulling it a little, always teasing, never going rough. You never imagined you’d want more than that, but there’s this sudden need to be absolutely ruined by him.

And that’s somehow exactly what he’s doing.

His hand only occasionally finds its way between your legs to spread around your leaking arousal, even sometimes taunting you by using it to cover his bare length in it, hand only slowly moving to close around it in a fist, hips thrusting into his hand, a mere glimpse offered at what he could be giving you.

You know he’s warm. Heavy, and thick. More than the toy could’ve offered you last time. You want him, as deep as he can go.

Your brain is filled with the most obscene visuals of his cum leaking out of you, filling you up until there’s no space for anything else. It’s as if you’ve gone rabid, head no longer functioning, only instincts left and the need for that very specific pleasure only he can offer you.

You’re a slave to his touch, and you’re not even upset about it.

“Nuh-uh.” He chuckles, as you try and reach for him. “Patience.” He scolds softly.

“Please-!” You whine, but its not working at all as he leans over you, his cock rubbing over your stomach, way to far away from where you need him most. “jungkook-“

“You sound so sweet when you beg.” He purrs, licks and bites at your neck, kisses placed with meaning behind them. “I think I could cum just from this.” He chuckles. “Can you?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“Need you..” you whine.

“You have me.” Jungkook reassures you. “I’m right here.” He offers, but you reach out to touch him, this time trying to keep your self control, only letting your fingers run over his abdomen. “Such a good girl. Following rules so well.” He tells you with amusement in his tone.

It’s the rule, after all. You’re allowed to touch, to feel, to move. Just not there.

You’ll have to get creative if you want to get him off without touching him at all. Because if you do- you win. And the grand prize will be what you’ve begun to anticipate with eagerness and excitement, and no more fear.

Because it’s Jungkook.

And you’re starting to no longer think you’re falling in love with him-

But believe in it.

Suddenly, there is an idea in your head. Jungkook had made the mistake of not making the rules too clear- which means that you’ve got a bit of room to play with, as you collect your thoughts and form a new plan. He’s clearly more than just aroused, tip leaking onto your lower stomach, and that alone offers you an opportunity.

He spots the way your gaze changes instantly. Like something awoken inside you, the you that’s looking at him is no longer unsure or worried or holding back.

Your hands move between your legs, to spread your own arousal over the inside of your thighs, just for your legs to close up, and lift to be pushed towards your body- closing up on the very tip of his, and he gets the message crystal clear.

A smirk finds its way over his lips, as your hands reach for his hips.

“You want me to fuck your thighs, huh?” He chuckles, leaning in, accepting the offer seemingly and making your blood rush in your veins. You found it. You solved the problem. “cute.” He says, kissing your neck-

“But I said get me off, not make me do it myself.”

Your whole world crashes down as you realize the fatal flaw in your plan, leaving you at square one again. The frustration builds, making you whine for a moment before you snap- pushing at his chest to make him switch positions with you, his body now beneath yours. You’re not sure what to do now, a bit uncertain again as you feel too responsible in this position.

How’re you supposed to solve this?

Meanwhile Jungkook, beneath you, is mesmerized.

You know that the easy way out would be to simply jump over the rules, or give up- two options you probably would’ve made use of days prior without the experiences you’ve collected until now. But you’re following what he said, always staying on the road he set up for you, only ever looking at other ways possible, but you never dare to go against his orders.

So obedient. But what’s most amazing to him about it, is that you freely choose to be.

He’s been giving you options to take the lead left and right, but you willingly let him control you and the scene. The amount of trust you put in him makes him feel high almost, and it’s not just the fact that he’s feeling the ‘rush’ of somehow ‘corrupting’ you in any way. This isn’t just something that he feels because you play into his fantasies.

This is way more than that.

Suddenly, your body loses all tension, as you lean down on him, openly seeking his help without even asking. “A bit of a tough challenge, hm?” he reassures you, and you nod, stubborn as you sit back on his thighs, still unsure what you’re supposed to do. You’re not as adventurous as him, you don’t yet have this big collection of fantasies yet. So, in a way, he had expected this outcome- making him not even surprised, nor disappointed.

He could never be disappointed in you.

“Tell me what to do.” You request, and he watches you for a good second or two. Oh he definitely has more than a handful of ideas blossoming in his mind about what he’d love for you to do- but small steps, for now.

“I already told you, though.” He almost teases, not bowing down this easily. He’s not that quick to break under your doll-like eyes, he doesn’t falter at the way you lick your lips this quickly.

Suddenly, your gaze changes. You have an idea, and he’s curious to see it.

You remember one crucial thing about him he’s always made sure to emphasize; he doesn’t need much to come undone. Sex isn’t as straight forward with him as it is with others- some you simply need to think outside the box, and try seeing it from a different perspective. What makes him shiver? What made him sigh out in pleasure last time? What could potentially make him weak? And then it hits you.

Its right there. Right in front of you; and you simply failed to see it.

“What is it?” He asks, and you take a shuddering breath as you prepare yourself to be brave for once, before you say it.

“I don’t like this.”

Your eyes are closed, and you feel terrible for a good couple of seconds- because while it is an admission you knew you had to make, it still makes you feel incompetent and like a looser. You ruined the moment and failed his game, and not only that- you had to admit that this might just be too much for you. But this feeling doesn’t last long, because soon enough his hands hold your face to lift it towards him, your gaze finding his as he looks at you with what can only be described as pride.

“there we go.”

He needs you to understand exactly this. He needs you to feel safe, and not just in a simple way. You need to feel 100% comfortable before you can begin to rely on him to the point he so desperately wishes you would- and it looks like you’re beginning to understand this.

“That’s all it took baby.” He smiles encouragingly, hands moving to run over your skin, before he moves you to lay down on your back again. “I need you to say what you think. I want to know all your thoughts.” He almost whispers before he brings his lips down on your neck, still so careful with you.

“Jungkook-“ you sigh out, before you look at him. “-I think I can.” You spill out, unable to keep it in anymore- because if he wants to know all your thoughts, he should know this one too, as delicate as it is still.

“Can what?” He wonders, looking down at you from his position above your body.

“I think I can love you.”

The implications of this sentence are massive- because it finally gives him the feedback he was hoping to find. You want him, in every way, and it finally gives him the last push of confidence to really let you in. Now he can fully commit himself, try his hardest to make this work, because even if it doesn’t end up the way you both are hoping for, he knows that you at least want this.

You want more than sex.

You want him.

His kisses are of an entirely different nature now as he devours your soul it feels like, and this sudden display of clear vulnerability makes you feel like you’re leaving something heavy behind you. Like a backpack dropped from your shoulders, your hands no longer move in a shy way- instead they reach out to him with comfort in mind, wanting to touch him with just as much care as he’s offered you these past few days.

He deserves it.

And he feels the change in you. Your whole body behaves just a little differently now, legs pulling his own closer without hesitation as you suddenly giggle out even, drunk off of him. “Did I fail?” You ask, and he shakes his head, hand grabbing at your flesh.

“No.” He denies, out of breath. “I’m changing the rules.” He decides, leaning back a bit to let you breathe, just to witness the sight of you moving your arms up to stretch even, back arching towards him, innocently teasing.

“Can you just do that?” You challenge, and he leans his head to the side a bit, looking down at you with the eyes of something similar to a demon in disguise.

“I can.” He affirms. “And I say fuck the rules.” He states towards you.

He knows you’re on the very edge of something you yourself are completely unaware of- and he wants to see it, craves to witness it at it’s fullest. This will test whether or not you truly can be what you told him you can’t, and what he believes slumbers deep inside of you.

When he turns onto his back, and maneuvers you to sit atop of him, you’re a bit unsure- but you trust him. You want to rely on him- not just in terms of sex.

But it all starts here.

“Take as much as you like-” He reassures you with hands on your thighs. “-this isn’t a challenge.” Jungkook clears up one last time for you. “You can’t fail this. You can only win.”

And you understand. For once, you understand exactly what he’s talking about.

It’s quite different from the toy he’s pushed inside you before- the warmth that radiates off of him feels as if it’s burning you, even though it’s not. He’s slick from your own arousal and his just as much- making it easy for the head of his length to push right in. The stretch however is different- it's a lot less harsh, more welcoming this time around, as you slowly move yourself to your first stop. Your legs are trembling, but not from fear- it's excitement. Anticipation.

You can only win.

You already did, didn’t you?

You rest yourself forward on top of him, your own lips now mindlessly kissing his neck, hands holding onto whatever you can get to. His own arms wrap comfortably around your back as you gently rock yourself on what little you have already fit- unbeknownst to you taking him just a little deeper each time. But all the way through this process, your head starts to spin almost- not as if you’re dizzy, no. This feeling is strange, as if your own bodyweight suddenly doesn’t matter any longer. You’re made of nothing but air, muscles having no tension, mind clear of any real thought.

Your head was never this empty and blissfull at the same time.

You don’t even realize the mark you leave in the crook of his neck, as you become a little eager- bringing yourself down on him quite a bit, drunk off of whatever this is. You decide that you want to explore this high to it’s fullest, leaving your body to the hold of his arms, relaxed in the comfort of the fact that he will take good care of it while you leave it behind.

And then, you feel it.

There’s nothing more to take, and you’re full of him- not just physically. All your thoughts include him, his name leaving your lips in a sigh. You can’t see it through your glossed over and hazy gaze, but he can-and he wants to burn this into his mind forever.

“Move, baby.”

It’s like he’s commanding your body for you instead of you making the decision to do so- and it’s an odd feeling, but not unwanted. Like you’re nothing but a spectator able to feel what’s happening, you can just lay back and let yourself be played like an instrument made by the most talented craftsmen the world has ever seen. His grip is strong, especially when he holds onto your waist, silently commanding your pace, and you can’t help but let your eyes roll back before you close them and hold onto him.

Like waves shaking your body back and forth, you’re drowning. But it’s not unpleasant, because he makes you able to breathe amongst the waters.

You don’t even realize that the slippery sounds of your bodies should be embarrassing to you- instead, you aim for more, grabbing onto some of your strings to puppeteer your body alongside him, testing if he lets you. And he does, welcoming you to play alongside him, though he’s clear on the exact song he wants you to perform this time.

You want more- but you trust that he knows what’s best for you.

“I.. I wan-” You slur, and he understands even those broken bits of language, smiling brightly as he rolls his own hips into you, pushing you towards him in the sudden movement. It makes you laugh, before you cry out in pleasure, his pace sending you over the edge-

But he doesn’t stop. And neither do you want him to.

You both part for just a moment, before he has your back against his chest, length guided inside you one more time for a better angle as his hands grip your chest. He bites this time- teeth leaving a mark on your shoulder and neck as he almost growls it sounds like, while his hips set a pace for himself, your thighs shaking from both the exhaustion and pleasure running through you, one of your legs hooked over his forearm to keep you open for him. You come undone a second time, and it feels as if it’s happening somewhere else, before he slips out- at first something you believe might be a mistake, but it’s clearly not.

It was intentional, calculated. Controlled.

The way his cock is now running through your folds with the help of your slick after he's let go of your leg is completely wiping your head clear- you can’t hear yourself whining for nothing in particular while he chases his high between your thighs, hand of yours reaching for him but the action is denied. He instead holds your wrists above your head, while the other keeps your hips close to him, body shuddering from the orgasm rushing through you-

And then, he slows down.

Slowly, the cotton wool in your ear leaves, and you get to hear the pleasure filled moans of the man behind you, the sound of his length moving through your soaked thighs and cunt, and your own breathing and heart beating. You feel the exhaustion, the way your fingertips are cold now, and yet, you don't want the control back yet.

Luckily for you, Jungkook holds you, easily. You can trust him after all.

The sight of your thighs covered in both your own release and his cum, some of it still trickling down the pulsating head poking through, is something that would’ve made you shy, days prior. It’s dirty, and something you never thought you’d find.. Romantic.

But you do. In an odd way.

“You wanna stay like this baby?” He asks, and you drunkenly nod, making him chuckle. “Alright. But only for a bit.” He gently whispers, while you try and collect yourself.

It’s like two sides of you are fighting. One is the you you’ve come to know all your life- trying to get back into control over your body and consciousness. The other is a stranger, trying to tell you it’s alright to let this be for a moment longer.

And maybe that stranger is right.

When he moves you both into the bath, water rushing in, you’re still hazy. You can barely articulate yourself, but he doesn’t seem to care about that whatsoever- nor does he look alarmed. He most likely knows exactly what’s going on with you, and manages it perfectly just like always. And even if not, you wouldn’t be able to tell anyways- nor would you really care.

A dangerous state of mind.

But you feel no fear.

You’re clinging to him during the entirety of the clean-up process, including the time he needs to set the bed again, disposing the soiled sheets and blankets in exchange for new ones. You’re attached to him the second he lays in the new blankets with you, smell of detergent and his bodywash surrounding you. And you’re even more eager for any touch and praise he sends your way, bathing in the afterglow of whatever you just experienced.

All while he’s just as much in heaven as you are.

◇━━━━━━━━━━X♡X♡━━━━━━━━━━━◇

When you wake up, the first thing you notice is how much your muscles ache- especially your legs.

As if you’ve run a marathon, your legs feel like rubber the moment you try and turn around- but it’s also made difficult by the man and his heavy arm around your body. Jungkook is still sound asleep, softly snoring close to you as he recovers from what happened hours prior. You don’t even know why you’re awake, until you dig into your memories.

They feel like you’ve watched a movie. As if it wasn’t you who experienced it.

But it was, and whatever it was what you were feeling, you can’t help but feel intrigued by it. When you turn in his arms he moves as well- first only burying himself closer to you, before his breathing changes, and eyes open. They find yours in the dark of the room, barely illuminated by the now setting sun dipping the entire room in an orange glow.

“Hey.”

That’s all you can really think of, and it makes him laugh sleepily into your chest, causing you to giggle as well.

“Hey.” He returns. He looks cute like this.

“Go back to sleep.” You almost tease, but he shakes his head, yawns and moves a bit to properly look at you.

“How do you feel?” He questions, a hand reaching out to move the blanket back over your shoulder, before it disappears beneath it, seeking out the bare skin of your waist beneath your pajama shirt.

“Sore.” You admit. He laughs.

“I can imagine.” He sympathizes. “Proved you wrong though.” He teases, and you nod.

“I’m glad you did.”

There’s a heavy silence for a good moment, where neither of you really know what to say- and it’s only broken when he decides on the easier topic for now, something you’re glad about. “I’m sure you wonder what.. Happened to you.” He says, and you nod.

“It felt as if I was high.” You describe. “Drunk, but not feeling sick. Like.. One of those out-of-body experiences some people talk about.” You try and picture it to him, and he nods.

“It’s called Subspace.” Jungkook explains. “It’s when.. Well, a headspace a lot of submissives fall into during scenes. Especially when all the conditions align perfectly.” He tells you. “It’s one of the biggest compliments to people like me.”

“Why?” You question.

“Because it’s the ultimate display of trust.” Jungkook offers you. “You need to feel.. Relaxed, and perfectly safe and comfortable with me to be able to let go like that. Just a moment of uncertainty, and you’re unable to slip.”

“To be honest, it felt entirely out of my control.” You respond. “I don’t think I really made a conscious choice to.. Slip.” You repeat the term that he used.

“I know.” He nods. “Some can control it, others, especially new subs, can’t. They need those conditions and a good amount of guidance. And.. Their subspace is fragile, too.” He emphasizes. “One mistake from my side, and you’re falling.” He warns.

“So, I could.. Drop, like in the shower a few days ago?” You ask, and he nods.

“Yeah.” He agrees. “But it’s more complicated, because it’s harder to comfort a person who slips in a mindset where they’re not in full control of themselves. They can’t think rationally, and are more often than not scared of the person who made them drop.” He describes, and there’s an odd look in his eyes.

You’re careful with your next words. But you need to know.

“Has that.. Ever happened to you?”

He nods. You feel your heart constrict.

“It’s a truly terrible feeling.” He sighs. “I won’t sugarcoat it. It’s not forever- but in that moment, you’ll hate me. In it’s purest form.” Jungkook tells you. “I remember how much I despised Yoongi that day. It was as if I felt every negative emotion by just looking at him. But I couldn’t help it. Not until I finally snapped out of it.” He recounts the events.

“Do you still hate him?” You wonder, but he shakes his head, laughs even. It makes you feel better.

“No, absolutely not. I understand it now.” He replies. “But when you’re in that state, you’re.. Running on default settings. You’re not capable of complicated thoughts like trying to see things from another perspective. In hindsight, it wasn’t even his fault it happened. Simply bad timing.” He shrugs. “Which is why I’m so careful with you. I know you need to experience certain things- but I don’t want you to go through things you don’t have to.”

“Do you think.. That day, as bad as it was, made you a better guy at this?” You ask, and he nods.

“It did.” He agrees. “How did you feel?” He wonders, and you shift a bit to get more comfortable, before you remember your situation.

“Weightless.” You describe. “Like I was.. Just existing. It was fun- exciting, but also strangely relaxing.” You tell him.

“You looked very pretty to me, you know?” He states, and you laugh. “No, really. That look in your eyes was something I’ll never forget.”

“Jungkook?” You ask, and he nods, looking at you. “... I think I might be..” You swallow your pride for a second before you say it. “..I might be falling in love with you.”

There’s silence again.

You can hear the clock in his open kitchen faintly ticking away, the fridge buzzing. Outside the window, there’s a car honking, and a water bottle near the window cracks as the plastic bends from the temperature difference. A soft rushing sound is also there- rain, probably, being thrown against the glass of the window by the wind outside.

And then, he speaks.

“I’m glad.” He just says with the brightest smile you've ever awen on his face, while you look at him both surprised and a little confused. But he only leans forwards, and presses a gentle kiss against your lips.

“I already did.”

[bbokarimenu]

Heartstrings ❤️‍🩹

pairing: idoldadbangchan! x fem reader!

genre: Angst

warnings: none

an: Love is a journey, not a destination. Thank you for reading! ❤️

Masterlist

The soft hum of the baby monitor on the nightstand was the only sound breaking the stillness of the room. I sat on the edge of our bed, staring at the digital clock glowing 2:37 AM. My chest tightened as I fought the urge to cry.

Bang Chan wasn’t here again.

It had been weeks since he’d had a proper day off, weeks since we’d spent more than a fleeting moment together as a family. He was always working—writing, producing, rehearsing. And while I knew his role as the leader of Stray Kids demanded so much of him, it felt like his role as a father and partner had taken a backseat.

A soft cry crackled through the baby monitor, jolting me out of my thoughts.

“Shh, I’m coming,” I whispered to no one, pulling myself together and heading into the nursery.

Our daughter, Luna, lay in her crib, her tiny face scrunched up as she whimpered. I reached in, scooping her up gently, and began rocking her in my arms.

“It’s okay, sweet girl,” I cooed. “Mommy’s here.”

Her cries subsided into soft sniffles, and I kissed her forehead, inhaling the faint scent of baby powder.

I felt a pang of sadness as I looked down at her. She deserved more than this. More than just me. She deserved her dad too.

The front door creaked open just after 4 AM. I was sitting on the couch, Luna finally asleep in her bassinet beside me.

Chan stepped inside, his shoulders slumped and his hoodie pulled low over his face. He looked exhausted, but when he saw me sitting there, his eyes widened in surprise.

“(Y/N), you’re still awake?”

I nodded, crossing my arms over my chest. “How could I sleep when I don’t even know if you’re coming home anymore?”

He winced, shutting the door quietly behind him. “I’m sorry. Practice ran late, and then I had some things to finish in the studio—”

“It’s always practice or the studio or something else,” I interrupted, my voice trembling with frustration. “Do you even realize how long it’s been since you spent time with us? With her?” I motioned toward the bassinet.

His gaze flickered to Luna, and guilt flashed across his face. “I know. I know I’ve been… absent. But you know how important this is. I’m doing this for us. For her future.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Her future? Chan, she doesn’t need all the money or fame in the world. She needs her dad. I need you.”

“I’m trying,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’m doing the best I can.”

“Are you?” I asked, standing up. “Because it feels like your best is reserved for everyone else but us.”

His shoulders sagged, and he ran a hand through his hair. “What do you want me to do, (Y/N)? Quit? Walk away from everything I’ve worked for?”

“I’m not asking you to quit,” I said, my voice softening. “I’m asking you to find a balance. To make time for the family you chose to have.”

He looked at me, and for a moment, I thought he might argue. But then he nodded, his expression weary. “You’re right. I’ve been… I’ve been failing you. Both of you. I’ll try harder, I promise.”

I wanted to believe him. I really did.

Days turned into weeks, and while Chan did make more of an effort to be present, it still felt like his heart was elsewhere. He’d hold Luna and play with her, but his phone was always nearby, his mind half in another world.

One evening, after putting Luna to bed, I found him in the living room with his laptop open. He was reviewing tracks, his headphones on, completely absorbed.

“Chan,” I said, standing in the doorway.

He didn’t respond.

“Chan,” I said again, louder this time.

He finally looked up, pulling his headphones off. “What’s up?”

I stared at him, my chest tightening. “Is this what it’s always going to be like? You here, but not really here?”

He frowned, closing his laptop. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about us,” I said, stepping closer. “I’m talking about how I feel like I’m raising Luna on my own while you chase this dream that seems more important than we are.”

“That’s not fair,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “You knew what you were signing up for when we started this. You knew my career would demand a lot of me.”

“I didn’t know it would mean losing you,” I shot back, tears spilling over.

His face softened, and he stood, reaching for me. “(Y/N), don’t say that. You haven’t lost me.”

“Haven’t I?” I whispered, pulling away. “Because it feels like I’m standing here begging for scraps of your time, your attention. And I shouldn’t have to beg, Chan. We shouldn’t have to beg.”

He looked at me, pain etched across his face, but he didn’t say anything. And in that silence, I felt my heart break a little more.

That night, I packed a bag for Luna and me.

I didn’t want to leave. I loved Chan more than anything, but I couldn’t keep living like this. I couldn’t keep feeling like we were an afterthought in his life.

When he found me in the nursery, his eyes widened in alarm. “What are you doing?”

“I need some space,” I said, my voice trembling. “I need to figure out what’s best for Luna and me.”

“(Y/N), please,” he said, his voice desperate. “Don’t do this. Don’t leave.”

“I don’t want to,” I admitted, tears streaming down my face. “But I can’t keep waiting for you to choose us.”

He reached for me, his hands trembling. “You don’t have to wait. I’ll do better, I swear. Just don’t go.”

I looked at him, my heart breaking at the sight of his tears. “I love you, Chan. But love isn’t enough if we’re the only ones fighting for this.”

With that, I picked up Luna and walked out the door, leaving behind the man I loved and the life we had built together.

The days that followed were some of the hardest of my life. I stayed with my sister, trying to find clarity amidst the chaos of my emotions.

Chan called and texted every day, apologizing, begging for another chance. I wanted to forgive him, to run back into his arms and pretend everything was okay. But I knew we needed more than just promises.

One evening, about two weeks after I left, there was a knock at the door.

I opened it to find Chan standing there, holding a small bouquet of flowers and a stuffed bunny for Luna. He looked exhausted, but there was a determination in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

I nodded, stepping aside to let him in.

He sat down on the couch, his hands trembling as he set the flowers and toy on the table. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” he began. “About us. About everything.”

I sat across from him, waiting.

“You were right,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’ve been so focused on my career that I’ve been neglecting the most important people in my life. And I hate myself for it.”

Tears filled my eyes, but I didn’t say anything.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he continued. “I don’t want to lose our family. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to fix this. To be the husband and father you both deserve.”

“Chan,” I said softly, my voice trembling. “I don’t need perfection. I just need you to try. To really try.”

He reached across the table, taking my hands in his. “I will. I swear, (Y/N). You and Luna are my everything. And I’m going to prove it to you every day.”

Looking into his eyes, I saw the sincerity there. The love. The man I had fallen in love with.

Maybe it wouldn’t be easy. Maybe we had a long road ahead of us. But for the first time in weeks, I felt hope.

And that was enough to take the first step toward healing together.

[oncasette]

𝗙𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗜𝗡 𝗙𝗔𝗠𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗔𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗬

zayne li x fem!reader

summary: 1k

“I’ll never tire of this,” he whispers once he’s helped you into your shorts and lured you into the bathroom. He undoes the bobs and pins of your hair as you wipe off your makeup, dropping each piece into the dish beside the sink as he goes. His body seems to cradle yours once he finishes, wrapping fully around your frame as you finish your albeit abridged night routine. You’re far too tired to go through with the brunt of it.

or the one where zayne helps you get un-ready from the day.

masterlist

The walk up to Zayne’s apartment is familiar, a trip you take more out of muscle memory than any conscious thought. Even at the late hour, you’re mulling through a million other thoughts as you round the corner and rummage through your purse for your key. You’re as quiet as you can be, slipping it into the lock and gently pressing the door open, not knowing if your boyfriend was asleep already or not. You hope he is. If only for the fact that he’d worked a late shift and you knew he was stuck with an early one the following morning.

“You’re home late,” his voice sounds from the dining table. You don’t bother slipping off your heels, then, dropping whatever’s in your hands on the small table beside the door and walking towards the voice. Even if you’d wished he’d been all snuggled up in bed, already, you can’t help the warmth that surges through you at the thought of him waiting up for you.

“And you’re still awake,” you hum as you walk up behind Zayne. Your hands find his shoulders and run flat palms along the cotton fabric of his shirt. He’s busy typing away one some medical report, something you might have asked about if the thought of sleep wasn’t already wearing away at your eyelids.

“How was Rafayel’s exhibit?” he asks, taking one hand off of the laptop’s keyboard to rest over yours. He grabs both hands with just one of his and links them at the center of his collarbones. His lips find your wrist. 

“Artsy,” you say. He nips at your wrist. You hiss slightly, scoffing. “It was nice. We got dinner after.”

He nods, tapping your hands once before he lets go to finish typing up his document. It’s a few more seconds of clacking before he’s closing the computer altogether and shifting in his chair to face you.

“I assume that’s why you’re home so late,” he says. The clock on the wall reads just after midnight. His hand finds yours again, thumb swiping soothingly over the back of it.

“Yeah. Raf insisted,” you say just as a yawn creeps up your throat. 

“You could have said no,” he chirps, smiling softly up at you as he kisses your wrist again. You cock your head to the side, eyeing him knowingly.

“You know how he is.”

The laugh that bubbles out of Zayne is syrupy, sweet, crinkling the edges of his eyes. He didn’t laugh like this when he wasn’t at least a little tired.

“Alright,” he concedes. “I assume now’s when we should put you to bed then, hm?”

You nod as you step back enough to allow him to stand. He takes both of your hands in his, using this time to take in the gown you’d chosen to wear to the exhibit. You’d sent him a picture earlier to ask for his opinion, but you guess it’s not the same as seeing it in person. He nods once before pulling you into your first proper kiss of the evening. “Rafayel was lucky to be at your side tonight. You look beautiful.”

“He was also forced to listen to my many many heel complaints,” you mumble against his lips, chasing his mouth for one more quick taste. He must have made some tea earlier. Peppermint, you think.

“I’m sure,” he says as he leads you the short distance to his room. Despite not officially living here, you’d made more than a bit of an impression on his apartment. Especially the bedroom. The nightstand beside what you’d claimed as your side of the bed was full of clutter that wouldn’t have come from Zayne. Your phone charger, your planner, the panda mug you’d used that morning for your coffee. Even still, the sheets had been your decision. A creamy pastel blue with snowflake detailing across it. 

Zayne sat you at the foot of the bed before he knelt down to be level with your heels. He took his time undoing the buckles of the right one, thumbing the edges as he went and placing barely-there pecks along your knees. Then, when he’d finished with the first and placed it neatly beside the edge of the bed, he moved onto your left heel. He moved with a sense of grace that only came with familiar touches. 

“I’m sorry I came in so late. I would have rushed dinner a bit more if I had known you were waiting up for me,” you whisper as he stands, your aching soles hitting the plush carpet. 

“Don’t be sorry,” he hums. Another quick kiss finds your lips. “I wanted to wait, and I had a report to finish, anyway.”

“Still…”

You watch him shake his head as he leaves you to rummage through the drawer filled with your pajamas. Well, mostly your pajamas. It’s partially filled with shirts you’d stolen from him over the course of your relationship. He comes back with a shirt he’d owned since university and a pair of fuzzy sleep shorts. Gingerly, he takes your hands in his again to help you stand before turning you around to unzip your dress. The trail his fingers make down your spine coats your skin a layer of goosebumps, but you’re quickly reprieved when he slips the shirt over your head. You help a bit with your stockings, but he’s ultimately the one dragging them down to the floor and out from under you to toss in his laundry hamper. 

“I’ll never tire of this,” he whispers once he’s helped you into your shorts and lured you into the bathroom. He undoes the bobs and pins of your hair as you wipe off your makeup, dropping each piece into the dish beside the sink as he goes. His body seems to cradle yours once he finishes, wrapping fully around your frame as you finish your albeit abridged night routine. You’re far too tired to go through with the brunt of it. 

“Neither will I,” you reply. You let him lead you to the bed, let him pull back the covers and drag you beneath them and into his side. You want this to be your life for however long you’ve got left to live it. Maybe not here in his apartment, or even in your own, but at his side. 

[suugarbabe]

Origin Stories

summary: baby first year matty arrives at hogwarts and the first person he interacts with seems to not know him at all. matty is unsure how to feel when someone treats him like just another person instead of the dark lords son

warnings: fluff, little bit o angst, sad baby matty

an: something my hubby @musingsofahufflepuff and i have been yapping about constantly, there's more where this came from, and yes...it will continue to hurt you

Knees pulled to his chest, he sat at the window watching all the happy and excited parents dropping their children off for their first time at Hogwarts. It was Mattheo’s first time too, but instead of parents dropping him off he had Feindre, his house elf.

Feindre had gotten him there early enough for Mattheo to be one of the first students on the train and stayed long enough for Mattheo to see Feindre give a gentle wave before snapping his fingers and disappearing from the platform.

That’s what he’d been doing for the last half hour; watching family after family give loving hugs and cheek kisses and bidding their children farewell. Even Mr. Nott had come with his wife to see Theo off, giving a firm squeeze to the skinny boy's shoulder and a curt nod. 

The whistle blew overhead and Mattheo leaned his head back, closing his eyes and willing himself to think of at least one positive thing that may come for him this year. He’d be away from his mother; that was a plus. As far as Mattheo was aware even she couldn’t get onto the grounds without the proper permissions; that gave Mattheo at least four months free from torture.

As the train started to pull from the station he heard the train car door slide open, an entirely too excited voice suddenly speaking to him, “D’you mind? Every other car has four or so kids in it.” Mattheo shrugged his shoulders, not even opening his eyes to look.

He knew he didn’t recognize the voice. His cousin Draco’s was a little higher pitched, whiney. Theo’s was slower, like he had to think about each word before he said it. This voice was more neutral, but seemed to be speaking quickly, like they had so many thoughts and feelings they couldn’t get them out quick enough. 

“S’kinda weird we had to walk through a wall to get on the platform, right? Magic is so cool.” Mattheo peered an eye open, chancing a glance at the person across from him. It seemed as if you were vibrating, sitting cross legged on the seat across from him, hands braced on either side as your knees held a steady bounce.

Your smile was nearly splitting your face; Mattheo couldn’t decide if your question was indicative of a muggle upbringing or just the first born for your family. “So what house do you want to get into? I was doing some light reading in one of our textbooks, Hogwarts: A History, and I think any of them will be good.” 

Definitely muggle, Mattheo thought to himself as you kept talking, “I know that Hufflepuffs are very loyal, Ravenclaws are super smart I guess, Slytherins apparently are really clever and I read that Gryffindors are supposed to be just the bravest.” The scoff leaves Mattheos throat quicker than he could control.

“Well do you think differently? I know I can talk a lot but I’m also a good listener.” Mattheo lifted his head up at this, now choosing to stare at you with a quirked brow. You continued to press regardless, “What house do you think you’ll be in?” Mattheo stared out the window once more, watching the highland mountains pass by, “I already know my house.” This statement piqued your interest, “What do you think it is?”

Mattheo used all his mental energy not to roll his eyes, “I’ll be a Slytherin, my family has only ever been Slytherins.” You seemed to sit up straighter then, your tone getting more excited, if that was even possible, “So you’re from a family of wizards then? That’s so cool, what’s it like?”

He stared at you incredulously, “You being serious?” You simply tilted your head, smile never leaving your face, “Both of my parents are normal, erm, non-wizards? I don’t know what you guys call them but that’s what they are.” 

Mattheo wore an unimpressed look, “Shocker…never would have guessed by your raging enthusiasm.” You laughed softly, “I know, right. Mum cried for like an hour when I got my letter.” Mattheo sat up straighter then, eyes widening. He could feel his heart rate pick up slightly, a tinge of sweat beading on the back of his neck, “Why, because she was disappointed, was she mad? Where did you hide after she stopped crying?”

You looked at him with confusion, shaking your head and a small bit of concern in your tone, “What? No, because she was just so happy for me…” Mattheo shrank into himself, pulling his knees back up to his chest, “Right, yeah, a’course.” 

You fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, “So, ehm, do you know people who are coming to Hogwarts then? I don’t know anyone…well, except you now. What, erm, what was your name again?” Mattheo visibly stiffened. You could just be being polite, asking for his name like he was just any other student. Or his reputation precedes him even with muggle-born first years and you’re just too scared to tell him that you already know about him, his father, what he’s done. “Mattheo…erm, Riddle.” You nodded, “Cool name! I’m y/n y/l/n.”

Mattheo can’t help the quizzical look that takes over him at how breezily you move on and introduce yourself. How can you not be afraid of him, of his name. Not that he wants you to be, but if you’ve been reading as much as you say, surely you’ve heard of what his father has done. 

But all of it seems nonexistent as you start talking again, “Do you think we’ll have to wear those little cone hats I’ve seen in the textbook? They’re not very fashionable are they? And I’m sure you wouldn’t want to wear one either.” Mattheo took the bait, “Why would you think I wouldn’t want to wear one?”

You shrugged, smiling a little shyer than before, “Well because of your hair. If I had curls as pretty as yours I wouldn’t want to have to cover them up all the time.” The heat on Mattheo’s cheeks was nearly instantaneous, then he started to feel a bit of rage, “Are you making fun of me?”

You shook your head fiercely, “Oh no, no way! I figured you got complimented on your hair all the time.” Compliment? You were complimenting him. Why would you do that? What were you playing at? Mattheo was fighting an internal battle, not understanding why you were being so nice to him and trying desperately to understand the new feeling fluttering in his chest at your compliment. 

Thankfully the door to the train car opens and a jolly looking woman displays a trolly full of sweets and snacks in the doorway; the perfect distraction.

“Anything from the trolly, dears?” You’re excited once more, leaving your seat to get a closer look at the sweets. You turn towards Mattheo, “What’s your favorite candy? I’ve never heard of any of these before…chocolate frogs, cauldron cakes, fizzing whizzbees-” 

“The last one’s good I- erm, I think you’d like those,” Mattheo watched as you asked the trolly witch for one pack of cauldron cakes and two fizzing whizzbees. “That’ll be two galleons and a sickle, dear,” the trolly witch smiled kindly at you.

You pulled a handful of wizard coins from your pocket looking slightly confused. Mattheo cleared his throat, “Two gold ones and a silver one.” You nodded, taking the coins he described and exchanging them for your sweets. Sitting back down across from him you began opening your cauldron cakes.

You placed one on top of one of the fizzing whizzbees pack and then held it in front of you towards Mattheo. “What’re you doing?” he asked, finding your behavior rather odd, even for a muggle. You only smiled in return, “This is your half silly.” 

Mattheo hesitantly took the sweets, “Why would you share with me?” You sat back, taking a bite of the cauldron cake and humming in satisfaction, “Why wouldn’t I share with you?” you spoke around a cheek full of cake, “These are really good by the way.”

Mattheo felt a weird pang in his chest, something he didn’t recognize. It was almost like an adrenaline rush but he wasn’t in danger this time; his skin felt hot all of a sudden, his blood rushing to his ears. He pulled subtly on his curls on the side of his head, not sure exactly what he was trying to cover up. You didn’t take notice regardless, too engrossed in the foreign treat of your new world. 

The next few hours are filled with you making conversation, mostly one sided but you don’t even seem to notice. You’re the most at ease person Mattheo has ever met, finding interest in the smallest of things.

You talk about your family, and you do so with so much admiration and what Mattheo can only assume is love that he finds himself starting to get jealous. He does his best to shove that feeling down, like he does with most feelings. You’re the first person in his life that doesn’t seem to know him, his family, what that entails and he’d be damned if he let something like jealousy mess that up.

You try to ask him about his life, but he’s keeping it brief, somewhat deflective. He tells you that his father is not around, not dead but…working. He doesn’t know a good way to explain that his father has bits of his soul everywhere and your lack of knowledge on magical existence seems like that bit of information would cause your already highly wired brain to short circuit.

When you ask about his mum he stiffens involuntarily, “She’s, erm, passionate about me following in my father’s footsteps. Bit of an anger problem sometimes if I disagree about it.” You nod, a small frown on your face but seemingly understanding to not push the subject of his mothers anger further, “What’s your dad do?”

Mattheo’s eyes go wide, panic starting to spread through his body. He can feel himself starting to sweat as he looks out the window, trying to come up with an answer that’s not the truth when he sees his saving grace, “Look, Hogwarts.” 

If you’d had turned your head any faster Mattheo was sure it would have rolled off your shoulders and onto the car floor. Whatever he had anticipated Hogwarts to look like, his imagination could never have done it justice; and Mattheo hid in his imagination often at home.

Your nose was nearly pressed to the window, “Wicked.” Mattheo felt the corners of his mouth pull into a smile, half wishing the two of you never had to leave the train and could just stay here, in this bubble where you don’t know the horrible truths that come with being associated with him. 

As the train slowed to a stop, a whistle blew and the two of you noticed a flurry of students starting to clog the aisle between cars. “Guess that’s our cue,” you stood up, looking towards Mattheo and waiting for him to do the same. “You coming?” you opened the car door, looking back at him. “Erm, yeah. Yeah okay,” Mattheo pulled the hood of his cloak up and you gave him a curious look.

“Heard it’s supposed to be a bit chilly on the ride up to the castle,” he shoved his hands in his pockets, now staring down at the floor. You shrugged it off, only turning to join the plethora of students once you knew Mattheo was following behind. 

You couldn’t help but marvel at the giant man that led the pack of first years to what looked like ancient wooden boats. You looked everywhere you could, trying to drink in the whole experience; whereas Mattheo kept his head down, hood up and eyes on the bottom of the boat. If he did this long enough, maybe no one but you would know who he was until he was being sorted.

Once docked by the castle the pack of you were led through the castle by an older, stern looking witch. She had introduced herself as Professor McGonagall. As she led you through the castle you kept tugging on Mattheo’s sleeve. Every so often he would peek from the side of his hood and give you a half smile. 

Once in front of what you learned to be the Great Hall, McGonagall stopped all of you, giving a quick speech. “Once inside you will all be sorted into your houses. Once your house has been announced please make your way to your house table. Banners above will lead you to the correct one. During each breakfast and lunch you will be able to mingle with other houses. However, dinners are strictly restricted to your own house tables.” You turned to Mattheo, whispering, “This is so exciting!” Mattheo gives an undignified hum with a small nod as the doors to the great all open, he can feel his heart rate quicken as all the older students turn to watch the group of first years file in. Will people notice him? Can he hear them whispering his name? 

His automatic negative thoughts are interrupted by you gripping his arm lightly. Immediately he flinches away and you begin apologizing, “Oh, I’m sorry Matty, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Mattheo shook his head, hoping his cheeks weren't flushing at the nickname you decided to don on him, “N-no, sorry. S’just I- erm, have this thing about people grabbing me…sorry.”

You shake your head as if to dismiss his apology as unnecessary, “S’my fault, I just get so excited. Look up there, it’s the sorting hat, I read about it in the same textbook as the houses; that’s what’s gonna tell us where we go.” 

Mattheo could feel his stomach knotting. He knew he would be sorted into Slytherin; the blood in his veins guaranteed it. But, Merlin, did he hope you were sorted there too. It would be nice to have an actual friend there with him, not just his irritating cousin and the sons of his father’s loyal followers.

He was pretty sure they were only nice to him out of fear. Did you want to get sorted with him too? Did you consider him a friend? You were already far too nice to him; far too nice for your own good he thought. There’s no way you actually got sorted into Slytherin; it‘d be a bloody miracle. 

Too lost in his worries spinning over and over in his head he seemed to have missed everyone before him getting sorted, being pulled from his thoughts for the second time that evening by Professor McGonagalls booming voice speaking his name, “Mattheo Riddle.”

A hushed whisper seemed to fall over all of the students and even some of the professors at the head table. Mattheo gave you a worried glance, but you only smiled encouragingly back at him. Either you didn’t notice the whispers, or you didn’t care; Mattheo wasn’t sure which option had him feeling that same weird pang in his chest that he felt on the train. 

He needn’t push his way through the crowd of first years as they seemed to part willingly for him. He slowly climbed his way up the steps and pulled himself up onto the stool, legs dangling in front of him. The professor placed the sorting hat atop his head.

It felt two sizes too big, falling down and covering his eyes, now encasing him in darkness. It was actually much better this way, Mattheo would rather pass than watch the judgment in everyone’s eyes, especially if they came from yours. “Hmm, Riddle, eh?” the hat spoke loudly, much to Mattheo’s dismay, “Well there’s simply no question then is there. Why of course it's…SLYTHERIN!” 

The slytherin table broke out into cheers, but they seemed to be the only students to do so apart from your clapping in the first year crowd. The hat was pulled from Mattheo’s head and he searched for your face. He found you beaming, giving him a double thumbs up as he made his way down the steps and toward his house table.

He clocked his cousin Draco immediately, platinum hair sticking out like a traffic cone. His cousin tried to greet him, along with the others at the table. But Mattheo ignored them all, turning instead to face the stool you would soon be sitting at and be told your fate. 

When your name was finally called Mattheo sat up straighter, nearly leaning forward as if that would help him hear more clearly. As you made your way onto the stool you looked over at the Slytherin table. Making eye contact with Mattheo you gave a quick wave. Warmth spread throughout his body and he found himself giving a small wave back.

The whining pitch of Draco’s voice appeared on Mattheo’s right, “Who is that, cousin?” Mattheo watched as you took a deep breath in as the hat was placed on your head, full of pride he made the statement, “That’s my friend.” Draco was obviously confused, “I didn’t know you had any friends besides us.”

Mattheo turned his sights away from you briefly to stare Draco in the eyes, “You’re not my friend. You’re my cousin, I’m forced to be around you. And if you keep talking I’ll hex out your tongue so I never have to hear your annoying voice again.” Draco held his hands up in defense, scooting over slightly on the bench. 

Turning back to you Mattheo watched as your legs bounced excitedly, just as they did on the train and Mattheo found himself smiling. This smile slowly dropped as the hat began to narrate the internal battle you seemed to be having with it.

“You want to be Slytherin, is that so? Mmm…curious, curious indeed. I do sense a bit of cunning, but your loyalty is much stronger. Better be…HUFFLEPUFF!” The tables throughout the hall cheered for you as they did every other student being sorted. Your smile never faded but Mattheo felt like his whole world was collapsing. 

There was a pain in his side that felt like someone was hexing him with a stinging jinx and his breaths were becoming more shallow. Usually he only felt like this when being punished by his mother, but in that case she was likely actually cursing him.

It seemed like the massive walls of the great hall were closing in on him as he saw you being greeted by the students at your house table. Everything from the last few hours was going to be thrown away in an instant. They would all tell you who he was, what he was, why you should hate him. And surely you’ll believe them, won’t you? Then he’ll be alone once more.

As if to twist the knife that was already being pushed between his ribs, Draco’s irritating voice was coming from next to him again, “Well cousin, guess they’re not your friend any longer.”