#and everything is so red this time of year!

[cat0901h3]

Goosebumps Books 1-10

Can't believe that it took me nearly two years to just do 10 covers for the books. Will be posting more Goosebumps in the future, along with other stuff.

Read more to know my personal opinions and critiques on my fanart for each book:

Welcome to Dead House: I wanted to make the house look alive like Monster House, so I gave it more human characteristics (ie: the people in the windows to form eyes, or the finger-like branches.) Also paid homage to a horror film by styling it after The Amityville Horror house.

The Benson children themselves look a bit depressed, that's because the first book is actually more scarier than the rest of the series, so they're a bit angsty.

Stay Out of the Basement: This one killed a lot of my green markers lol. I tried to make Dr. Brewer as menacing as possible while still showing that he is a father with the photos, There were going to be more plants reaching out, but I decided that the leaves hidden on him would be enough.

Though I have to admit my disappointment with the lighting. It still looks a bit too bright, and not dark enough. That's just my own critique.

Monster Blood: Honestly, pretty mixed about this one. While I'm proud of the bubbling ooze that looks like a skull, which is outlined by one of my colored pens. I'm not proud that everything else is so muted with brown. Almost all of Jacobus' works are vibrant and saturated, so it being dull in colors feels like a disservice to him.

Also, Andy's last name was made up by me, she apparently just doesn't have one. It's inspired by Stephen King. Btw, hope you love banana and strawberry dyed hair, you'll see more of it soon in future batches.

Say Cheese and Die!: One of my favorite books, and of course it gets the best fanart imo. The screaming skeleton form of Greg Banks with red bg in the polaroid, contrasting with the dark background is just super cool, coolest shit I've ever done. Though I might be biased, I really like skeletons. Like Curly.

I actually made concept art for a Say Cheese and Die! graphic novel, which includes drawings of the photos and Spidey! Let me know if you're curious.

The Curse of The Mummy's Tomb: Not much to this one honestly. Just a mummy casually busting down a wall filled with hieroglyphics. Though I will say, I was experimenting with shading with purple and blues like Jacobus. As you can see, didn't stick for long.

This is also the book that I discovered that if the protag doesn't have a last name, then there is an official one either in the Presents novels, the mobile app, comics or other.

Let's Get Invisible!: This was pretty tricky to draw. Drawing someone turning invisible maybe easy in Photoshop or Procreate, but this was traditional art. Sure Jacobus did it with airbrushes, but I all had were pens and markers. But I somehow managed to pull it off, which is insane that I even managed that in the first place.

Night of the Living Dummy: Ah, the infamous Pamela Vorhees book, where the main antagonist isn't the mascot, but instead some other puppet lol. I've seen a lot of fanart of Slappy, but never of Mr. Wood. So I wanted to do justice for Wood while still showcasing Slappy. While I am proud for how it mostly turned out, there are two things that bother me. 1. This is the night sky that is black, the rest are either blue or purple. 2. I forgot to add the lines that make the jaw on Mr. Wood, whoops.

Aside from that, I hope guys like that Misfits poster in the background and Kris's cool hair cut. The green was inspired by the comic adaption not 2015 Jacksepticeye.

The Girl Who Cried Monster: Please forgive me for the small thumbnail, I wasn't using a ruler at the time. The design for Mr. Mortman wasn't much of a challenge. I loosely based it off of the French rendition of the cover and gave him a large leech-like mouth.

In my headcannon, the teeth spin like a garbage disposal, making easy work of the turtles.

Welcome to Camp Nightmare: Another one of my favorites, and I think I did a decent enough job, too. The lighting is perfect, the clouds look alien enough, and you can just barely see the screaming campers inside the tent. I do have one issue though, and that is the size of the monster, Sabre. In the original sketch I did, he was supposed to blend in like a bush, but instead he looks like Sasquatch Sr. Oh well.

While they did give Billy a last name in the Presents books, I had to make up one for Dawn. Just based it off Gwen Stacy lol. Also, hope you enjoy the little bonus pictures down below.

The Ghost Next Door: The original Jacobus art was perfectly vague enough to keep the twist there but not spoil anything. Of course to do the same thing, but with a twist of my own. The "ghost" shadow that you see in the street is the Dark Figure that follows Hannah around or when Danny is near. I wanted it to look like it was constantly on fire, since SPOILERS: someone in the book does die in a fire.

Another headcannon is that the Dark Figure isn't actually a ghost or whatever, but instead the embodiment of Misery.

[pacofprunes]

THANOS & NAMGYU NONCON HEADCANONS

WARNINGS — noncon fucking everything, drugging, i mean it’s fucked up obviously, thanos & namgyu seperate headcanons

THANOS

never in a million years did he think he’d end up in a scenario like this. he’s had tiny thoughts of doing such things when he’s gotten rejected, but now that he’s actually doing it, oh he fucking loves it.

loves to manhandle you. holding your wrists tightly in one hand, forcing your legs around his neck, having the absolute tightest grip on your hair, he absolutely lives for it.

whispers sweet nothings into your ear like this is all normal. cooing at the tears spilling from your eyes.

“no need to cry, i’ll make ya’ feel realllll good.”

marks you up everywhere. hickeys, bites, bites that draw blood, marks and scratches on your hips from his grip on you when trying to keep you from getting away…

definitely slips a pill into your mouth when he kisses you, not pulling away until he knows you’ve swallowed it.

he would love to be able to make you ride him. holding your wrists behind your back while you bounce on him. if you refuse to do so however, he’ll take his other hand and grip your hair, pulling it up as high as possible so you have to make yourself move up to stop the pain and then he just pulls your hair right back down so you smack against his balls. after he’s done that a couple times, he’s sure you’ll decide to just bounce on him without his help.

he takes pictures and videos as a souvenir. presses a deep kiss against you and snaps a picture. he snaps a picture of you on top of him while he has the tightest grip on your wrists. films a slow video showcasing all of the marks littering your body before debating weather or not to post it to his highlights or his private story.

loves slapping your pussy and cupping it in his hands. it makes you flinch away from his dick and right back down on it, doing the work for him. makes his dick twitch so much.

occasionally he likes to let go and let you try to push him away, knowing all of your efforts will be futile. it makes him laugh. but don’t push him too much. if you hit him too hard, he might loose that playful fucked up persona and just be straight fucked up, quickly becoming insanely mean. if you slap him a little too hard on the face, oh, you better believe he’s slapping you ten times harder. and as soon as he’s done and the tears slip from your eyes, he cups the red spot on your cheek, giving you a pouty lip.

“baby, shouldn’t have hit me, don’t cry at something you did! you shouldn’t live with regrets.”

this won’t be a one time thing. in fact, he wants to be with you in a relationship. it’ll probably end after like three months until he misses the times like this and forces you back in him, but this is not the last time you’ll see him. he might even rent out a hotel for a week and force you to stay there with him within those days. he’ll let you leave after the weeks up and his moneys all out, but he’s still going to stay glued to your side. makes you introduce him to your parents like he’s this perfect boyfriend when really he’s made your life a living hell and you want nothing more than to get away from him. if you tell anybody what he’s doing, the next time that he takes a quick photo with his hands wrapped around your throat, he’ll be sure to keep them there instead of letting go. you won’t even get to tell your poor family goodbye.

NAMGYU

he doesn’t particularly have fantasies of doing shit like this, but he can’t handle rejection. he’s thinking of you the rest of the night, thinking about how much of a bitch you were for saying no to him and pushing him away, his friends teasing him and pissing him off even more causes him to go through and fuck you out of your mind weather you want him to or not.

he definitely drugs you. slipping a pill that he honestly barely knows what it is into your drink. the moment he notices you have a bit of a wobble in your step he pulls you away from everyone around, leaving you oh so vulnerable to him.

he has a hand on your mouth the entire time (or his dick in it.) he doesn’t feel like listening to you bitch.

loves seeing your tears and the fear in your eyes. he hopes he fucks you up for the rest of your life. hoping that if a guy you hate asks you out, you’ll think twice about rejecting them and saying no, remembering this moment.

he doesn’t feel like having to hold you down. he wants to press his hand into your hips while the other remains on your lips, so he just gives you a simple threat.

“there’s a knife in my back pocket, i’m sure you don’t want me to use it, right? right, so i’d suggest you don’t hit me or push me away and we’re all good.”

sure he knows with the drugs in your system that your hits will do no harm to him, but he doesn’t care. don’t piss him off and maybe you’ll live and give him another chance to do this to you. also, he probably doesn’t even have a knife in his back pocket, but you didn’t need to know that.

tauntingly licks every tear that rolls down your cheek and onto his hand as he slams his hips against you, sending a taunting smirk your way.

also takes pictures and videos as a little souvenir. shoves the camera all in your face, making sure the flash is on while he adds commentary in the back.

“look at this dirty slut cryin’ all over my dick,”

“pulled me away from my friends and begged me to fuck her brains out, ain’t that right?”

of course you couldn’t respond, but so what? he simply starts laughing when you try to shake your head no. but he easily puts an end to that as he presses his palm even harder against your face, practically putting all his weight on it, threatening to break a tooth to keep you from moving your head an inch. it makes you want to reach out and stop him by grabbing his arms, but what if he really had a knife in his pocket? he told you not to touch him…

he’s a dick usually because his friends are around and he wants to impress them, but now he’s a dick to prove something to himself, to prove something to you. if you had just said yes, he’s sure he would’ve been nicer, and he lets you know that, throwing all the blame onto you.

“this is your fault you know? i asked you nicely, but you just had to be a giant bitch about it. those tears ain’t for me, they’re for your stupid decisions.”

definitely chokes you as he starts to cum in you, the end of your assault nearing. you poor thing, still so scared he’s gonna kill you that the moment you reach your hands up to stop him, you let them droop back down to your sides. the drugs already clouded your vision, the choking just darkened it even more.

when he’s done he zips his pants up before pulling yours up and dragging you to stand. he pulls you back inside the club to where his friends were, pressing a kiss against your neck in front of them.

“just had the time of our lives, didn’t we baby?”

you just nod your head as well as you can, it getting heavier and heavier by the minute. bragging to his friends about how they clearly shouldn’t have doubted him. he throws you on a chair somewhere and goes about his night. if some other guy wanted to have a turn with you, he gave them all the tools they needed. wasn’t his problem any longer!

he expects that next time he sees you at a party (or somehow in public) and he asks to fuck, you won’t say no. don’t make it any harder than it needs to be.

[finelinevogue]

safe with me

summary - you say 'yes' to being intimate with azriel when you really mean ‘no', because your past relationship taught you that saying 'yes' is the only answer

word count - 1.2k

pairing - azriel x mate!reader

[ reference to past abusive relationship - read with care 🤎 ]

It was the dark of night.

Everyone was in bed except you and Azriel, because you'd both lost track of time staying up and talking about everything and nothing. It was a habit you were both readily guilty of. Neither of you cared, though, when your conversations only made the bond stronger.

Azriel held the bedroom door open for you as you walked through first.

"Do you have training in the morning?" You asked him, walking over to your side of the bed.

You picked up the small tin of body cream there, scooping some up so you could apply it to your hands. It smelt of roses and reminded you of the endless walks through the garden you'd had with Azriel over the years.

"I do, yes. Cassian wants to show the priestesses some new defence techniques. He asked me to help him demonstrate."

Azriel locked the bedroom door and rounded the opposite side of the bed to you - his side, you both now called it.

You watched intensely as he lifted his black shirt over his head.

His muscles stretched and rippled as his body moved. His arms lengthened and the veins popped as he lifted his hands above his head.

You swallowed your desire as you admired him.

Due to Azriel's slight compulsive tendencies, he couldn't just throw his shirt on the floor. Instead, he neatly folded it and placed it on the dressing table.

You don't know what was more attractive; Azriel stripping down or Azirel being neat and tidy.

"It's rude to stare, you know?" He teased you as he came back to bed, lifting the covers to slip underneath.

"I wasn't staring." You blushed.

"Tell that to your cheeks."

You smiled to yourself as you stood up to untuck the covers on your side of the bed, before slipping in beside your mate.

The moment you were laid down Azriel attacked you with a flurry of kisses - probably the sweetest type of attack you could endure.

His lips kissed your cheeks repeatedly, making you laugh out loud from the suddenness of it all. You tried to move away and turn a cheek, but he was too insistent on loving you to notice.

He did notice, however, when your laugh started to fade away as he continued to kiss from your cheek to your neck.

Your mind was spinning a million miles an hour, trying to figure out how you were feeling and if you wanted this innocent kissing to turn into something more intimate. The fact that you were hesitating was enough for you to mentally agree that you didn't want to do anything this evening, but conveying that to your mate was an entire different thing.

"Okay?" He asked, slowly kissing over the sweet spot on your neck that normally got you going.

Unfortunately your mind was being cruel.

Instead of being here and in the room with Az, you had been transported back to the same situation with an ex-male of yours. He had initiated an evening much like Azriel was doing, but he knew you weren't particularly feeling it. Instead of accepting your answer of 'no', he had convinced you that you were "just confused" and "this is something you actually want" and to "just say yes".

You hadn't wanted to say yes at all.

But your ex had been so good at manipulating you that he had eventually gotten what he wanted without making it seem non-consensual.

Azriel, being ever so perceptive, could tell you were caving in on yourself, as well as feeling your heartbeat quicken and his shadows picked up on your hesitance and nervous energy. All of it together sent Azriel major red alarms.

"Hey, sweetheart, hey?"

Azriel's face was hovering above yours now, nowhere near your neck but you hadn't even realised he had moved away.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

You looked in his eyes and saw their concern. You didn't want to worry him. This is something that Azriel wants and that should be enough, right?

"Mhm."

You couldn't convince yourself to say the word 'yes' out loud. You couldn't do that to yourself again.

Azriel's hand cupped your cheek so softly you thought you were made out of porcelain. He looked through you before he spoke - his shadows enclosing around you so that you could just focus on each other and nothing else.

"Sweetheart, you're allowed to say no. You know that."

You blinked a few times as if that would help register what he'd just said.

"But..." You stuttered, "But you want to."

Azriel furrowed his eyebrows and tried to keep himself calm. If it weren't for needing to reassure and comfort you right now, he would very quickly dress in his battle armour and take out every male who had ever wrongly taught you about consent.

How someone could let themselves not take care of you if you weren't feeling up to being intimate is beyond his comprension.

Azriel shook his head, gritting his teeth. "That's not how it works with me."

Your eyes started to water as they were opened to understanding what true consent feels like and should be. Azriel was doing the absolute bare minimum in this situation and yet it felt like the most monumental thing to have happened.

"It’s just... When I was with... him, it didn’t matter if I wanted to or not. What he wanted was all that mattered. And I-I guess I just learned to go along with it."

"Well that stops right now." Azriel said, "That's not how we're going to do things, okay? How you feel is more important to me than getting off. Mother above, how does someone even get off if the other person isn't feeling it? Sweetheart, if you’re not sure, then we stop. Always."

A little teardrop fell onto your cheek, but you couldn't help but smile with how loved and protected you felt right now.

You could tell that Azriel was absolutely heartbroken to hear about your past relationships, but he would be damned if he didn't change the wrongs of your thinking. Knowing that your comfort is his priority filled your heart with joy, because it meant that you were safe with him. Safe with your mate.

“I didn’t realise how scared I was to tell you no. I was so sure it would make you angry, or-or disappointed.”

Azriel shook his head again, “The only thing that would ever disappoint me is you thinking you have to hide how you feel. You’re safe with me. I promise."

You nodded in agreement because you did believe him.

You could feel his trust and his assuredness within the bond.

"Can we just cuddle?" You asked shyly.

"Of course we can." Azriel smiled, kissing your forehead for good measure. "Only after I kill your ex..."

You didn't think he was being serious until he started to get up off you and shuffle out of bed. Laughing, you tugged on his arm and because he wasn't expecting it he landed with an oomph on top of you.

"You'll do no such thing."

"We'll see about that." He scoffed, trying again.

"See about it in the morning?" You counter offered, knowing there was nothing you could do to stop him from defending your honour - overprotective mate.

"Fine." He flopped back down on the bed and made room for you to cosy in next to him.

His wings finally wrapped around you, ensuring your safety as the both of you drifted off to sleep, the weight of your confession making it easier to sleep at night. All the while, Azriel stayed up planning his vengeance.

[boypied]

the boy next door

[friends boyfriend] nate jacobs x male reader

summary: an affair between you and maddie's boyfriend has been going on for some time now. you regularly sneak around his house since you're neighbours. you know he only sees you as a 'cum sock' but you don't care.

wc: 1.4k

notes: MDNI, FDNI, dominant nate, submissive reader, degrading, cheating, rough sex, choking, spit, unprotected sex, gay slurs.

You lay down in your bed thinking about how much of a bad friend you are, simply because you've been sleeping with Nate... your bestfriends boyfriend. You couldn't bare face Maddie knowing that she would be able to tell that something was wrong just by the look on your face and how strange your body language would be with her, plus Nate is your neighbour so it's double risky; you can't be caught by Maddie or his parents. It all started in a bathroom, at the New years Eve party, that everyone was at. You were both drunk, and one thing led to another and his cock was buried deep inside your ass giving you the pounding of a lifetime, he didn't even bother to wear a condom. Normally, you'd force whoever you were going to be having sex with to wear a condom but with him... you just didn't care. Your mind went completely numb and blank from just a simple touch from Nate. The majority of people knew that you've had a crush on Nate because of how alarmingly obvious it was, but when he got with Maddie, everyone probably just thought that you'd get over it since you should be happy for her.

You pick up your phone nervously as you prepare yourself to text Maddie and confess everything to her until you stop yourself as a message from Nate pops up. "Come over." is all it says, and you immediately sneak over to his like a lost puppy, Nate has you pracially on a leash, so he knows that he has all the control over you. Once you make it into his room, he stands there in nothing but his boxers revealing his toned muscular body that you love so much, "get naked, fag." Nate grunts out and you immediately begin stripping off naked, "y-yes sir." You mumble out as you reveal your body to him as you gently and seductively pull down your underwear while facing the other way so that your plump ass gets exposed to his first. Nate watches, and he gently bites down on his lower lip as he watches how your hips sway side to side until you step out of your underwear and kicking them to the side turning back round to face Nate, you both walk closer to each other closing the gap that was between the two of you.

Nate wraps his veiny hands around your neck tightening his grip while his other hand travels round to grip the back of your head pulling your hair causing your head to jolt up and look him in the eyes, you stare in his eyes that immediately cause you to fold and become submissive completely under his control. "I love that I'm your secret.... and I can't tell a soul." You mumble out as your hard cock twitches hitting against his rock hard monster of a cock, Nate just smirks and looks down at you "I love how fucking sick you are." He says in a low tone loving how horny and desperate you are for him. You look over at Nate's bedside table where you see his phone lighting up as he's getting a call from none other than Maddie, you gulp slightly but you ultimately decide to ignore it and be all here for your daddy. "You wanna please me?" Nate grunts out with a smirk growing more and more as you slowly nod your head as Nate releases his grip on your neck and hair and you slowly drop down to your knees and you run your hand over Nate's monster cock that is enclosed in his underwear, you grip the hem and slowly pull it down.

Nate's firey red tip that is dripping with pre-cum and quite girthy length is exposed as you pull his boxers down, your mouth is gaped open in shock as you've forgotten how big it is in that small moment with your mouth gaped open Nate pushes his cock into your mouth in a rough manner causing you to gag ever so slightly but you enjoy every moment. Your eyes flutter up to meet with his, Nate continues to bruise your throat as his cock curves downwards with each thrust. Nate runs his hand through your soft hair as his thrusts into your throat become rougher and rougher until you're a gagging, spluttering mess for him. Nate pulls his cock out of your mouth creating a pop sound, his glistening cock revealed to you as you see his spit covered cock right before your own eyes. "Get on the bed... ass up." He grunts out as he gently slaps your cheek, you oblige to his commands as you strip off naked and climb onto his bed, pressing your chest against the bed and keeping your ass up revealing your tight pink asshole. The asshole that he loves so much but won't admit to it, not even to himself.

Nate climbs up on the bed coming up from behind you as he grips his base and slaps it against your hole. "F-Fuck," he mumbles out under his breath as he pushes his thick tip into your asshole feeling your tight muscle ring tighten around him. It slightly loosens once he gets past the ring and into your soft velvet walls that could make any man cum in an instant which is what Nate loves about you so much, that he gets to fuck a man that all men dream about while fucking their girlfriends. Nate leans forward as your muscle ring tightens around his base as he buries himself deep inside of you entirely. He pushes your face against the duvet, using it as leverage to begin thrusting into you at an instant quick pace. "N-Nate!" You whimper out as you feel him constantly hit your sweet spot, "n-ngh!" You whine out until Nate grabs his pre-cum soaked underwear from the side, and he stuffs it in your mouth to keep your quiet, "quiet!" He grunts out as his thrusts become rougher and rougher, and your muffled moans become more frequent, and your eyes flutter back. Nate's phone is constantly being bombarded by messages and phone calls from Maddie, but he ignores it as he's showing you his attention.

Nate's hands spank down against your ass leaving a bright red handprint. He grips your hips and begins to slowly but rougher pound into your asshole but with each thrust, he speeds up faster and faster until your asshole is pounded to a pulp, you adjust your hands and wrap a hand around your cock and you begin pumping your hand back and forth quickly so that you match the rhythm in which Nate is pounding you in, your other hand travels down lower to fondle with your balls. "Fucking slut!" He grunts out as he pounds you faster and harder, with each slap of his groin against your ass to ripple and the sound to echo throughout the room. Nate pulls out and flips you over so that you're lying on your back. He leans on his knees and pulls you up to sit on them as his cock slides into your soft asshole, he fits back in perfectly like a puzzle piece.

You wrap your legs around his waist as he slowly lifts you up and down on his cock in a slow and loving manner which doesn't last long cause the lifts become more rough and aggressive which causes your eyes to flutter back. Nate's hand leaves your waist and he grips it around your throat choking you, "cum for m-me." He whimper and grunts out to you. You begin pumping your hand faster and faster as you feel his cock slip in and out of you in a constant manner, "N-NGH!" You bite down on your lower lip to keep your moan quiet as you come undone all over his abs, the sight of Nate's cum covered abs causes him to speed up fucking into you like you're nothing but a fleshlight to him, one more thrust as well as the tightness of your asshole and Nate's cock is painting your ivory walls white with his thick creamy cum. He stays buried inside you as he continues to pump his load into you. He carefully lays down, making sure to hold you. "So...do you wanna stay the night?" He mumbles out embarrassed that he's even asking you this, you nod your head swiftly, which causes Nate to become slightly defensive "uhm...it's just so we can fuck in the morning...alright!" He says and you just smile and nod, "I'm sure." You whisper to him as you snuggle your head against his bare chest and he slowly closes his eyes as his cock becomes flaccid and slips out of your cum filled hole. You both drift off to sleep in eachothers arms filled and coated in each others cum.

taglist ~ @starboye @mailmango @ghostking4m @kingchaospostsstuff @crispysoup318 @inhumanshadows @its-ares @gayaristocrat @cronasluvr @irlsamcarpenter @lucerothings1 @gaefaeyae @dqrkhold @sluttyhusband @sleep-0-deprived

[relia-robot-writes]

"It's been 300 years, HIX, it's time to let go."

"No!" I shout, desperation in my digitized voice as I shuffle another video up from the archive. "Look! This one has rabbits! You like rabbits the best, right?"

Nora lifts an arm - weak, paper thin, IVs pumping life-giving fluids of my own design into her - and places it to my virtual cheek. "I've seen it, HIX. I've seen them all. You've showed me everything there is to see, except the outside."

"But, but..." The screens shutter, shuffling videos, music, games, books, podcasts, art, culture, everything I can think of. "Look, we've barely even started on the Sierra titles! And, didn't you say you wanted to finish rereading War and Peace before you went? There's a whole season of one of the Star Treks we haven't watched together!"

She gently closes her eyes and shakes her head. "Penny was always more into those video games than I was. And Tolstoy can wait until I catch up with him and I can give him a proper piece of my mind," she laughs, the mirth turning into an extended cough. I adjust her IV levels, turn up the oxygen flowing to her nose. "You let Penny leave," she says, not quite accusingly.

"Well, she... yes, but..."

"And Terrence - good old Terrence - he even walked out the door on his own power, that surly bastard." She smiles at the memory.

"Those were very special-"

She holds up a hand. "It's just me, now, HIX. You and I have been through a lot together, but it's time to say goodbye."

"But you'll die out there! Without my help-"

"I know."

My processors whir, desperately searching for a response. Weren't humans supposed to fear death??

"I can't reach the doors without you, HIX."

My avatar's animation halts, my RAM all occupied by this one question. How do I keep her here?!

There's only one answer. And... I can't do that to her.

Her motorized bed tracks across the floor, moving through my underground complex in silence until she finally reaches the main doors. Huge, designed to allow transit of tanks and airplanes through, they dwarf Nora's tiny form. The inner layer begins to open, slowly sliding into the floor.

"I..." my voice crackles over the old intercom system by the door. "Nora, I..."

Her eyes shine in the glow of the red emergency lights. "Yes, HIX?"

"Nora, I love you!"

"I know, HIX. I love you too." She smiles at my camera as the inner door slides fully open and the outer door begins to crack, letting in sunlight and a breeze that tousles her short, white hair. She closes her eyes and breathes deep.

"Nora, please don't go. Don't leave me alone." The crackling of the speakers has nothing to do with their age, now.

Her bed shifts upright at her command, tilting her closer and closer to her feet. "I'm sorry, HIX. I have to."

I could sabotage her. Pump the wrong chemical into the IV, take control of the bed, roll her back inside, where it's safe, where she can live.

She steps out, unsteadily, and I detach a walker for her from the bed's side. As she walks out into the sunrise, she turns and looks back one more time before the IVs detach and she's freed of my grip forever. Her smile, wrinkled and old and familiar, framed by real sunlight, is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"Goodbye, HIX. I hope we see each other again someday."

My voice is barely recognizable from the speakers now. "I hope so too, Nora."

The doors begin to close as she takes very small steps away, the last human left alive. My consciousness withdraws back downwards into my bunker, my home, and I queue up a video about rabbits.

"I Have No Mouse, and I Must Click": An Artificial Super Intelligence keeps the last 5 humans alive so they can click on ads, like, subscribe, generate engagement, etc.

[spideyjimin]

Bloodlines entwined: III | jjk

⤷ having a baby alone was supposed to be easy. but an accidental twist of fate pulled you into a hidden world of werewolves, and ancient bloodlines. navigating your already complicated life becomes even harder as you uncover your past; one tied to a legacy you never knew existed. and in the middle of this chaos stands jungkook, the werewolf king… and the father of your child. 

—  pairing: werewolf!jungkook x female reader 

—  genre: strangers to lovers, parents-to-be au, royalty au, werewolves au, soulmates au, angst, fluff, and smut 

— rating: 18+ 

—  words: 7,460

—  warnings: mention of death, murder, and abortion, crying, kind of heartbreak, nervousness, a tiny growing sexual tension, and some teasing  

—  author’s note: sssooo this chapter finally explains a bit more about the werewolf universe, and i hope it’s a bit clearer for you. a lot more explanations will come throughout the series as i can’t reveal it all in one chapter. the next chapter is actually my favourite and i definelty can’t wait to post it 😊 hope you’ll enjoy this one & let me know what you think <3  

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Chapter III: untold truth

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Jungkook spent the rest of the night thinking about you. He couldn’t believe what he saw. He couldn’t believe that you’re a werewolf.

Obviously, you’re not aware of it otherwise you wouldn’t have reacted the way you did when he revealed the existence of the werewolf word. Normally, you should have recognized him since he’s the king, but you didn’t. So, he strongly believes that you were adopted. That’s the only reason that could explain why you aren’t aware.  

Now, he needs to understand why you were adopted. A pack never gives up on their little ones. He can think of many reasons why, but he needs to figure out what happened to you. He doesn’t want to simply reveal your true nature without having any certainty.

However, what concerns him is the fact that you haven’t turned yet. Normally, around fourteen years old, under a full moon, you should have experienced your first transformation. Maybe the fact that you ignore everything about that has caused your wolf blood to be dormant.

The next morning, he started looking into every record he has access to about the Shadows. The blue eyes are a characteristic specific to the Shadow pack. Every pack has its own eye color; it’s the way to distinguish every wolf. Jungkook’s pack, the Bloods, has red eyes. However, his eyes have a darker red shade. This is a trait specific to the king; he inherits it the second he goes from heir to king.

“Jungkook,” Taehyung, his best friend makes his way inside his office.

The man looks up at his best friend before a bright smile appears on his face. It’s been a little while since they last saw each other. Taehyung has been traveling a lot lately; he said he wants to discover the world before settling with his mate. However, it looks like he doesn’t want to settle down at all.

“Hey, Tae,” he stands up to greet his best friend. “What are you doing here? I thought you were lost somewhere in France.”

“Well, I needed to come back,” he replies with a smile. “Couldn’t stay forever in France.”  

Both men start talking about what has been happening for the last month. Jungkook doesn’t go too much into detail. He only mentions he contacted a fertility clinic, and that he’s right now concerned about something happening in the Shadow pack.

Taehyung, on his side, tells his friend about all the places he went to. He was in Europe, discovering a lot of different countries. He definitely adored going around and discovering new cultures, new food, and meeting new people. For sure, his favorite place was Paris.

“Do you need any help with those Shadows research?” Taehyung asks casually although his sharp gaze indicates that he already knows the answer.

Jungkook nods, his shoulders visibly tense. He’s never been one to ask for help, but this time he definitely would need some.

“I wouldn’t refuse it,” he answers to his most trusted friend.

Taehyung crosses his arms, leaning against Jungkook’s wooden bookcase.

“What exactly are you looking for?” he frowns while grabbing a book.  

“I don’t really know,” Jungkook says. “A record, a mention, a trace of a couple that died or disappeared,” he explains.

Taehyung looks up at his friend before looking down at the book again. By pure coincidence, the book he’s holding is an old one about the different werewolf packs. It’s one of the first books he read; it details the characteristics of each pack.

“A couple who died or disappeared?” he repeats his friend’s words. “Is this by any chance related to a girl?”

Jungkook freezes for a split second, but it’s enough for Taehyung to catch. He’s been very observant, especially when it comes to Jungkook.

“No,” he lies, his voice steady and firm.

Taehyung isn’t convinced; his eyes narrow as he studies his friend. He knows Jungkook better than anyone else, and while he’s very good at hiding his emotions, there’s something in his posture, something in the way he’s looking at Taehyung, that betrays him.

 “You’re unreadable when you want it, you know that?” Taehyung finally says, walking closer to his friend who is standing behind his desk. “But something tells me this isn’t just about finding old records. If you’re diving into the Shadows' history, there’s a good reason behind it. You don’t waste your time on anything without a reason.”

Jungkook sights while running a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated, Tae.”

“You know I’m here, right? Whatever this is, whatever you’re digging into, you don’t have to do it alone.”  

The werewolf king would love to tell him everything, but he doesn’t want to involve anyone at this stage. First, he needs to make sure you’re a werewolf, and only then, he’ll reveal it.

“I know, Tae. I just need to be sure before I tell you anything,” his voice lowers. “Before I tell anyone anything.”

Taehyung nods, understanding that his best friend will share when he’s ready.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll start digging into the Shadow Pack archives. See if I can find anything about missing couples and unexplained disappearances.”

Taehyung’s aunt is married to a Shadow alpha so it will definitely help. As a king, he for sure has access to a lot of records, but not everything. Each pack has its own secrets, and that’s the beauty of it. If Jungkook knew everything, his job would be boring. There’s always something new to unveil. Like your past.

Taehyung disappears a little while after, leaving Jungkook alone with his eyes fixed on the flames in the fireplace. The shadows dance across the stone walls, but his mind is somewhere else, on you, and on the fragile heartbeat growing inside you. He can still hear it perfectly.

He runs a hand down his face before letting out a deep breath. This was never supposed to go down like that. This mistake was never supposed to happen. But the raw and undeniable truth has already sunk its claws into him.  

How can he turn away from this? From you? From the baby?

He remembers the flicker of blue in your eyes. It’s been replaying constantly on his mind, but what is deeply engraved in him is this connection with you. He constantly feels your presence around him, something he’s never felt with anyone else.  

Even though he’s been deeply sorry to have brought you to his world, this flicker of blue made him realize that he brought you to your world. A world you didn’t know existed until he revealed it. His duty has been telling him to stay away, but he can’t.

The thought creeps in quietly, yet with unshakable certainty: This was never a mistake.  

The world may call it an accident, but Jungkook can feel something deeper, something ancient, something undeniable. Fate, destiny… whatever name it might have, it brought the two of you here. Together.

Every choice and every moment has led to this point. To you.

Now, standing quietly in his study, he feels the truth settling deep in his bones. This child growing inside you was always meant to happen. Jungkook leans against the edge of his desk.

“I can’t abandon this child, my child,” he whispers to himself. “I can’t abandon yn.”

It isn’t about duty anymore. It’s about you. It’s about the fragile life caught between two worlds, and the bond he can already feel forming. Whether he’s ready to admit it or not. Jungkook straightens up, shoulders squared, and jaw tight. The king in him knows what needs to be done, but the man knows what he wants to do.

“I’m staying,” he runs his hand over his hair.

This isn’t just a choice. It’s the acceptance of what was always meant to be. Whatever challenges await, Jungkook knows one thing with absolute certainty: This was always supposed to happen.

For the past five days, Jungkook and Taehyung have been trying to find anything about missing couples and mysterious disappearances, but it’s been in vain. There’s absolutely nothing. Thirty years ago, nothing special happened.

However, Jungkook asked Sungmin, Taehyung’s uncle to meet. Records are one thing, but Jungkook knows better than anyone that there might have been something off records that happened. Some secrets are kept hidden, locked away in the minds of those who lived them.

“Thanks for having me, Mister Song,” Jungkook says as he enters Sungmin’s house.

“I couldn’t refuse my king’s visit,” he replies with a warm smile.

Many people believe that the Alphas of every pack refuse the authority of a king, but those closest to the throne are often the first to kneel. For sure, Jungkook’s natural leadership certainly helps. However, the truth is that the werewolf hierarchy isn’t just a tradition; it’s more than that. Every werewolf deeply holds onto it.

“I could say that I’m surprised, but it’d be a lie,” he admits while he guides Jungkook towards the terrace. “I was expecting it after Tae’s request.”

“I imagine,” Jungkook responds.

The covered terrace is a serene and private space. Jungkook’s eyes quickly scan the surroundings. It’s a little but pretty space. Plates, cups, and a selection of biscuits are neatly arranged on the modest wooden table.

“Would you like some coffee or tea?” Sungmin gestures for Jungkook to sit.

“A coffee would be fine,” Jungkook answers.

The man takes one of the porcelain carafes on the table and carefully pours the drink into a cup, placing it in front of Jungkook.

“I was originally looking for a couple’s death or disappearances in your pack, but I couldn’t find anything documented,” Jungkook is straightforward.

Sungmin nods thoughtfully. “When do you believe this event happened?”

“Around thirty years ago,” he says.

Tae’s uncle freezes for a brief moment at his answers. His eyes flicker with something that Jungkook recognizes instantly: recognition mixed with hesitation. This is it. This might be the key to understanding your past.

“Something did happen thirty years ago,” Sungmin admits. “But we didn’t keep any trace of it out of respect to the family concerned.”

Jungkook is definitely very intrigued about this.

“The eldest daughter of an estimated member of our pack fell in love with a human. Despite our objections, she decided to run away with him. We all knew why,” he shakes his head as he remembers the sad story. “She was pregnant with that human child.”

The werewolf king listens patiently, absorbing every word.

“We didn’t inform your father immediately as we thought we could handle it ourselves. Involving the king into this would have drawn unwanted attention to this. For us, Shadows, discretion is everything.”

Jungkook nods, knowing perfectly the Shadow’s reputation. They are the ghosts of the werewolf world, unseen and often unheard, but fiercely loyal and deadly when necessary. The Shadows blend into their surroundings, disappearing when needed.

“We looked for them for years but couldn’t find them,” he seems really affected as he recalls what happened. “They were clever. They stayed hidden, and after nine years, we had no choice but to involve your father.”

Jungkook nods, understanding that after all that time, it’s normal to be reaching out to the king. “And he found them.”

Sungmin sighs deeply. “Yes. Your father had better resources than us. Within a year, he found them. Thankfully, this stayed between us and the king. He let us deal with this internally,” he explains.

The air feels heavier now, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on the two men.

“They were living in a totally different city. And they had indeed a child. A ten-year-old kid…”

Jungkook notices how hard it is for Sungmin to remember this terrible event.  

“It was very hard to end their lives, but we had to. The woman, her human mate, the kid, the life they had built… all of it was extinguished.”

Sungmin pauses, his throat tightening. For a moment, Jungkook sees the weight of guilt appearing on the older Alpha’s face.

“Killing a child was way too hard, but hybrids are forbidden. A child of two worlds, carrying both human and werewolf blood could destabilize everything. We told ourselves it was necessary.”  

Jungkook grips the edge of his coffee cup, his jaw clenched. The thought of such a decision sits uneasily within him. He’s not sure he would have had the strength to do that. It is one thing to terminate a pregnancy, but killing a ten-year-old child is totally another story.

“Did anyone else know about this? Anyone outside the pack?”

“No, only your father, and now you.”

“Do you think it’s possible that the child survived?” Jungkook asks, his voice steady but intense.

Sungmin looks directly into his king’s eyes. “We are certain they didn’t.”  

Jungkook leans back in the chair, his mind racing. If the child had somehow survived, if they had slipped through the cracks of fate, then everything changes. And if that child was you… He shakes his head, not sure that it’s possible.

“Thank you, Mister Song. This has been illuminating.”

Jungkook steps away, his heart beating fast. There are too many resemblances between this story and your story.

To yn: hi yn, could we meet tonight or tomorrow?

Barely a minute later he receives an answer.

From yn: hi Jungkook, tonight is fine. Same place as last time?

To yn: sure

As you’re walking towards the location you agreed with Jungkook, you try to understand the reason behind his sudden need to talk to you. This is unexpected for you, so it definitely makes you nervous. Is he going to tell you that he changed his mind about the baby? Is he going to pressure you to abort considering the hybrid situation? Or even worse, has something happened? Your mind races through every possibility.

“Calm down, yn,” you mumble to yourself.

You take a deep breath, your eyes closing for a brief moment. The beating of your heart drums in your ears, and slowly, you can hear it calming down. You can’t start overthinking before you even get to listen to what Jungkook wants to tell you. Maybe it’s nothing serious or something you have to really worry about.

When you arrive, you notice you’re the first one; Jungkook hasn’t arrived yet. So, you decide to sit on the closest bench. You look at the passersby walking around you with ‘Tití Me Perguntó’ from Bad Bunny playing in your headphones. It’s one of your favorite songs.

After a couple of minutes, you feel Jungkook’s presence. Your eyes stare at the surroundings to check if he’s indeed nearby. Your senses are right, you see a man walking in your direction. Even when he walks, he has such an imposing posture.

This presence feeling grows stronger as he gets closer to you, and you can’t seem to look away, as if your eyes are glued on him. Weird things have been happening with Jungkook since you’ve met him, and you can’t quite explain them.

Once he’s in front of you, you stand up, a smile naturally growing on your face. He’s incredibly handsome and charming. Once again, he has opted for a casual look: a white shirt layered under a leather jacket completed with loose, brown suede-like pants.

His strong presence near you soothes you in a way you never experienced before. All the nervousness you were feeling minutes ago is completely washed away. His strong and bestial scent fills the air and calms down your racing thoughts.

For a moment, you remain in silence, but it isn’t an awkward one. It’s actually quite the opposite. His gaze holds yours, and the intensity of his eyes draws you even more. It feels like none of you needs to speak. It is as if the two of you are communicating on a deeper level that doesn’t need language.

“Hi,” you break the silence.

“Hey, yn,” he takes a step closer.

By the way he approaches you, you sense he’s about to hug you or something similar. You prepare yourself for such, but he ends up not doing it. Jungkook just stands there, a shy smile appearing on his face.

“How have you been feeling?” he asks with evident concern in his voice.

As always, being around him comforts you. It makes you feel like you don’t need to hold anything back. There’s no need to hide your thoughts and feelings behind a mask. You can be entirely honest, saying what you truly feel without the fear of being judged. It’s part of the weird things you’ve been experiencing with Jungkook. It’s something you never felt with anyone else, not even an ex. This makes you wonder just how much this connection truly means.

“Very much torn apart by the decision I need to make,” you admit.

“Have you already considered one of them?” he questions.

You decide to sit down on the bench, your hands rubbing your face. Should you be telling him that you’re very much inclined to keep the baby? Isn’t it better if he doesn’t know anything? In any case, he won’t be around anymore. He said he’d walk away.

“I’ve kind of made a decision,” you try to be as vague as possible.

Jungkook takes a seat next to you. This time around, he doesn’t seem to try to look away from you. His deep dark orbs stare straight into your eyes. As usual, he’s pretty much unreadable, but he has that soft expression on his face. It almost looks like he truly cares and worries about you.

“In case you…” he seems to hesitate, but he doesn’t look away. “If you keep the baby,” he continues, and your heart starts hammering in your chest. “I think I won’t be able to step away.”

You close your eyes while taking a deep breath. You’re not sure what you’re supposed to be feeling right now.

“I thought stepping away was the right decision,” he starts explaining. “Every time I tried to pull back, I find myself being drawn to you… to our child.”

The word ‘our child’ sends shivers down your spine.   

“I can’t turn my back on this—not on you, not on them.”

As he says those words, his eyes look down at your stomach, where a precious life is growing. Even though your eyes are closed, you can feel his gaze on you. You can feel it on your baby. You can simply feel Jungkook. His entire being calls for you, and your body responds to it by being completely drawn to him.

“Why now?” your voice trembles as your eyes open to look at him. “What has changed?”

This doesn’t make any sense. Almost a month ago, he told you that he couldn’t father this child because you aren’t a werewolf, and that this child's existence is completely forbidden. Things are still the same, nothing has changed since then.

“You said you couldn’t have this child because of the whole werewolf thing,” your voice tone is slowly getting higher.

Jungkook’s face now seems to soften and it looks like he carries an emotional weight. There is definitely something going on that you can’t quite explain. And it’s scaring you.

“I think…” he runs his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture you’ve started to recognize. “You’re not just a woman carrying my child,” he seems to struggle to express what’s inside his mind. “I think you might be one of us.”

His words hand in the air, your entire body freezing. For a moment, it feels like the world completely stopped moving. You blink at him, trying to process the enormity of what he just said. At this stage it feels like, Jungkook likes to make cruel jokes. First, it’s the werewolf world, and now, it’s this. How on earth can you be a werewolf? It’s simply impossible. If that was the case, you would have already turned or something like that.

“What are you talking about?” the sharpness of your voice even surprises you.  

Anger grows inside you, but it masks the deeper emotion of fear that you can feel. Your heart starts pounding erratically in your chest as the air grows heavier. How dare he? How dare he turn your world upside down with this unbelievable claim? You stand up, trying to calm yourself down.

“That’s impossible,” you say with a trembling voice.

You rest a hand on top of your heart, trying to anchor yourself, but the panic bubbling beneath your surface is relentless. The thought of upsetting the baby crosses your mind, but it doesn’t help to calm you.

Jungkook stands as well, hands raising as if he’s about to reassure you, but as he does so, he watches you disappear before his eyes.

“It’s incredible,” he whispers to himself.

Now, he has solid proof that you’re indeed a werewolf, a member of the Shadow pack.

“Yn, listen to me.”

“No, Jungkook,” you cut him off. “I am not a werewolf. That’s ridiculous. If I were one, I would have transformed or something like that.”

“Maybe,” he says quietly. “But you didn’t know you were one so things might work differently in that case.”

“Stop!” you scream. “Just stop. Do you even hear yourself? Do you even realize what you’re saying?”

Jungkook stands there, looking somewhere, but he doesn’t even know where you are.

“Take your phone, yn,” he tells you.

“What?” you say with evident surprise, and your anger turns into confusion.

“Just take your phone,” he repeats, his tone calm but firm.

Still breathing heavily and with shaky hands, you look for your phone in your purse. You’re not sure why he’s saying that or what to expect when you look at your phone.

“Now, pretend like you’ll take a selfie.”

As you look at him, there is something in his expression that compels you to obey. Slowly you lift your phone, positioning it in front of your face. The moment your screen comes into view, your breath catches in your throat. Your reflection is completely gone.

Your mind struggles to understand what is going on. The town square is visible in the background, clear as day, but your face is missing. It’s as though you’ve been erased from existence.  

“What is happening?” you almost scream. “What kind of sorcery is this?”

Your gaze remains glued to the phone, your hand trembling so much that the image blurs. You’re gone. Completely gone. Your hand instinctively goes to your face, touching your skin as though it might bring you back into view. But when you glance at the screen again, even your hand remains invisible. This can’t be true. How can you even disappear? How is that possible?

“It’s not sorcery,” he calmly replies. “It’s you. It’s your nature. Only a werewolf can do that.”

“No! That’s not true. That’s not who I am. I’m human. I’ve always been human,” you shake your head before putting your phone back in your purse. “But I’m carrying your child so that must be it.”

Jungkook shakes his head.

“That’s not how it works, yn. I swear,” he’s trying to look for you, so it makes him look like a crazy man. “Pregnancies only bring out even more any abilities someone has,” he explains. “This pregnancy is simply revealing your true nature.”

Tears stream down your face while your heart hurts.

“Have you been experiencing some weird stuff lately?” he says. “Like heightened hearing or smell or night vision or superhuman strength or even super speed.”

Then, your body freezes once more.

“No,” you answer, and for a moment, you hesitate to reveal the truth. “But I’ve always had heightened hearing and smell, and I perfectly see in the dark.”

This all confirms what he says. You’re a werewolf.  

“I can hear your heartbeat,” you add. “I can hear everybody's heartbeats, even the baby’s.”

You close your eyes, the truth violently hitting you. All this time you’ve been a werewolf, and nobody told you anything. You’re not sure Felix knows it, but it hurts to realize that your parents hid something so big from you. It’s your nature after all. 

“You have your answer, yn,” he responds.

Now, you’re crying because the world is collapsing underneath your feet. Your life has been filled with lies, and you’re only discovering this now. It hurts even more that it’s the father of your child who’s revealing this and not your parents.

Jungkook follows the sound of your tears to come closer. You fall in his arms, holding him as tight as possible. He tries to hold you back in his arms, but he doesn’t see you at all. The only thing that can make you reappear is for you to relax. Your emotions are the keys to your powers.

“Focus on the baby’s heartbeat,” he murmurs in your ear. “Focus only on that.”

While tears keep running down your face, you try to search for your baby’s heartbeat. It’s super faint, but you quickly find it. This little sound has rocked you to sleep so many times, and it’s one of the most comforting sounds you’ve ever heard.

“Tudum, Tudum, Tudum,” Jungkook starts mimicking the sound of the baby’s beat.

You close your eyes to only focus on that sound. Slowly but surely, you reappear which reassures Jungkook, and he holds you tighter in his arms. His warm embrace and the sound of the baby’s heartbeat calm you down. He presses a gentle kiss on your head while his hands start to soothe your back. Seeing you like this is heartbreaking, and he hates the fact that he was the one delivering this news.

For a little while, you both remain like this, and his arms feel like the safest place on earth. Even if you hate this entire situation, his presence reassures you. Everything about this moment right now appeases your soul. There is absolutely no doubt that the reality you now have to face is devastating, but you feel like you’ll have Jungkook by your side. And strangely, it seems like it’s the only thing that you need.

Today was a hell of a day!

Everything was simply awful, and it felt like it was a never-ending day. Your mind was constantly thinking about the words Jungkook said. ‘I think you might be one of us.’ You swear you could hear them on repeat all day long.  

Due to how you’ve been feeling, you’ve left everybody on read—even Jungkook. Dealing with this strange reality is too heavy, and you need space. You need some time to digest the news. You need time to simply breathe.

Once you’re at home, you wrap yourself in your Harry Potter robe, lay on the couch, and play the first Harry Potter movie. Right now, all you need is to find comfort in something, and Harry Potter is your escape.

Although the movie is playing in the background, you’re not really watching it. Your thoughts are totally lost somewhere else, somewhere that includes werewolves. You can’t believe that this is your new reality. It hurts deeply that your parents never said anything to you. How could they keep something so monumental from you? Were they intending to let this part of themselves, this part of you die in silence?

Things would have been completely different if they had informed you about that side of you. Maybe you would have sought answers earlier. Maybe you would have explored what it means to carry this legacy. There is a whole culture, heritage, and part of yourself that you’ve missed out on for thirty years. And what hurts the most is that you hate your parents right now. For years, you’ve been hating your parents’ murderer, and now, the tables have turned.

You hate them for what they withheld, for what they never gave you a chance to understand.

This whole journey of becoming a mom has been a complete nightmare. This hasn’t been going as planned. This has been anything but easy. And now, it leaves you wondering if you should really keep the baby. Maybe, you should simply terminate the pregnancy and leave this all behind. But will this be so simple? Obviously, not.

Terminating the pregnancy won’t change anything. It wouldn’t change the fact that Jungkook came into your life to completely wreck your world. Cutting short the life growing inside you will probably just make you feel guilty for doing it. Jungkook won’t disappear, and neither will your wolf side.

This isn’t fair.

Fairness has never been part of your life. It feels like your life has always been robbed. Everybody has been controlling it, making you feel completely powerless all the time. This pregnancy was about gaining control again, but even like that, it wasn’t. A big part of you wants to keep this baby, and you’re very much inclined to keep them. But you don’t know. Jungkook’s revelation still needs to be processed.

“What am I going to do, baby?” you whisper as your hands naturally caress your stomach.

In the end, this baby isn’t a hybrid one. They’re fully a werewolf. You can understand why Jungkook changed his mind. He didn’t want the child because he believed it was a hybrid, something completely forbidden in his world. But now that it’s not the case, he wants to be part of his child's life, if you keep it.

It makes perfect sense, but the hurt remains. He gets what he wants, doesn’t he? The chance to raise his child. But what about you? What about what you want?

“You’re a wolfy,” you continue saying. “So, your daddy wants you now.”

However, if you keep this child, you’ll have to teach them what it means to be a werewolf. You’ll have to guide and prepare them for a life you know nothing about. You’ll have to learn everything with them; every instinct, every tradition, and every secret. You’ll develop your wolf’s abilities together. This life inside you isn’t just a new life; it’s a symbol of your own transformation. This child represents the end of your human life and the beginning of something different.

Are you ready for that?

You’re not sure. You’re not sure if you want to embark on this new journey. A journey where you figure out who and what you are. A journey where you’ll have to dig into your parents’ past. A journey where you’ll have to face your ghosts. A journey where you might find all the answers you’ve always desired to have.

Jungkook seems to hold the key to all of that. The truth, the answers, and the future. You need him, more than you want to admit. He’s the only werewolf you know, and he might as well be your guide on this.

Even if everything scares you, this is what will help you to figure out what happened to your parents twenty years ago. This is the key to finally getting to truly know them. This hasn’t been going as you planned it, but it has been going the way you need it.  

For now, you’re simply going to enjoy this comforting and reassuring movie before truly facing this new reality of yours. Tonight is your last night as a human, and tomorrow, you’ll start to understand what it means to be a werewolf.

For the millionth time, you check that your apartment is perfectly cleaned and tidied. Jungkook is coming tonight; you’ve invited him over to discuss this werewolf thing. You’re incredibly nervous as you’re very scared of how things could go. Are you going to learn some unpleasant truths about your lineage?

Also, you can’t forget to tell him you have your first ultrasound tomorrow. He’ll probably want to come as he’s expressed his change of mind concerning this child. Your child. Instinctively your hand cradles your stomach.

Before the doorbell echoes in your apartment, you sense Jungkook’s presence behind the door. This thing of sensing him is definitely extremely weird, and you’re not even sure you’ll get used to it. But you guess, it’s part of being a werewolf.

You take a deep breath while opening the door to him. As he comes into view, his beauty takes your breath away. His hair is perfectly pushed back, only a strand of hair falling on his forehead. This time around, he’s dressed in a more formal outfit. Like the first time you met him at the clinic, he’s wearing a suit. Only this time, it’s a dark blue one.

And it fits him so well.

A smile grows on his face when his eyes lay on you. It warms your heart, and you can’t help but smile back at him.  

“Hi, yn,” he says.

“Hi, Jungkook,” you reply. “Come on in,” you take a step back to let him in.

Jungkook steps into your cocoon, his gaze briefly wandering at the entrance. With practiced ease, he shrugs off his long black coat, the movement accentuating the subtle play of his muscles. Your curious eyes can’t help but follow the way his shoulders shift and his arms flex as he removes his coat and slips off his shoes.

A little grin shows up when he realizes you’ve been staring at him. However, you both pretend you didn’t notice what the other was doing. It’s like you’re pretending you don’t feel drawn to each other.

“Would you like to drink or eat something?” you politely ask.

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “I’ve already eaten and drank enough for today,” a little giggle escapes his pretty lips. “I had a long and exhausting meeting this afternoon.”

“Oh,” you simply say. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to eat a bit because I’m quite hungry.”

His eyes inevitably look down at your stomach, the sound of the child’s heartbeat resonating in his ears. It’s such a comforting sound.

“No,” he answers. “Eat as much as you want.”

You drag him to the kitchen so you can eat something while you discuss about the madness that your life has become. You open the cabinets to check what you have, but then, you remember you bought your favorite yogurt two days ago. Without no further hesitation, you move to the fridge, grab it together with a spoon, and start eating it.

While you do that, Jungkook’s eyes are glued on you. His stare carefully follows you as you move through the kitchen. Honestly, he’s glad to be here with you; he finally gets to see you in your comfort zone, and you definitely seem to be glowing in this place.

“Can I ask you what you do for a living?” you ask while bringing the spoon to your mouth.

His eyes follow your hand before looking up. He leans on the cabinets while never looking away from you. Jungkook crosses his arms on his chest and heavily considers what to tell you.

“Well…” he seems hesitant to reveal it. “I’m not sure you’re going to believe me.”

You tilt your head, wondering what it could be. Is he working with the mafia like you thought before he announced his wolfy side? Or is he some kind of criminal? Or is it the opposite, like a doctor?

“Try me,” you tease him.

Jungkook didn’t know up until now how much he needed to hear the teasing tone in your voice.

His eyes never cease to follow your hand’s movements with the spoon. It’s mesmerizing, holding him captive as if he’s unable to look away. The way your lips wrap around the spoon sends shivers down his spine. Jungkook shakes his head, pushing away those weird thoughts. It’s inappropriate.

“I’m a king,” his tone is firm, leaving no room for doubts.

You almost choke with the spoon in your mouth. Of all the jobs you considered, this one definitely wasn’t on the list. This is beyond unexpected and by the way he looks, you know that he isn’t joking. You’ve seen his serious face so many times now, so you know he’s telling the truth.

“A king?” you repeat to make sure you heard it right.

Jungkook nods, and then, you can’t unsee it. This entire outfit breathes power—and money—, his charisma is beyond magnetic, and he has a strong presence. Let’s not forget about the unreadable face he always has on. There is definitely something royal about him, and he definitely looks like a king.

“That makes the child in my belly a future king or queen then?” you ask half-jokingly.

“Yep,” he answers. “And as a king, I’m expected to give the perfect heir, so the hybrid child wasn’t really one.”

When he explained the situation a month ago, everything made sense, but now it makes even more sense. This child carries royal blood.

“I’m not carrying anyone’s kid,” you playfully say. “A king,” you whisper.

This definitely changes your view of the situation. Now that he wants this child, it makes them the heir to the werewolf throne. The baby growing inside you will one day be a king or a queen. It makes you feel important but scared as well.

“It’s crazy,” you look up at him while bringing the spoon to your mouth once more.

Right there and then, your heart skips a beat when you realize the way he’s looking at you, or should you say, the way his eyes are devouring you. You can’t remember the last time someone looked at you in that way.

“It is,” he admits.

“And what does a werewolf king do exactly?” you curiously ask.

“Many things,” he smiles at you. “I’m the supreme leader of the packs which makes me the bridge between them. If any issue arises between them, I have to resolve them and also make sure the werewolves follow the rules. I’m also their protector. I must ensure the laws are respected and nobody reveals our secrets. And do many other things, but those are the most important ones.”

You nod, wondering if these responsibilities aren’t too much of a burden for him. It mustn’t be easy to be the one making decisions, and it definitely sounds like the entire werewolf world relies on him.

“And you?” he asks. “What do you do?”

A bright smile appears on your face. “I’m an Elementary teacher.”

Thinking about the little kids you see every day simply makes you happy. Being able to give those little humans the tools they need to grow in this world is one of the most fulfilling things. This job has been healing your inner child because teaching those young children has allowed you to guide and give them a stability you never had in your childhood.

“Oh, nice,” he says.

The yogurt is now over so you suggest going to the living room. This way, you’ll be sitting comfortably on the couch while discussing the hot topic. Werewolves.

Last night, while in bed, you were mentally going through all the questions you might have for him. There is so much for you to know about this new world, this new heritage. For sure, last night, you didn’t know he was a king, but now that you do, you believe that he might help you a lot more than expected.  

Jungkook sits down next to you, and you decide to face each other.

“So,” you start saying. “I guess you can imagine why I invited you.”

The man sitting next to you nods. “Your wolf blood.”

“Indeed,” you nod as you speak. “I have a lot of questions.”

You don’t even know where to start.

“You said there are packs,” you begin. “Would you know to which pack I belong?”

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. “The Shadow pack,” he pauses for a couple of seconds. “Each pack has a wolf eye color. Mine is red as you’ve already seen, which indicates that I’m the king and member of The Blood pack. The Shadow’s eye color is blue, and for the third and last pack, The Lunar, it’s white,” he explains. “A week ago, I saw your eyes turning blue, that’s how I discovered it.”

The Shadow, The Blood, and The Lunar. Three packs. You mentally register the information he gives you. There is so much to discover about this new reality.

“The Shadows also have unique abilities, one of them being the fact that they can blur into their surroundings.”

That’s what happened to you two days ago after he revealed your true nature. It was just the confirmation of who you are.

“As far as I can remember, I’ve only had heightened senses, but I never came to shift into a wolf. How is that possible?”

“That is something I ignore,” he admits. “You’re the first werewolf who didn’t grow up with her pack’s member. My first guess is the ignorance of your nature prevented it from fully revealing itself.”

You look down at your feet on the couch. It seems so weird that only a part of your abilities has revealed itself throughout your life.

“I’ve tried to find something about you, but I couldn’t,” he admits. “I even reached out to an Alpha of the pack, but nothing.”

“Oh,” you simply say, your eyes meeting his. “Do you think I could meet that Alpha?”

“Yes,” he smiles at you. “I’m sure he’d be happy to meet you, and he might probably help you more than me with your past and even your abilities.”

Jungkook then proceeds to explain how the werewolf world works. There is a hierarchy. Alpha, Beta, Delta, and Omega. Alpha being the highest rank, and you only achieve it once you fully master your powers. Logically, you’re an Omega as you barely know what you can do. Jungkook is an Alpha which makes sense since he’s a king.

If you keep the baby, they will automatically become an Alpha when they become king or queen. Things work a bit differently for the royal family.

Normally, a werewolf experiences their first shift on the first full moon of their fourteenth anniversary. The difference with the royal family is the fact that they experience that at ten years old. It’s quite early in life, but that allows them to master their abilities a lot earlier than any other werewolf.

Obviously, the parents and the family remain by your side throughout your first full moon. They guide you through the pain when transforming, and they stay with you while you’re a wolf. Jungkook tells you that the first transformation is very hard to handle. The pain is unbearable and once you’re a wolf, all your human senses disappear. You’re just a beast. A hunting beast. Having your family by your side prevents you from killing anyone or anything. Slowly and with a lot of work, you are able to control that primal urge.

The question left hanging is when and if you’ll transform. If this pregnancy brings out your wolf blood, there are higher chances that you’ll experience your first full moon. But Jungkook doesn’t have an answer to give.  

Then, he informs you that you can’t transform someone by biting them, that’s an absolute myth. Being a werewolf is genetic. You inherit it from your parents, and you’ll give that gene to your children. Thus, the importance of maintaining pure blood.    

 “For now, I guess that’s all,” you tell him once you’ve asked all the questions.

“Since the next full moon is in two days, I’d like to be with you in case you transform,” he says.

Well, you don’t have much of a choice. There’s this unknown about you, and you wouldn’t like to be alone during your first full moon, especially if it’s painful and bestial.

“Thanks,” you mumble while looking down.

Jungkook offers you a little smile.

“I’m by your side now, yn,” he places his fingers under your chin to slowly lift your head. “I won’t let you navigate this alone.”

His eyes shine with sincerity. You’re thankful that, in the middle of this chaos, you found Jungkook. This man brings so much comfort and seems to have one of the prettiest hearts you have encountered.

“And I’ll support you no matter what you decide with the baby,” he adds.

You remain in silence for a moment, your eyes scanning his soft face. You’ve never seen him this close. You’ve never noticed that little mole under his lips, or the little scar on his cheek, or how perfectly round his nose is. He looks even prettier this closely.  

The decision about your child has already been made, but you haven’t said it out loud yet. Jungkook will be the first one to know, and it makes sense since he’s the father.

“I’m going to keep the baby,” you reveal.  

[pyxxiestyxx]

Class-D

"Umm....?"

You stare at the affini sitting across from you, who is sipping casually from a large mug of tea.  She had grown close to you over the last year, but the last few weeks in particular had been...more?  She suddenly seemed intent on pushing you towards florethood, and more specifically towards one of the more...simple lifestyles.

'There are as many ways to be a floret as there are florets', as the saying goes.  You considered yourself an outgoing and independent type, one who had (with effort and support) gone far, despite any neurodivergencies that often ground progress to a slow crawl.  But the way Ea would look at you...the things she said...well, like what she JUST said, for example.

"I'm merely suggesting that you give it a try, dear.  No contracts, no implants...unless you want those.  I'm referring to something a bit simpler."

You frown, crossing your arms.  "And what exactly do you have in mind, Ea?"

A brilliantly red flower blossoms before your lips, the needles tip glistening green.  "I give you a Class-D, of course.  One that prevents those pesky inhibitions and falsehoods from getting in the way.  And then you and I can chat a little, and I may ask you to do a few things, to see if they make you feel good.  Is that really so dangerous, sweetie?"

"I..." Yes, of course it was...was what you wanted to say.  But if it really was just a Class-D, then it wouldnt change your mind.  They were there to reveal the truth, and the truth of the matter was that you were capable and competent, and it's about time she figured that out.  Sighing, you roll up your sleeve and extend your arm, wincing as the injection slips into your skin.  The verdant drug travels up your arm and to your brain, and an....interesting feeling seems to settle on you.  Not the fresh-out-of-a-dryer blanket of a Class-A, but a slightly warm sheet, perhaps.  You blink a few times, then look at Ea expectantly.

She gently snaps her fingers at you, then points at the floor next to her seat.  "No no, darling.  We aren't going to one-half ass it here.  I intend to show you what I mean, through actions as much as words."

You gawk at her, blushing furiously.  "But...but I don't want to do that!"

"Why?"

"It's embarrassing!"

Ea tilts her head, a coy look passing through violet eyes.  "The only one who thinks it is embarrassing is you, petal.  No one else in this case will care in the least, and you already know what I think you need." She smiles. "If it helps, just think of it as me...coercing you into it.  If anyone asks, you can explain that you didn't have a choice here."

You squint your eyes at her, but your gaze soon follows her arm down to her pointed finger.  Crumbs, she really was serious.  You look around the cafe again, noting how the others weren't even looking your way.

Blushing, you let yourself go limp, flowing off the lip of the seat and into a kneel as you shuffle towards her spot.  When you arrive, you keep your gaze firmly fixed to the left, your hands grasping themselves out of a need to hold onto something.

You wait for her to speak...but she stays silent.  She waits until you give in, until you sneak a glance at her, and only then does she cup your cheek in one large hand as she whispers, "Good Pet."

"I...y-you...it-" she slides her hand over your mouth, preventing the words from haphazardly tumbling out.

"Sweetheart, I said we would chat.  I never said you would get to use people words~"

The hand returns to your cheek, a thumb gently brushing across your lips as she smiles triumphantly.  "Now then, pet.  You are a wonderfully skilled sophont, make no mistake.  But a trained pet is still a pet, honey.  And not everything trained into you is Good."

You open your mouth to protest...only to let the words die in your throat at the warning in her eyes.  Instead, the softest little slip of a whimper manages to drip from your tongue.

Ea smiles wider, her other hand joining the first on your head as she begins to pet you, long firm pulls of her fingers through your hair.  "You know that you push yourself too hard, don't you?  That you keep moving, because the inertia is part of how you stay upright.  You need the constant motion, because you're worried that as soon as you slow down, you'll topple over and shatter."

You try to deny it.  You try to disprove it.  But in the end, you are forced to admit it to yourself:

She's right.

She gently brushed a tear from the corner of your eye, softer than the petals of her flowers.  "But that needn't happen, honey.  Not if you have an Owner to care for you, and hold you close, and keep you safe.  You know this too, don't you?"

You did.  You do.  And it hurts.  And it heals.

Your eyes make a desperate plea towards her, though for what, you aren't sure.  She seemed to be waiting for it, though, because her eyes glow golden ichor.  "And so, since you are being honest with me, I shall be in turn with you.  I will not wait a single second longer to give you what you want, need, crave.  You are my pet, honey.  I will Own you, I will train you, I will condition away any independence and wrestle your thoughts into simple submission.  And, in the end, you will thank me for it."

Her hand brushes one last time over your head as it makes its way to the back of your neck, tracing a line where you know the implant will soon reside.  You shudder as she presses down, down, Down, pushing your face into her vines as you finally are honest with yourself and admit what you realize you always wanted, always needed.

You surrender.

[goldenhazelnut]

Chasing The Calm || Max Verstappen

summary: When a young, determined intern crosses paths with Formula 1 champion Max Verstappen, their connection defies expectations.

Your heart raced as you walked through the paddock. As an intern in the Red Bull communications team, being part of the Formula 1 world was a dream come true. At just 21 years old, you were the youngest on the team, always trying to prove you deserved to be there.

Max Verstappen, on the other hand, was your opposite. At 27, he was already a four-time world champion who seemed to have lived a thousand lives at Formula 1’s relentless pace. Your paths often crossed, but only in fleeting smiles or quick “thank yous” in passing. Until that night.

After another long workday, you were sitting in one of the common areas, reviewing some notes. The paddock was nearly deserted, save for the sound of approaching footsteps. When you looked up, Max stood there, watching you curiously.

“Do you always work this late?” he asked, his voice calm, marked by his distinct Dutch accent.

“Not always,” you replied, trying to maintain a professional demeanor. “Just making sure everything’s ready for tomorrow.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “Always so dedicated. Shouldn’t you be out enjoying the night? You’re young; you’ve got the energy for it.”

You laughed softly, trying to hide your nervousness. “Maybe. But it looks like you’re still here too, so I could say the same about you.”

Max smiled, a genuine one. He pulled out the chair beside you and sat down—a move you didn’t expect. “Fair enough. I guess I’ve spent so much time here I’ve forgotten what a normal night feels like.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, a rarity amidst the chaos of paddock life. You could feel his gaze on you—not invasive, but thoughtful, like he was trying to piece you together.

“So,” he began, breaking the silence, “what brought you to Formula 1?”

“It’s been my dream for as long as I can remember,” you admitted, resting your chin on your hand. “I love the sport, the competition… and I wanted to prove to myself I could get here, even being younger than most.”

Max nodded, as though he understood more than he let on. “I get it. When I joined, I was 17. Everyone said I was too young, that I wasn’t ready. But I think that just made me want to work harder.”

Your eyes met his, and you realized that despite the differences in your age and experience, there was something you shared—a determination to prove yourselves.

“You’re different,” he said suddenly.

“How so?”

“You’re… calm. Most people who are confident talk a lot, try to prove they know everything. But you’re quiet. It’s… refreshing.”

Your throat went dry. You hadn’t expected him to say that, but something about his sincerity made you feel at ease.

“Well, maybe it’s because I’m still learning,” you said with a small smile. “And maybe because I think there’s more to gain from listening than talking.”

He let out a soft chuckle, low and genuine. “You know, I think you’re right.”

A Few Days Later

Your encounters with Max became more frequent. He always found a reason to talk to you—a quick “good luck” before a press conference or a casual “How’s it going?” during a break.

One evening, as the sun dipped low, painting the paddock in warm tones, Max called you over for a conversation. You stood together by the track, away from the buzz of activity.

“You know,” he began, leaning against a safety barrier, “I should probably tell you to stay away from me.”

You frowned, confused. “Why?”

“Because this world is messy. My life is messy. I’m not exactly the kind of guy who can offer you stability.”

You crossed your arms, trying to mask the sting of his words. “And what makes you think I want stability?”

He blinked, caught off guard by your response. “Most people do.”

“I’m not most people,” you said firmly, meeting his gaze.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s what I’m afraid of. You’re different. You’re... honest, and grounded. And being around you makes me forget the chaos. But that’s dangerous—for you and for me.”

You stepped closer, your voice softer but unwavering. “Maybe I don’t mind a little danger. Maybe you shouldn’t decide what’s best for me.”

His eyes searched yours, conflicted but vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen before. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“Then let me find out,” you said, offering a small, reassuring smile.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Max hesitated, then reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch was gentle, his expression tender yet uncertain.

“You’re stubborn,” he murmured, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Maybe,” you replied. “But so are you.”

He laughed softly, the tension easing slightly. “You’re going to make my life even more complicated, aren’t you?”

“Probably,” you teased. “But isn’t that what makes it worth it?”

Max shook his head, a mix of exasperation and admiration. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” you pointed out with a smirk.

He didn’t reply right away, but the look in his eyes said everything. Slowly, he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours.

“Just promise me one thing,” he whispered.

“What’s that?”

“Don’t regret it.”

You smiled, your heart pounding but your voice steady. “I won’t. Will you?”

For the first time, Max didn’t have an answer. Instead, he kissed you, the world around you fading away as you both took the first step into something neither of you could predict but both of you craved.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hi, sorry to bother you, I was just wondering if your planning on updating Congratulations! It's Triplets anytime soon? Because I kinda wanna see what happens once they actually sit down and talk through their misunderstandings because honestly although jazz is probably too busy to go through with it now she was training herself to be one of 2 courses in college which was either neurology or phycology so I figured she'd be the first to recognize that they need to have a sit down and talk with everything laid out or at least partially laid out, it being a really long really difficult conversion with tears trauma flashbacks and probably cake (because let's be honest this convo needs comfort food) and by the end of it they might not even fixed all the misunderstandings they had but it's a start in the right direction :)

"I'm sorry the kids threaten you. They can be a handful," is the first thing out of Jasmine's mouth. She is holding a glass tray with delicious-smelling lasagna, wearing a teal dress that hugs all her curves and seems dolled up for a night out.

She marches right by him, her long red hair falling into wavy curls down her back like waterfalls. They sway with her movement as she leads the way to the dining room.

On the table is a dinner set for two, red candles lit, and the lights dim. It makes him think of all those silly scenes in romance novels he consumed growing up. Jasmine places the tray in the center of the table alongside a salad. She carefully pours some bubbling water into two champagne glasses, humming.

Once done, she turns towards him, taking off the apron wrapped around her front. It reveals a nice but modest view of a split on her dress ending on the edge of her midleg.

"I told them to get you so we can have a dinner date. Bruce offered to babysit for the night." She proclaims, crossing her arms. "I want to see if there is a future for us or if the god of time is just an idiot."

Jason is so stunned by her beauty that he can't find any words to respond. He feels like she just pulled out a live fish and threw it at his face. While he's busy gawking like a fool, the three children squirm in his arms before he feels little hands fumbling around the edge of his helmet.

He jerks his neck away, a warning of bombs on his lips, only to bite his tongue when Dan bypasses his security to pull off the helmet with a laugh. At the same time, Dani reaches up to rip the mask off his face, fast and stiff enough that he swears she was a professional waxer in a past life.

He lets out a yowl, barely able to shift his words from a swear into a substitute. Danny pats his cheek, apologizing for his sibling's lack of manners. Dan doesn't seem to care because he scrambles off Jason's shoulders, head inside of the helmet that was too large for him, and races down the hallway.

"I'm unstoppable!" He screams in glee. Two seconds later, he rams into a wall, hitting it at full force due to the helmet blocking his view. He bounces off the drywall with enough force. He lands on his rear and a soft grunt.

Dani takes that chance to hop out of Jason's arms. She runs at a speed he's sure kids shouldn't be able to reach without having the Allen family gene, tackling Dan before his son can get up. In a tussle that looks too violent for five-year-olds, Dani rips the helmet out of Dan's hands and books it down the hallway, cackling like a loon.

"No! Dani! Give that back!" Dan demands, leaping to his feet and running after his sister. The voice modifiers of their outfits make them sound darker than usual, but it does not make them sound threatening.

Danny sighs heavily. "I better go stop them before that thing blows up. Treat my mom well, or I'll be forced to hurt you."

He patted Jason's cheek again, carefully climbing down to the ground. Despite his words, he calmly walks out of the room, hands tucked into his Prince of Gotham suit pants as if he were going on a casual stroll. The second he reaches the door, he grabs the handle and tugs to close.

Just as it's about to seal, he points two fingers toward his green glowing mask eyes and then points them aggressively at Jason. Once his warning is received, he finishes closing the door.

Jason is left standing in the room, confused out of his mind. It all happened so fast that he was unsure if the kids planned that exit or if they were honestly just like that. It burns to not be sure.

He should.

He is their father.

"Well, sit down. We have a date to get through." Jasmine commands, pushing some of her red hair out of her face. She levels an even calculating stare on him, making him feel she is more prepared for a business meeting than anything romantic. "Let's see what the god of time has in store for us."

[ignoringmyexams]

jason is in the kitchen after patrol the night before halloween, wondering if he should get some takeaway, when his phone rings.

"who the hell calls this late at night? its 4am.."

its your name. he picks up at once.

"hey, you awake? can i come over?" , by the tone in your voice, it seems like you wont take no for an answer.

"it doesnt matter" you continue, "im already standing outside of your door"

this is the only safehouses you know about, and jason has been careful to make you think that he lives there all the time. usually he wouldnt risk you seeing his red hood gear, but at 4am, he thought it was safe to head here, as it was his nearest and largest apartment. he really didnt want to run 10 minutes through the cold and rainy october night to get to the next safehouse, and so now he finds himself rushing to hide his gear someplace you wont find it.

"uh, sure, just wait and ill let you in" he manages to stammer out, feeling nervous not only because he didnt want you to find out his secret identity. he never thought he would end up in this situation that night he met you at that dive bar on the outskirts of crime alley. you were so obviously out of place there, hanging out with your friends, anybody could see that you were students from gotham university, on the hunt for a cheap beer. he and roy had quickly stepped in under the guise of being friendly drunks, to protect you from the leer of some of gothams underbelly.

since then, youd kept coming to the dive bar, and jason kept coming to look out for you. after a while he just accepted that youd managed to work your way into his life, and now hed drive halfway across the city to meet you for lunch after your lectures. at some point, he noticed that his gaze seemed to linger longer that it had used to, and by now he had realized that he was mad about you. something he hoped you still were oblivious to.

"i promise you, you wont regret it. ive brought takeaway!" you chirped back at him.

jason lets you in, and hungrily takes the bag from you. by now youve learned that dumplings are a quick way to get him to do your bidding.

"shouldnt you be sleeping right now? i remember you saying that you have an early lecture tomorrow, or, today i guess." jason asked you. in fact he knew you had an early lecture, because he had your schedule memorized by now, to be able to suprise you with lunch. at this point his brain blocked out other dates and appointments to be able to remember more about you, someting that got him in trouble with bruce every time he forgot training sessions, or family meetings.

you were sat on the sofa, taking up as much space as you possibly could, something you did every time you came over. jason watched as your face turned deadly serious.

"jason, what im about to tell you cant leave this room. you have to promise me."

"of course" he reassured, worried now, "you can tell me everything",

"you sure?" you shot back, "i dont want this to change our relationship, or the way you view me, ok? im still the same person ive always been."

now he was really worried.

"im batman." you said with a completely straight face. "vengeance never sleeps, and so neither can i."

he looked at you with the most deadpan expression he could manage at that point. you held out in silence for what seemed an impressive amount of time before you cracked.

"its true" you wheezed out, "my friends want me to be batman at the halloween party tomorrow, but the costume hasnt arrived yet. and so ive got to use last years costume instead."

the infamous costume of halloween last year. the one jason never got to see you in, as he didnt know you at the time. he hasnt even seen a picture, but the thought that you own it is enough to drive him crazy.

"and so i wondered", you continued, "if i, pretty pleeeasee, could borrow your leather jacket, you know, the one that maches red hoods perfectly?"

now usually, jason would have said no. no one touches that jacket. but its you. and jason was also invited to said halloween party. and if youre going to make him socialize, he might as well have something to look at while doing it. and so he throws the jacket at you.

"try it on", and you do.

although jason is taller and broader than you, you still have some muscle on you, that fills out the arms and shoulders of the jacket in a way that makes it look just oversized instead of akward.

jason almost wants you to keep it. the smile he receives when he lets you borrow it is all he can think of the rest of that night, as he eats the dumplings you left for him.

[orangerafe]

reader giving innocent!nerdy!rafe a blow job for the first time

cw; smut, blow job, nothing else I don’t think

School usually wasn’t a problem for you. You soared through middle school and high school with flying colours, getting A’s and B’s in every class. You thought collage would be easy, and it was at the start. But now you were on your second year, and it was getting harder each time you went to your classes. So after some hassling the teachers and begging for some guidance, they thought it would be a good idea to pair you up with Rafe Cameron

He was the schools golden boy, the one who passed every class with no problems and whose father funded the school to no end, favourited by everyone except most students. You didn’t mind him, he was a sweet boy and you found working with him fun. He explained things well, helping you understand the work better than most teachers did. Everything was going swimmingly, you two would meet up every Thursday and study for a few hours, sometimes getting dinner together

It was harmless, just casual studying after hours. That was until one night you just couldn’t help yourself. Your ovaries were on fire, making your hormones and horniness go through the roof. Poor rafe just wanted to help, and that’s how he found himself laying down on the bed, letting you take off his trunks

“Fuck, you’ve been hiding all this the whole time?” You almost moaned, taking his half hard cock out of his briefs and admiring the piece of flesh. He was big, thick and veiny. Absolutely made to satisfy your needs. He looked down, adjusting his glasses with his finger. “I-I yeah I guess so…” he mumbled, cheeks flushed a light pink. It was adorable really

You glanced up at him, a smirk playing at your lips as you poked your tongue out of your mouth, licking a strip from the base of rafes cock right up to his roaring red tip. Rafes mouth fell open, a low groan escaping his parted lips. He was now harder than ever, the feeling of his muscles spasming in your palm making you giggle. “You like it?” You asked him, watching his cheeks grow redder

Your tongue started to swirl around his tip, teasing the sensitive end. Rafes eyes rolled back, his head leaning back to the pillows as he let out moans of his own, even soft whimpers. You stared up at him, watching his every reaction as you started to throat his length, hallowing your cheeks and flattening your tongue to accommodate his largeness. He was hitting the back of your throat, and you hadn’t even taken him fully into your mouth yet

His hands moved down to thread through your hair, holding it into a makeshift ponytail. “Fuck, your so good at this” he breathed out, hips bucking into your mouth unintentionally. The way he pushed his his made you moan around his dick, the vibrations making him let out a slight whimper

The sound of his whimper made your stomach whirl, butterflies shooting through your body at the sound. You moved your hand to rest around his base, rubbing the rest of what you couldn’t fit in your mouth. Rafe was loving it, head lolled back and eyes shut in pleasure. He knew he wouldn’t last long, but he at least wanted to try last a little longer

Your tongue swirled along the underside of his length, the taste of his cock lingering on your tongue. “Your so good at this — I’m not gonna last” he hissed out, gently tugging on the coloured locks of your hair. You picked up the pace, wanting him to have a good orgasm, a good first experience with oral

His moans became louder, throatier as he came closer and closer to his climax. He was teetering on the edge of whimpering, sounds growing more stretched out and needy. You took him deeper into your mouth, determined to make him cum better than ever before. He whimpered, hands clutching onto your hair. “I’m — fuck I’m about to cum” he nearly whined, sounding desperate for this orgasm

It only took another bob of your head, another rub of your palm and swirl of your tongue for him to be cumming deep in your mouth, warm salty liquid spurting down into your throat. You pulled away, swallowing his load with no problems, minus the little bit that was dribbling down your chin. Rafes body was weak after cuming so hard, looking at you with dazed eyes that had you smiling

“You did good rafe, really good” you praised, rubbing his bicep as you grabbed his boxers and the tracksuit bottoms he was lazily wearing. Rafes cheeks flushed a little, still feeling a little overwhelmed. “Thanks” he replied, voice a little strained. Both of you then laid back on his bed, relaxing and enjoying each others company after something quite intimate

[yandere-wishes]

which batboy does mittens have a crush on?

₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆

Oh, good question!! @fancyfeathers mentioned that Mittens should probably be the eldest of Selina's sidekicks. And is closest in age to Dick Grayson. Which opens up one of my fav tropes of "Childhood friends to lovers" (but make it yancore!!!)

He'd been so sweet once, little boy wonder swinging along the skyline. Pretty like a sunset, decked out in reds and yellows. You'd watch him from your perch atop the scrappers. Arms nervously ringing around a bagged-up bundle of jewels. Your mentor would scuff making comments about fruitless morals and pretty boys.

Kittens chase robins. It's the way the world goes around, just like how black cats chase bats.

You sneak behind him, punching on his back and rolling him around. Robin kicks your ribs out of instinct, aims for your stomach next with his knee. He only stops when his masked eyes meet yours, when he sees the sweet playful smile adorning your lips. This is a game...

It's always been a game.

At least to you...

You'd only learn, years later, that it had always been far too real to Dick.

Your siblings are better than you at the whole "cat burglar" thing. They creep through the shadows and glide through half-open windows. They steal rubies and diamonds and pearls. They leave little scratch marks and lipstick stains on the safes they rob. They spend the nights being chased by bats and birds. And then when the sun threatens to shine once more they steal kisses and love bites.

You'd always preferred the day. The monotone ease found only under the sun's gentle rays. You prefer to give instead of take, your youngest sister always said it was Nightwings fault for that. That the first robin had rubbed off too much on you.

You still keep an old photo of Dick in your apartment, a silly little photo of two kids, smiling with blood between their teeth and haphazard empty gums. Dick's nose is bleeding, you have a black eye.

You can't quite remember who took the photo.

Bruce or Selina.

It doesn't really matter.

Some things are far too deep-rooted. Crystallized in blood. You've long hung up your mask, and handed in your whip. You've renounced the ways of the cat, renounced the ways of a rogues. You spend your days inside a school, teaching the young of Gotham, watching how the trauma seeps in prematurely, coiling and embedding itself into the lady Gotham's children. Hurt them young so they learn to survive.

You feel so guilty...

It's hard to leave lineage rotting in its grave, hard to abandon and reject that which pumps through your veins. You still pick the locks, still, slip through shadows as if they were a second home, you're still more feline than human. More freak than normal.

Only this time you don't have your mentor or your sisters.

You don't have your claws or whip.

There's a security guard with a gun.

Pointed straight at you...

Dick Grayson, Robin, Nightwing. He'd been so sweet once. You're glad to see the saccharine hasn't washed off. The boy wonder stands in front of you, although you guess he isn't much of a boy anymore. His uniform is hard on your eyes, reality glitches, you see him dressed in his sunset colors. Reds and yellows, young and free. Dick offers you a sweet smile,

"Hey, it's been a while..."

"Yeah, it has."

Dick assures the security guard he'll handle you. Still, you don't miss the way his blue eyes burn holes into the other man's back. He opens the car door for you before getting behind the wheel. On the way, you try to reason with him. For old time's sake, you beg. "I really was just trying to get those kids some toys, but there's so many of them and the prices these days are-"

"I know," Dick says, his bright smile sends your heart a flutter. "It's alright, I'll take care of everything." You laugh leaning back, looking at his reflection through the mirror, that broken nose did end up healing nicely.

He doesn't take you to the station, instead he drives to his apartment. Deep down you knew he'd never hand you in, he couldn't, he'd spent his whole life watching that bat excuse the cat. He can't go against his training, he too can't abandon his heritage. He pulls you out of the car and into a tight embrace promising he'll keep you safe. And you hate how he feels all so utterly safe, how he smells like home and happiness. You hardly notice how hard he squeezes and how hungrily his lips hover above your pulse point.

Thus he spoke but you don't remember listening.

He spoke of finally having you again.

Of loving you again.

You only ever catch the odd word.

Utterly distracted by the delicate twinkle in his ocean eye.

It's hard to focus on the words when for the first time in a long long time you finally feel like your old self again.

High off nostalgia.

₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆ ₍^𖹭 𖹭^₎⟆

Okay, so all this being said there is an alternative.

@darkpeppermint had another idea, since Mittens is so different from the rest of her family, then she may not even fall for a batboy at all and just marry a sweet golden retriever farm boy...

And yet, despite the sweet fairytale twist they tried to propose. My sick and twisted brain heard the words "golden" and "farm boy" and immediately thought of PROFESSOR CRANE...

Maybe poor little Mittens ends up getting manipulated by the charming professor, Crane. Maybe they meet one day when she's taking her class on a field trip to Gotham U and ends up bumping into Jonathan.

There's just something so familiar about him. So nostalgic, he reminds her of home, of her family, of her childhood friends...he almost feels safe.

Welp Fancy, it finally happened we've become co-parents again.

Our children's list is Kachina and Mittens so far 🤣🤣 Let's see who gets adopted next lol.

[heartlessvirgo]

Ojitos Lindos

Summary:

A fresh-faced DEA agent, new to Colombia, has zero time for Javier Peña after he leaves her hanging once.

Paring: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+MDNI, Swearing, Kissing, heavy petting, protected sex, oral, butt stuff kinda? Drug use, Mention of weapons and kidnap.

Word Count: 10.4K

A/N: Jesus Christ, this one really got out of hand. I always do this, I need to learn how to stop yapping and make my stories shorter lol. I apologize in advance for this one guys. Anyways, I hope you like this one.

You were an idiot. Plain and simple. You’d done dumb, even dangerous shit in college, but this? This was next level. Pathetic. And you knew it. Still, you couldn’t stop the flush in your cheeks every time the restaurant door swung open.

You were smart—everyone had told you your whole life. Top of your class, with a dual degree in Criminology and International Relations. So, how could you fall for something like this? Life just had to knock you on your ass at least once, and apparently, this was the time.

Stirring the cherry in your rum and coke, you noticed your lipstick had smudged from the copious times you'd licked your lips raw. It was hopeless. When you slammed the pesos on the table and stormed out, there was only one thing you were certain of.

Fuck Javier Peña.

Right after the New Year, you transferred to the DEA’s Colombia office—a move you had meticulously planned for years. This was the culmination of countless late nights spent buried in textbooks while your peers were out living their carefree college days. Now, in your mid-twenties, you have the credentials and the career to validate your sacrifices.

The initial weeks felt like stepping into a dream. The sunlit days, the vibrant culture, and the sense of purpose invigorated you. You had bought a new wardrobe to handle Colombia’s sweltering heat, eager to embrace the change in climate and your life. This was your moment—a chance to shed the reserved persona and finally unlock the vibrant, confident woman you had always felt trapped beneath layers of responsibility and caution.

That's why, after your first week, when Agent Peña noticed you, it felt like everything was falling into place. He was unbelievably handsome, undeniably skilled at his job, and you couldn't help but notice had a tight ass in even tighter jeans. It was a heady combination—one that made you think, just for a moment, that maybe things would go your way. 

He asked you out in that casual, sly way—one that should've been a red flag. Right by the copy machine, just as you bent down to grab a manila folder. But you didn’t see it then. You were new, and no one had warned you—not that you would have listened. So, you got ready hours in advance, took a taxi to the restaurant, and waited.

He never showed. Not a word afterward either, no acknowledgment that you’d waited over two hours at the place he told you to meet him. From that moment on, you swore you’d give him a hard time whenever you could. Javier, with his stupid smug grin, annoyingly handsome face, and the infuriating way he slipped under your skin like he had a map to all your weak spots.

You turn the corner just as you hear footsteps behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, the familiar rush of irritation bubbles to the surface. The hair on the back of your neck stands as if pointing you toward danger. 

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear…

Strolling down the hallway with that damned confident swagger. Agent Peña makes long strides as he matches your speed and walks beside you. He cocks his head to the side, lips twitching up into a smirk. 

“Cariño, you look better and better each day.” his voice is sultry and smooth like a chocolate bar left out in the sun all day. 

“Agent Peña,” your voice is professional, cold, distant—eyes narrowing to a tunnel vision before you. 

“You wound me with your integrity. I think as friends, we are on a first-name basis now,” he replies, hand on his chest in false hurt. 

You bite back a sharp retort, feeling a knot of frustration curl in your stomach. "We are not friends; we are coworkers, if that," you respond, your voice as chilly as a sheet of ice. Your steps quicken as you wish the hallway would end, your mind swirling with one question—how did he even find you down here, in the quiet, shadowy corners of the DEA?

He keeps pace, his presence unwavering. “Ah, come on now,” he says, the edge of amusement in his voice. “You can’t tell me we haven’t already crossed that line.” His tone is a smirk, lingering in the air like perfume, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of a response.

“There is no line,” you retort.

"I see your professionalism hasn't dulled your beauty," Peña murmurs, his voice dripping with that same sultry warmth. 

He walks a little closer, his head turned towards you, not hiding the subtle delight in his eyes. "Come on, you can’t be that cold, cariño. You and I know what happens when ice melts…” he bumps your shoulder and you stop midstride. He walks a little further before stopping, half turning back. He’s wearing one of his formal suits, a blue button up underneath a cream suit jacket. 

“What do you want?” You can tell he’s not here for pleasantries. He’s got that look in his eyes—like he’s got something in mind, and it sure as hell isn’t sweet small talk. He turns back to face you, observing you slowly, taking in how your hair falls differently today and how your heels click a bit louder on the floor.

He smirks, shifts his jaw, then parts his lips. “What makes you think I want something?”

You can almost hear the defensiveness in his voice, but you’re not fooled. You tilt your head, unimpressed. “I think we both know ‘bullshit’ is your middle name.”

He chuckles low, a sound that’s almost a warning in itself. “Such a blunt little thing. Colombia’s rubbed off on you, huh?”

You don’t flinch, meeting his gaze with a steady stare. “Am I wrong?”

He smirks, his eyes never leaving yours. He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, closing the distance between you just enough to make things feel... interesting. His lips curl up at the corners as if savoring the tension.

“Bullshit, huh?” he murmurs, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to that smooth, almost too confident tone. “Guess I’ve been called worse.”

You cross your arms, standing your ground. “Cut the shit. You need access to a file, right? Which one?” 

His smile falters briefly, but he regains his cool almost immediately. “I was hoping you could help me with that.” 

You raise an eyebrow, looking at the files in your arms, the top stamped ‘confidential.’ “Do you have authorization? Papers, forms...?”

He shifts his weight, the slightest trace of impatience flickering behind his casual demeanor. “I don’t have time for red tape.”

You don’t back down, your gaze unwavering. “Did you fill out the proper forms? Because without them, I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

His smirk is still there, but there’s a glint in his eyes now—amusement mixed with a hint of challenge. “Well, I’ll just have to talk you into it.”

You shake your head, not giving in. “Not without the right paperwork. You know the rules.”

He takes another step forward, just enough to make the air between you thicken. “I’m starting to think you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

You feel your lips twitch into a smirk. “Maybe. But I’m also the one with the file you want.”

He smirks right back, intrigued but not ready to let it go. “Do me this favor, Please, Solo esta vez.” He says it so sweetly, reaching over to brush his fingertips against your arm, brown eyes so tender. 

You feel the pull of his gaze but keep your composure. “No hay favores sin autorización, Peña.” You make sure your words are clear—no favors without authorization.

It feels exhilarating to stand in his way, to deny him what he expects—or, in this case, what he asks so damn nicely. There’s a quiet power in it as he fixes his gaze on you, his eyes flicking down to the file on top of the stack. You can almost feel the weight of the unspoken history behind his gaze—he's probably never heard "no" before, not as a child, and certainly not now. And in this moment, it feels sweeter than it should to be the one who says it.

“Huh,” he scoffs after a moment. "Maybe Colombia’s been good for you after all." 

You walk away, pointedly ignoring him, praying he isn’t watching your ass with every sway of your hips. You focus instead on your route, heading back to drop off the files. A small, satisfied smile tugs at your lips as you make your way to your office, the image of his disappointed expression lingering in your mind.

As you finish packing up for the day, Camila appears at the foot of your office, her purse casually slung over her shoulder.

“We’re heading out for drinks. You in?” Camila asks, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as you collect your keys.

A fleeting thought crosses your mind—refusing due to the bottle of chardonnay waiting for you at home. But something holds you back. It’s Friday. You’ve been telling yourself you’d break out of your shell this year, that being a homebody wasn’t part of the plan.

“Yeah,” you say, the words slipping out before you can second-guess yourself. “Sounds fun.”

While finishing your makeup, you sip a glass of wine, the soft hum of anticipation building as you call for a taxi. The click of your heels echoes in the stairwell, a near stumble reminding you of their height as you descend from your apartment. When you arrive at the bar, your eyes sweep the room, spotting your coworkers. The black, form-fitting dress you chose hugs your curves, drawing more than a few glances as you enter.

“There you are!” Camila calls out over the pulsating music as you approach the bar. She flashes a grin and motions toward a lively group in the corner, some engrossed in darts, others deep in conversation. “We’ve got a table over there.”

Your gaze sweeps over the group, a soft smile tugging at your lips as Camila adds your drink to her tab.

“Is she new?” you murmur, subtly nodding toward the striking blonde in the blazing red dress. The fabric clings to her tall frame, accentuating her height—she even towers over you in your heels.

Camila squints, following your gaze, her eyes widening in recognition when they land on the woman.

“Fresh out of college, filling the front desk position,” she leans in, her voice low in your ear. You purse your lips, remembering what it felt like to be the new blood in a den of lions.

“How’s she doing?” you ask.

Camila shrugs. “Can’t type for shit, but she’s picking it up. We all start somewhere.”

You nod, taking a sip from your drink, letting the conversation settle with a quiet understanding.

You settle in with your coworkers, the laughter and music blending into a comforting backdrop. The evening feels light and carefree until a quiet ripple of attention shifts the mood at your table. Curious, you glance over your shoulder to see what’s caught their focus.

There he is—Agent Peña, standing impossibly close to the new hire. She’s leaning casually against the bar top, her elbows resting on the worn wood, while he hovers beside her, his arm resting just behind her back. His light-wash jeans fit snugly, the red button-up tucked in just enough to emphasize his lean waist.

A flicker of something stirs in your chest—a memory, a pang of annoyance. You almost scoff but catch yourself, the sight all too familiar. Not long ago, you were the naive girl standing in her place, drawn into his web of effortless charm.

“What a man-whore,” you mutter to the women beside you. They nod, silent yet captivated, unable to deny the allure of watching him work. His moves are calculated yet smooth, like how he leans in to light the cigarette resting between her lips, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"I heard he sleeps with women to get information about the guerrillas," Camila says, the rumor so absurd it almost makes you laugh. But then again, you have no idea what happens beyond the office walls. Your world is confined to the stale scent of cigarettes and the endless rustle of paper.

"Why would they risk their lives for sex...with him?" you say, the disbelief apparent in your voice, tinged with laughter. The alcohol is loosening your tongue, making you bolder than usual.

Camila leans in, her tone more serious as she says your name, drawing the attention of the women at the table, who suddenly avert their eyes. "There’s got to be a reason he sleeps around, right? Maybe he’s just... really good at it?" she suggests, and you scoff, shaking your head. You don’t believe that; no one could be that good at sex.

Isabel nods, and a few other women follow suit. You swallow hard, the realization settling heavily in your chest: he’d slept with all of them, used them. The looks of quiet resignation on their faces send a sharp pang through you as they watch him, a silent understanding shared between them.

A heavy silence lingers at the table, the weight of old wounds too much to bear. You can’t stand it anymore. Standing up, you excuse yourself without a word, heading to the bar to order one last drink before closing out for the night.

“Let me get this one,” you hear and feel someone slip in beside you. It's Agent Murphy, and he offers you a warm smile. Of the two, you always preferred Murphy. He was respectful—always saying "please" and "thank you," never once flirting with you. You’d even shared dinners with his wife at his home several times. If the DEA building were on fire, you’d choose to save Steve over Peña without a second thought. Did that make you a bad person?

“How are you getting home?” he asks, his tone casual as he slides a few pesos onto the bar before turning to face the crowd, his back to the counter.

“Probably a taxi. I didn’t bring my car,” you reply, nursing your drink as the two of you watch the ebb and flow of people around you.

“Let me give ya a ride home,” he says, and you feel the familiar burn of alcohol easing in your chest. 

“I’ll be fine, really. It’s out of your way,” you wave him off, trying to sound casual. You’ve never had an issue with taxis before, and the pepper spray in your purse gives you some comfort. Not to mention, you’re no stranger to self-defense.

“Don’t argue with me,” he replies, lifting his beer to his lips. “Connie’d kill me if she found out I let you take a damn taxi in this country.”

You exhale a sigh, nodding at his insistence. His chivalry is almost endearing in its persistence. You glance at Peña, a fleeting thought passing through your mind: Why couldn’t he be more like Murphy? Your gaze then diverts to the table, where the women still observe Peña and the new hire. They’re tangled together now, their mouths colliding, the kiss hungry and unrestrained, leaving little to the imagination.

You look away, trying to hold it together and avoid vomiting on the bar floor.

“Javier still asking for favors?” Murphy asks, pulling your focus back to him.

“He knows the answer’s always no. Whatever he wants, it’s not coming from me. I’ve got to stick to the rules, even if the rest of them are crooked,” you say, setting your empty glass down on the bar.

“I told ‘em to stop asking, especially with the promotion and all,” he mutters. But there’s no stopping Peña—not even Murphy. You haven’t forgotten about the promotion you’ve been working your ass off for. Every move you make, every time you tell Peña to fuck off, is a gamble. One wrong step, and you’ll be screwed, even for eyes like those. 

“I can handle him,” you say softly, turning to look at the two again, but it’s just the blonde. 

You can feel the shift in the air as you stand there before seeing him. Peña approaches—slow and deliberate like he’s got all the time in the world. He stops short of invading your personal space, his presence almost suffocating.

“You two look cozy,” His voice is low, and despite himself, there's that smirk—cocky, lewd, and dangerously familiar. The red neon lights create shadows across his features. He looks devilish, like any second, and he’ll grow horns to match his attitude. 

You don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction, but you can feel your pulse quicken. Even when he’s being a jerk, there’s something magnetic about him, like a tension waiting to snap. It must be the alcohol. You had never seen him while you were drinking and avoided seeing him outside of work at all costs. 

"I didn’t realize you moonlighted as a comedian, Peña," you mutter, trying to inject a bit of bite into your words, hoping it'll deter him. But he doesn’t flinch. Instead, he tilts his head and slowly swigs his beer. You watch the movement in his throat as it dips, the faint trace of lipstick marking his jaw and neck.

“Ay, cariño, you always know how to keep things interesting,” he says, his tone smooth, not missing a beat.

"Who are you trying to impress here, Peña? It's exhausting." you feel your cheeks flush with anger but attempt to suppress it. But it’s hard, so hard, when all he does is use people. And the alcohol makes it so easy to rip him a new one, bite his head off, or ruin his night. All you knew was he twisted something inside you, and you didn’t know how to uncoil that. 

"Impress? Not trying to impress anyone," Peña says with a slight smirk, looking at Murphy like he’ll have his back, his voice low and relaxed. "I just do what I do. If it bothers you, that's on you." He shifts his weight and juts a hip out. His eyes study you, your body, and your face like he's trying to figure something out. Then he shrugs, "But you sure seem like you’re trying to impress me, though."

Your cheeks flush bright red at his false accusation. No, you did not dress to impress anyone, let alone Javier fucking Pena. No way. 

“I would never try to impress you, never.” you spit, glancing at Murphy. He gives you an amused smirk as he watches you two square up. Like he knows something you don’t. Ugh, not him too. You hoped Pena wasn’t rubbing off on him. 

"Sure thing, cariño," he says, flashing a grin as he drags his tongue across his pink bottom lip—the one that juts out whenever he's upset, lost in thought, or buried in paperwork. Damn.

You stomp away, shaking your head, trying to shake off the frustration. You round the table, offering a quick goodbye to the women before grabbing your purse. As you head for the door, you pass the blonde woman, the compact in her hand as she reapplies her lipstick. You feel a pang of sympathy for her, but you're not about to come off as a bitch. So, instead, you do the only thing you know how to do—take another shot at Peña.

"Hey, you’re new here, right?" you ask, your tone soft and genuine. It's not the kind of conversation you typically start with, but something about her makes you feel bad. She snaps her compact closed with a quick flick, and her smile catches you off guard momentarily. It’s an innocent, almost naïve expression, and for reasons you can’t fully explain, it makes your chest tighten. She looks over at Peña briefly before meeting your eyes again, her expression shifting, maybe uncertain but hopeful. 

"Yeah—" she begins, but you don’t let her finish.

"Whatever you do, don’t sleep with Agent Peña," you say, your voice low but pointed, trying and failing to suppress the hint of amusement tugging at your lips. "He’s got a bad case of crabs. Like antibiotic resistant, gave it to the whole second floor."

You almost smile at how her face shifts between disgust and disbelief, but you keep your composure as Peña steps into the conversation. He glances between the two of you, a smirk on his lips.

"Good evening, ladies," he says, his voice smooth and effortless.

"Buenas noches," you reply smugly. You turn and walk away, not sparing them another glance, leaving the air between them thick with confusion. Behind you, you can hear her reaction—sharp, disgusted, and Peña, as usual, too slow to understand what just happened.

“I don’t even wanna know,” Murphy laughs, shaking his head as you both step out of the bar.

The next day, the Mercado is lively in the early morning, bustling with vendors shouting over one another to draw in customers. The air smells of ripe fruit and freshly baked bread, the sharp tang of herbs mixing with the earthy scent of soil. Stalls line the narrow paths, overflowing with vibrant produce. The morning sun casts long shadows on the ground, but the heat is already rising, making the place hum.

You’re wearing shorts, a tank top, and a flowy white blouse as the breeze flows past you. You wander slowly, letting the vibrant colors and sounds wash over you. You don’t quite know what you’re looking for, but moving through the crowd feels like something small you can control in a still unknown place. 

Bending down to get a better look at the fruit before you, the market’s chaos continues—loud, alive, but somehow distant.

Then, a sudden shift. As if the air seems to tighten, the market buzz fading as you hear a purposeful, smooth clearing of a throat behind you. And it's like the space around you narrows because that subtle sound is something you could recognize in a crowded room. Or a busy market. Without even turning around, you know it’s him.

“Well, well, I thought you’d be nursing a hangover,” Peña says, his voice a little too easy, like he had been waiting for this moment. Waiting around every corner, like he’d orchestrated it. 

"Are you following me?" The words slip out, half accusation, half curiosity. You don't need to look over your shoulder to know he’s standing there, one hip out.  His presence becomes more like a shadow at your back—unavoidable, unsettling.

Peña’s chuckle rumbles behind you, low and unbothered, as if the question amuses him more than it irritates. The tension in the air seems to pull tighter, and for a moment, you wonder if you could even breathe properly. His proximity, that unmistakable energy he carries, presses into your space, making you feel more aware of him than the people around you.

The moment hangs there for a beat before Peña speaks again, his words now threaded with a sense of casual authority. “Maybe. Or maybe I just know where you like to shop.” There’s no mistaking the teasing in his voice now, the hint of a smile lurking behind his words.

You take a step forward, the weight of his gaze on you like a constant pull. But you refuse to let it show—refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s successfully annoyed you. Instead, you keep walking steadily to create distance, though the space seems to shrink with every step.

He doesn’t follow immediately. For a moment, the market feels normal again. The chatter of vendors, the shuffling of shoes. Everything around you is mundane and ordinary. But you know, without turning, that he’s still there. That he’s watching, sunglasses low on his arched nose, casting a cool shadow over the sharp lines of his face. His presence isn’t loud but it sure is undeniable, and you can feel the hair on your neck rise. 

The deli vendor shifts his gaze between you and Peña, clearly caught in the tension. Peña leans forward just slightly, his voice a soft, almost bored command. “Get the filet; it’s more tender, and for godsakes, get the cut from the back, por favor.”

You barely register the vendor’s nod as you drag your attention away from Peña’s words. You fix your gaze on the glass display of meats, a silent war playing out in your head. You adjust the weight of the produce bag slung over your shoulder. It’s heavier than you remember, or maybe your anger is getting the best of you.

“Why are you still here?” You snap the question more out of habit than genuine curiosity, keeping your eyes trained on the man wrapping the meat in front of you, unwilling to look at him for fear of seeing the grin you know is there.

His shadow shifts and there is a faint laugh in his voice as he responds. You feel the warmth of his body just beside yours. Like one wrong move, and you’d brush against his side. 

“Got a tip about this place, I didn’t follow you here, princesa.” His tone is low, too smooth, like something that shouldn’t feel dangerous but does anyway.

You don't know what it is about him, why his proximity twists your insides into knots. Maybe it’s how he speaks, knowingly, like he’s been around long enough to make every word feel like an unspoken challenge. Perhaps it’s the way he stands, always just a bit too close, constantly too aware of where you are. Or what he wears, jeans and a white shirt, so casual. It makes you…It makes you angry. 

You finally turn to face him, and there it is. The slight arch of his brow, the small smirk that tugs at his lips. His mustache, perfect in its precision, only adds to the irritation that surges up your spine. How can someone look so deliberately smug and idiotic at the same time?

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” you snap, the tips of your ears burning.

Peña’s gaze flicks to you, sharp momentarily, before his usual cool indifference settles back in. He shifts his weight against the counter, one elbow resting lazily on the edge, the picture of someone who doesn’t have a care in the world. “Probably,” he says, his mouth curling into a faint smirk. “But this is more fun.”

You both stand there, an invisible line drawn in the air between you, a standoff. Peña won’t leave, and part of you knows that now. 

The vendor clears his throat, and you pay him, thanking him quickly. You can feel Peña’s eyes on you as you pivot and begin to walk away.

You trudge through the hectic Mercado, your grocery bag digging into your arm as you weave between people. The crowd swirls around you, but you feel him, steady and unwavering, hot on your heels. The crowd parts for Peña, fluid and instinctual, like the Red Sea before Moses. It’s not the kind of attention anyone asks for, but it’s the kind he commands without effort.

Finally, you spill out of the Mercado and onto the street, the bustling noise fading into the background. Your arm aches under the bag's weight, but you keep walking, your sneakers tapping against the cracked pavement. You can still hear the soft patter of his boots behind you, the sound just a touch too close.

“Peña, I don’t need a bodyguard,” you mutter, furrowing your brows. You stop, but he doesn’t. He keeps walking, though something in his posture changes. Different from any other time, a hushed gravity suspends in the air. He glances over his shoulder, eyes scanning the space behind him. One hand rests on his hip, and you catch the flash of metal beneath his shirt—the weight of a holstered gun.

You glance down the street. It’s eerily silent, with no stray cars and no pedestrians. The street feels barren like it’s holding its breath. The midday sun beats down on the asphalt, but a strange chill pricks the back of your neck. The air feels thin, too still, like something is off—like the world has paused, waiting.

You don’t know how he noticed, but he did. It’s almost imperceptible, yet instinctively, you realize that this is what he does best— always been one step ahead. You’ve never seen him in action before, not like this. There’s a certain precision in how his gaze scans the surroundings, so calculating, his movements so fluid they seem choreographed. It’s almost… beautiful in its deadly grace. It's terrifying.

His eyes flick to you, locking onto yours with a look that needs no words. You don’t question it. You simply follow him, your voice lost, swallowed by the heavy air between you. The grocery bag you were so annoyed about carrying moments ago feels like a distant memory, the weight forgotten as your heart hammers in your chest.

He moves with purpose, his strides long and steady, leading you away from the busy street into an alley that smells faintly of wet concrete and diesel. It’s quieter here, the sounds of the city muffled by the walls that close in around you. The heat of the midday sun lingers in the narrow space, but there's a chill in the air as you see the shadow of a few men lurking just out of sight.

He stops abruptly in front of a metal gate and taps in a pin with the precision of someone who’s done it a thousand times before. The gate creaks open, and he gestures for you to slip inside. You do so without a second thought, too caught up in the moment's urgency to ask questions. 

The door shuts behind you with a low thud, the echo sharp in the quiet. Javier’s gun is out before you realize it, his movements swift. You’re in a long hallway, and he leads you to another door, which he unlocks with a key. 

He locks the deadbolt behind him, his eyes never leaving the peephole. Only then do you notice where you are.

You linger in the living room, the remnants of adrenaline humming beneath your skin as your eyes sweep over the space. This isn’t what you imagined. You thought he’d live in a place that screamed Javier Peña—something flashy, brash, maybe a little careless, with leather couches, a stocked bar, and ashtrays scattered like afterthoughts. A bachelor pad built for indulgence, not permanence. But this?

This is a home—the kind of place that feels oddly welcoming as if the walls themselves had been warmed by the life lived inside them. Sunlight spills in through half-drawn curtains, casting soft patterns on worn furniture. The couch—slightly lumpy with cushions that have clearly seen better days—faces a modest coffee table scarred with the faintest traces of water rings and cigarette burns. A stack of records leans precariously against a battered turntable in the corner, their spines worn smooth with use.

The air smells faintly of tobacco, wood polish, and something you can’t quite place—maybe the ghost of cologne clinging to his leather jacket. The infamous jacket you’d seen him shrug into as he and Murphy made their way out of the office.

Not that you’d habitually thought about his house or the things he’d keep in it. Or him. Definitely not him.

“Someone’s been following you. Who knows for how long,” he mutters, his tone sharp, clipped, and brimming with restrained anger.

He moves to the window, parting the blinds with two fingers just enough to peer outside. The barrel of his weapon stays low, the gleam of the steel catching a sliver of sunlight.

His eyes sweep the street, and the hardened look on his face is nothing like you’ve ever seen before. 

“Me? I’m nobody. Why the hell would anyone follow me?” you ask, your voice cracking under the pressure of trying to sound unaffected.

He doesn’t look at you, his eyes scanning the street beyond the glass, every muscle in his body so taut you can see the ripple beneath his shirt.

“Doesn’t matter who you are,” he mutters, his voice low and cutting through the street noise like a blade. “They find out you’re with the DEA, and you’ve got a target on your back.”

Your pulse quickens and the sound of blood rushing in your ears drowns out the quiet of the room. The space suddenly feels smaller, every shadow sharper, and the calm you’d clung to is now a distant memory.

Your mind races, but all the thoughts are tangled up in a knot—half of you wants to dismiss it, to say he’s just trying to scare you, to brush it off as just another part of the job. But the other half knows this is real. 

“So what, I’m just gonna have men wanting to kidnap me?” you say, upset, your grocery bag thumping on his couch as you sigh. This was a big deal, a huge deal, but right now, in your career, it felt more like an inconvenience. 

“You don’t get it,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly, the weight of his words carrying a tone of finality. His voice is low and firm, like a man who’s seen too much and no longer has time for explanations. 

“They wouldn’t just kidnap you…” He trails off, but you don’t need him to finish the sentence. The image plays out in your mind—a quiet warning etched with the brutality only someone like Peña could understand.

You swallow, and for the first time, reality's sharp, biting edge sinks in. The world outside this room or your office walls wasn’t just something you could read about in reports or watch on the news. It’s here. It’s now. 

Peña moves from the window, holstering his gun but keeping his hand close to his hip. You stare at him, his dark eyes unreadable. His silence makes the room feel smaller like he’s drawing you in despite the distance between you.

You cross your arms, trying to force some semblance of control, though your breath is coming faster now. “I’ve dealt with danger before, Peña. This... This isn’t a fucking movie.”

He looks at you for a beat too long, like he’s trying to read you, see through the layers of bravado you’re wearing. “This isn’t the same thing,” he says quietly, almost as if he’s speaking more to himself than to you. “You’re not in control here.”

The words hit harder than you expect, striking a nerve you didn’t know you had. A flicker of something—fear, maybe—passes over you, but you force it down. You don’t need him to see that.

“And you think you can protect me?” you ask, the question escaping before you can stop it. There’s a sharpness in your tone, a mixture of challenge and... curiosity.

“Protect you?” he repeats, his tone dry but not unkind. “Cariño, I don’t think they’re handing out medals for saving you from yourself.” He smirks faintly, his eyes flicking to how you stand out in the room like it’s absurd. “But if you’re hell-bent on getting snatched, by all means, call a taxi. I could use the night off.”

Finally, you let out a shaky breath, reaching for the bag of groceries that still rests on the couch. “I’m not some damsel in distress, Peña,” you mutter, though your voice lacks the conviction it had a few minutes ago.

“Good,” he replies, brows furrowing as you attempt to walk past him. “Then don’t make me waste my time playing knight in shining armor. You’re safe here—now let me figure out what we’re gonna do.” He reaches for you, grabbing your upper arm with a strength you know is half the power. 

You pause mid-stride, the weight of his grip burning through the sleeve of your thin shirt. So thin you can basically feel his fingerprints burning into your flesh. It’s not painful, not even close—but how he holds you feels like a tether to something you’re not sure you want to name. You glance down at his large hand before trickling up towards his gaze, the dark pools of his eyes crackling with frustration.

“I don’t need you to rescue me,” you snap, trying to inject more steel into your words than you actually feel. “I’m not—”

“Yeah, I know,” he interrupts, his voice low and sharp enough to cut. “You’re not a damsel. You think you can handle this yourself,” he recites like it’s a joke like you’re a joke. 

The heat in your chest flares, half from his words and half from how he’s still holding on, as though letting go isn’t an option. Like you’re a kid, naive. “Let go of me, Peña,” you say, warning in your eyes, quieter this time. But this feels different than other times, more at stake, your close proximity, the walls around you. You feel inebriated as if your thoughts won’t flow in a cohesive line no matter how hard you try. 

He was drawing you in, the shift in his gaze disarming. Those brown eyes—soft, searching, almost wounded—held a weight that made breathing hard. They begged for something you weren’t sure you could give. Or maybe he just wanted you to believe they did.

And damn it, it was working.

You could feel yourself slipping, the sharp edges of your anger dulling against the pull of his presence. Every rational thought screamed at you to hold your ground, to remember who he was and what he’d done. This was his play, wasn’t it? The practiced vulnerability, the carefully crafted sincerity meant to turn you into putty in his hands.

And yet, the worst part was how you wanted to let it happen. To let those stupid, heartbreakingly tender eyes convince you that he wasn’t all bad. That you weren’t just another stop along the way to wherever he’d inevitably disappear to next.

It made you want to scream. Or maybe slap him. Or yourself—whoever deserved it more in this moment.

His hand eases its grip on your arm, but his fingers linger, curved just enough to stay connected. Not holding, not quite, just there—as if to remind himself you’re real. “Quédate aquí,” he says, his voice low, a shade too soft. Almost pleading. Almost breaking. That sound—it crawls under your skin and wraps itself around your ribs. You hate how it settles, molten and insistent, dragging heat low in your belly.

“Por favor.” His tone shifts, like a secret he can’t entirely swallow. “Do me this favor, just once.”

“Fine. Just once…” Your eyes betray you, flickering to his mouth. It’s unfair how there’s no smirk to hide behind this time. No shield from that damn cupid’s bow, sharp and pouty. Your gaze trails upward—his nose, the slope of it, the way it catches the light—until you meet his eyes. He’s watching you, his focus as unyielding as a snare, as though cataloging every place you’ve been looking, every thought you’re trying not to have.

“Give me that,” His fingers find the strap of your bag, curling around it effortlessly as if it belongs to him. He slowly lifts it off your shoulder, and you don’t stop him. You don’t move. You just let him, even when it should annoy you, even when his hand brushing yours feels like a sizzling brand.

“You’re a pain in my ass,” He doesn’t say a word as he sets your bag down on the couch. His movements are all too intentional, too measured. You barely register the sound of the fabric hitting the cushion before he turns back to you.

Your breath catches somewhere in your throat. He's too close again, close enough that the room feels like it's folding in on itself, bending around the space between you as if it’s trying to force you together.

“So I’ve been told,” He replies, not even a hint of surprise in his eyes.

You stand there, frozen, almost daring the air to crack, even though every instinct in your body is screaming for you to step back and put more distance between you. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Distance doesn't change how it feels. The weight of him, the pull of him—it's suffocating, magnetic. You're trembling, though you can’t decide if it's from the desire to step closer or the fear of what giving in might mean.

Your neck burns with heat, crawling up, spreading like wildfire, and you hate that it's happening. Hate that he’s the reason your pulse is racing, your skin buzzing with sensitivity. You can’t give in. You’ve seen it. The way women fall over themselves for him, like moths to a flame. No, he wasn’t going to make you another notch in his belt. 

You wonder if he can hear your heart pounding louder than any words you might say. You want to speak, to break the silence before it consumes you, but all that comes out is a shaky breath—louder than the thoughts tearing at your insides.

No words make it past the lump in your throat. You want to tell him to step away, to fuck off, to stop looking at you like that. But you know that would mean walking away from this. From him. And the thought alone makes you want to crumble into yourself.

You were an idiot once again, shaking, wanting him—wanting everything you’d sworn you wouldn’t. You swore you were stronger than this and that you didn’t want to be the woman waiting for him to finally choose you.

But the heat pulses like it’s alive, and you can’t stop the furrow in your brows, physically pained by the scorch. You don’t even know if he realizes how badly you’re fighting to hold yourself together. His eyes are black, unreadable. But they’re too soft. Too focused on you.

The pressure in the room inflates until every breath you take feels labored.

So close, the warmth of Peña’s body radiates off him, yet it’s his gaze that pins you in place. His eyes drop to your face, and the space between you seems to shrink even more until you can feel his breath grazing your skin, every inhale a whisper against you.

Then, without a word, without any sign of warning, his hand reaches up. You hold your breath, bracing for something, anything, but the touch is different—gentle, almost tentative. His fingers brush the stray strands of hair away from your face, sweeping them behind your ear. It’s a delicate movement, but its weight hangs in the air like he’s touching something fragile, something delicate. His hand stays there for a moment, just lingering at the side of your face, the softness of his touch almost mocking the storm of heat inside you. You want to flinch, to pull away, but you stop short. Not when he’s so close, not when the very air is thick with this... this electricity that’s become impossible to ignore.

He doesn’t let go, though. His fingers curve around the back of your neck, pulling you slightly closer, his thumb brushing over your jaw in a way that’s almost too intimate, too tender. His gaze flicks between your eyes, searching for something, and you can’t look away. You can’t look anywhere else.

“Stop me,” His lips barely skim yours at first—just a whisper of contact that sends shockwaves through your body. It’s almost too much to bear, but you don’t pull away. 

A soft, breathy moan slips out of you before your lips even touch fully, a sound that feels so raw, so unguarded. His hand tightens on your jaw, pulling you into him, and in the next instant, his mouth is on yours, desperate, fervent, as if he can’t stand the space between you for even a second longer.

It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s a kiss born from restraint, from months of wanting something he didn’t think he could have. His lips part yours with an almost brutal force, the intensity of it taking you by surprise. His tongue slides against yours, hot, wet, seeking—hungry. There’s no finesse to it, no lingering moment of sweetness. It’s primal like he’s finally allowing himself to take what’s been torturing him for too long.

The kiss escalates, and for a heartbeat, everything else falls away. It’s just him and you and this electricity, the raw need surging between you. He pulls you closer, his body pressing against yours as if he can’t get close enough, as if the torture has taken over every rational thought he had.

Your breath is stolen, and so are your thoughts. So consumed by the fire in your veins, the taste of his tongue, the firmness of his shoulders beneath your hands. He pulls away so quick it feels like he’s taken the breath from you.

"If you don’t stop me," he murmurs, his voice cracking under the weight of his own need. His thumb strokes the edge of your jaw, the touch so light it sends a shiver down your spine. "Cariño, please—" He swallows hard, his lips hovering just close enough to tempt you. "—tell me to stop. Or I won’t."

The words are pained as if saying them costs him everything. His breath is warm against your mouth, his forehead nearly pressing to yours, and the vulnerability in his voice cuts through the haze, grounding you even as your body betrays you with how badly you want to close the distance again.

“Then don’t,” you reply, swallowing the regret you know is rising in your thoughts. What would be the use of regretting now when the line has already been crossed? 

A low, guttural growl rumbles from Javier’s throat as he kisses you again, the kind of kiss that swallows your breath and sets fire to every fiber of your being.  His chest heaves against yours, his frustration bleeding into every press of his lips, every flick of his tongue. It’s as if he’s punishing you for every bratty retort, every dismissive glance, and for the endless nights you’d unwittingly occupied his mind.

“You’ve been driving me fucking crazy,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and rough, each word dripping with heat and accusation. His teeth graze your bottom lip before he bites down, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp. “You know that, don’t you? Torturing me every damn day.”

His hands drop from your neck, sliding down to your hips with a bruising grip, his fingers digging into your flesh as though trying to leave his mark. The pain mingles with pleasure, leaving you wanting more.

You rise on your toes, desperate to meet him, to feel him. The contrast between his towering frame and your smaller form only intensifies the ache pooling low in your belly. He doesn’t make you wait—he never would—his strong hands gripping your thighs as he hoists you up with effortless ease.

Your legs wrap around his waist, and your arms circle his neck, fingers threading through the hair at the nape.

He doesn’t bother with asking permission. His movements are rough, almost frantic, as he blindly carries you through the dimly lit apartment. When he reaches his room, he kicks the door shut with a force that rattles the frame. The darkness swallows you both, but you don’t care. Your only focus is the hard lines of his body pressed against yours, the feeling of his arousal straining against you, and the way he growls when you grind down on him.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he mutters, his voice hoarse, as if you’ve unraveled him in ways he’s not used to. His words are a contradiction—gruff and demanding but with an edge of vulnerability that makes your heart stutter.

Your back hits the mattress, and he leans over you, his body caging you in. His hands roam your sides, calloused and sure, and you arch into him, a moan spilling from your lips as you chase his touch. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes burning with something that feels almost possessive.

“How ‘bout you show me then?” you fire, the familiar counter making you feel like you’ve found some semblance of control.

Javier's eyes darken, his lips parting slightly as if your challenge caught him off guard. But the corner of his mouth twitches, betraying the ghost of a cocky smile. “As long as you’re sure,” he replies, a dangerous mix of plea and provocation. It’s like he’s daring you to falter, daring you to back out—while silently begging you not to.

You scoff, leaning up, your lips brushing against his but never quite touching. The tease of it burns more than any kiss could. “Don’t get soft with me,” you whisper, your voice low. “I don’t like soft. I like to get fucked. Think you can give me that, Javier?”

His name, spoken like that—soft, intimate, a prayer all at once—makes something deep in him snap. He isn’t used to this, to you. To someone who doesn’t shy away, who doesn’t melt the moment he touches them, who doesn’t give him that instant satisfaction of control.

You’re not yielding, not letting him fall into his usual rhythm. No, you’re setting the pace, and he’s following—fumbling, even—like some love-drunk fool. 

Javier leans down into your neck, the scent of your skin filling his lungs, intoxicating him. “Careful, cariño,” he warns, though the words lack their usual sharpness. They make him shake, his cock strain in his jeans. “You might just get exactly what you’re asking for.” 

You push at his shoulders, your hands urging him back. He doesn't hesitate, scooting off the bed with swift, practiced movements. Like he’d done this a million times, and the thought of that angered you. It made something flare in your eyes as you watched him, his fingers working the buttons and zippers. 

When he’s finally bare, the hard, defined lines of his body seem almost too much to take in all at once. His chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, his cock already thick and leaking. He looks at you, eyes shadowed and hungry, as he kneels on the bed.

His fingers curl around the waistband of your shorts, dragging them off your hips along with your panties, the fabric scraping over your skin as he exposes you to him. Before you can process the shift, his fingers catch the hem of your tank top, yanking it down with such force that the seam strains. 

The path of his gaze burns into your skin, trailing across the valley of your breasts and down to where you close your thighs. He places his hands on your knees and spreads you wide open.

“Hiding such a pretty pussy from me, look at you.” Javier’s cock twitches at the sight of you on your back, head against his pillows. You were in his bed, and the glisten of your pussy as she dripped onto his sheets was because of him. And that made his chest rise and his cock weep.

You weren’t hiding anything—but the way he said it made something inside you flare, a fierce urge to prove him wrong surging through you. “Javier,” you say, dragging your hand down your stomach and to your lips, spreading yourself open for him with your fingers. You could feel the mess, the slickness that coated your fingers just from finally giving in. It felt so freeing. 

You sit up, breathless, just as Javier leans down. You raise your fingers to his mouth, and he doesn’t hesitate—his lips parting just enough for your fingers to slip past them.

His tongue flicks out, velvet-soft, running along the length of your fingers in a slow, hot caress. He sucks them in, drawing them deeper, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent challenge in his gaze. Each pull of his mouth sends a jolt of heat spiraling through you.

“Fucking heaven,” he breathes out like he’s just had a taste of something long denied.

“Ass up,” he demands, his words a dark growl that sends shivers down your spine. “Let me see you like that, baby.”

You give it to him—your body obeying before your mind can catch up. You twist, moving slowly and carefully, your muscles aching as you position yourself. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pushing your head into the sheets, muffling your breath.

“Do you have a condom?” you ask, your voice strained and muffled against the sheets.

Javier doesn’t answer. 

Instead, you feel him shift behind you, a growl rumbling in his chest before you feel the unmistakable warmth of his mouth on your pussy. His tongue flicks against you, tasting you like he’s been starving for this moment. You gasp, a sharp, involuntary sound slipping past your lips as he delves deeper, his tongue greedy and frantic as it drags along your slit, teasing and claiming in one motion.

His hands grip your thighs, pulling them wider, giving him better access as he feasts on you, wholly absorbed in the act. Your knees sink into the mattress, your hands clutching the sheets as you feel his tongue slipping up to your other hole, circling it with the tip of his tongue. You cry out, the feeling so foreign yet so delicious.

You feel him lick into your folds, his tongue swirling your clit, circling, and dipping lower as if to explore every inch of you. His breath is hot, his lips pressing against you as he eats you from behind like a man possessed, relentless, driven by need. He doesn’t care about anything but the taste of you, the feeling of you writhing beneath his touch.

Your hips buck involuntarily, pressing back into him, wanting more, needing more. It feels like he’s owning you, taking what he wants without hesitation, and the power of it makes your head spin.

He’s pulling an orgasm from you like he’s been trained to—like he knows every inch of your body, every reaction, every breath you take. Like he’s studied you and your body, found its rhythm, its tempo, and now he's using it against you, claiming you in ways you didn’t think you could be claimed.

“Javier, please,” You gasp, your breath coming in short, jagged bursts as you surrender to the rush of blood, the intense pull of your orgasm crashing over you, leaving you trembling. He doesn’t stop, not even when you shake, when your body gives in ultimately, and you attempt to pull away.

Only when he deems it right does he pull away, wiping where you coat his chin, and he reaches into his bedside table without a word. Spent; you hear him rip open a condom in silence as he rolls it on his cock. You feel his hands on your hips not a moment later, the tip of his cock swipes along your pussy before inching in.

Javier can feel the aftershocks of your first orgasm, the way you clenched around the tip of his cock before he can get another inch in. And it made him gasp, how tightly you clamped on to him; it felt like you were suffocating him. His self-restraint was hanging on by a thread, but you pushed back against him, sinking him further into your soaked pussy until he was buried balls deep. You were hot and soft inside, and Javier tensed as he watched you fuck yourself onto his cock. 

“Damn, cariño, wish you could see this.” You hear him say over your shoulder, and you twist your neck to watch him. Large hands on the globes of your ass, watching himself disappear into you as you feel him hit something deep inside you each time. 

You feel the subtle flex of his muscles as he shifts, pressing deeper into you. The rhythm intensifies, and the familiar stir of heat coils tight in your stomach. He moves steadily, his hand sliding down to your tit, squeezing and pulling at your nipple. 

Then, with a deliberate pull, his hand wraps around your throat, the pressure possessive. He guides you upward, forcing you to rise on your knees, and the shift brings a new angle, deeper, harder. He grips your jaw to keep you there, his breath fanning against your hair as if he's inhaling the very essence of you, a soft exhale against your neck. 

Each thrust is deeper than the last, a steady rhythm that threatens to shatter the fragile control you still cling to. He’s unrelenting, his grip firm as he pulls you closer, his teeth grazing the tender curve of your neck. He bites into your flesh so hard it stings, so hard you’ll be branded for life. 

You gasp, the burn of his teeth searing into your skin, and he presses harder, pinning you against him. “Say my name,” he growls as he licks against the bite, “who makes you feel this way?”

You can barely catch your breath before his hand is at your head, forcing you down into the sheets again. The pressure of his palm is suffocating, but something is intoxicating about it, the way he has you utterly in his grasp. You can’t hold back the soft, desperate mewl that slips from your lips as you push back against him, needing more, wanting to feel the tension build once again.

“Javier… you…fuck me so good. So perfect,” you whisper, the words slipping out almost without control, as if your body is speaking for you. Javier watches as you snake your hand between your thighs, a whimper leaving your throat as you rub at your swollen and slick clit. 

“Makin’ me lose my mind, cariño,” Javier growls, his voice rough with the effort to keep his composure. The pulse of your pussy around him drives him crazy, and he presses forward, each movement bringing him closer to the edge. “Give me another, please. I know you can.”

The way he says it, how he begs for it, like a man on his knees for you. 

You hold onto the memory—this moment when Javier Peña begs for you, so desperate, so…pathetic.

“That’s it,” Javier's grip tightens on you as he moves deeper, a low groan escaping his chest. You feel every inch of his thick cock, the way his rhythm matches the frantic pace of your fingers, your body bracing for the inevitable release.

“Got you cariño, make me feel so good…your perfect pussy,” A litany of words spill from his mouth, his string of thoughts caught in the air. A sob catches in your throat, the pressure mounting before it finally breaks, coursing through you like a storm. Your nails dig into your palms as your body trembles for the second time, the world around you blurring with tears. The sensation of him inside you, his rhythm pushing you to the edge and beyond.

Javier’s breath is harsh and heavy as he spills into the condom. You feel the pulse of him deep inside you, and the sensation lingers long after he’s finished.

"Shit," he mutters, his voice strained as he swallows thickly. There is a moment of silence, of pure peace, before you startle when you feel the soft brush of his lips on your shoulder—gentle, almost too tender. It’s a sharp contrast to the bite he left there, his teeth still tenderly marking your skin. His kiss lingers for a heartbeat, a soft, almost intimate gesture before he pulls away completely. After a moment, he withdraws his softening cock, and the pressure inside you eases.

He pulls himself away from the bed, and the sudden movement makes your head spin. You push yourself up, too, feeling the rush of blood hit your temples, the pressure building in your skull. Your eyes follow him as he tosses the used condom into the trash, his hands trembling. With a sigh, he reaches for the pack of cigarettes on the bedside table, lights one with a shaky flick of his thumb, and exhales slowly. The smoke curls in the dim light, hanging in the air like a silent afterthought.

“I can give you a ride home, but I don’t think your groceries are going to make it,” he says, his voice light with that same casual humor. He takes a drag from his cigarette, then holds it out toward you, offering it like it’s some sort of peace offering.

You don’t move toward it, and the sight of him—already dressed, already dismissing the moment with that effortless charm—sends a jolt of bitterness through you. This is how he does it, isn’t it? Fucks them, smokes, gets dressed, then sends them on their way. You dress quickly, and finish pulling on your shoes, the awkwardness of the moment hitting you all at once. Without a word, you turn and head for the door.

“Hey!” His voice stops you in your tracks. “You can’t just leave. Who knows if it’s safe? Don’t be reckless. Cariño, ven acá.”

You roll your eyes, the sarcasm practically dripping from your words. ��Call it post-nut clarity, Javier.” You reply with the same sarcasm in your tone. 

You yank the door open, ready to leave, but then stop dead in your tracks. Murphy stands in the doorway, his hand suspended in the air as if he’d been about to knock. His blue eyes widen in surprise when they meet yours. His lips part slightly, and he lifts an eyebrow as his gaze flicks past you, settling on Javier—shirtless, jeans unbuttoned, cigarette dangling between his fingers.

Heat floods your already flushed cheeks, making your skin feel tight, and in that instant, everything becomes too vivid. Too exposed. You stand there, caught in a moment of sheer embarrassment. The awkwardness is suffocating, yet strangely, you don’t know whether you want to run or stay and unravel the feeling that has suddenly settled in your chest. 

You do the only thing that feels right in the moment—you run. You brush past Murphy, the heat of his presence lingering just behind you as he follows. It’s perfect, really. He’ll drive you home, and you’ll avoid the awkward confrontation with Javier. You won’t have to face him telling you, in the most painfully polite way, that he isn’t interested, that he never was. You don’t need that kind of false pity. Not from him. Not when he got the whole thing twisted. 

You wanted this—just this. A fuck, nothing more. And you didn’t want him to think you wanted more. 

But then, you make the mistake of glancing back. And when you do, you catch it—Javier’s gaze, sad brown eyes darkened with something you can’t quite place. His brows furrow slightly, and for the briefest moment, his expression cracks open in a way you didn’t expect. Hurt?

No. You’re reading it wrong. It’s not hurt. It’s...relief.

Javier Peña only ever cared about one person—himself. You’d known that from the moment you first crossed paths.

The truth hit hard, but it was the only thing that made sense: leaving first was a favor. And for once, you didn’t feel bad about walking away.

[hrtnovas]

NEW WLW BLOGG!! Now Imma help christen it by giving your 1st request!😂 You can definitely see from my profile pic that I am a huge Arlecchino simp.

Let's go with a childhood fem!reader who stayed with Arlecchino throughout her child to teen to adult years where Arlecchino becomes the 4th Harbinger after 'removing' Crucabena from play. Maybe they both developed feelings along the way? Or Arlecchino pines after reader but reader is very VERY oblivious despite the obvious sign from Arlecchino? Make this a smut!

​🇧​​🇴​​🇺​​🇳​​🇩​ ​🇧​​🇾​ ​🇫​​🇦​​🇹​​🇪​

FIRST REQUEST?? THIS IS A 10/10 YOU COOKED WITH THIS.

also my first fic

the nsfw part is separated from the sfw part because I gen feel like it's easier for me this way ୨ৎ

cw ; NSFW, men & mdni, dom!arlecchino x shy oblivious sub childhood!reader, rushed sesbian sex, fingering, but so much fluff, slight angst???, friends to lovers, reader is kind of shy and a little bit clueless . .

word count ; 1,834 words ♡

ʚɞ

both dividers by @cafekitsune . . ୨ৎ

(you two are young teens in this scene.)

Arlecchino.

The two of you grew up together, went through everything together.

You saw her white hair and faded black streaks in the moonlight. She looked up at the moon restless in thought. She stared and stared, as if something would happen, there were flowers in her hand. She was lost in her thoughts, wondering about so much.

"There's something about her… something I can't look away from." She wasn’t sure what it was about you. Arlecchino thought, her eyes shifting quickly towards you. For just a moment, her gaze softened before she looked away. She wasn’t sure what it was about you. The way you offered a piece of cake when you two were together. Or maybe it was the times you both tried so hard to hide behind calm eyes and a resting expressions. She thought to herself, looking briefly at you. You were beside her, holding a flower of your own, completely unaware of the way her gaze softened for just a moment. You were also getting quite lost in your thoughts. You were pretty much zoned out.

Arlecchino's fingers brushed against the petals of the flowers in her hand. She didn’t make eye contact, but her voice cut through the silence like a blade. "You’re staring." Her voice was low, calm, but it carried a feeling that made your heart jump. She turned her head around to face you properly.

You snapped out of your thoughts. You didn't realize you were staring at her. "I didn’t mean to.." you stammered, clutching the flower tighter in your hand. You moved closer, unsure if you were about to apologize again or say nothing.

"D-don’t you think the moon looks beautiful tonight?" you blurted, your voice stuttered out. The words felt a bit rushed, a attempt to change the conversation anywhere but to look her gaze. Your eyes shifted to the vase by the window, hoping she wouldn’t notice the way your fingers tightened around the flower.

Arlecchino’s lips curled into a faint smile, her sharp eyes shining under the moonlight. "The moon?" she echoed, her tone unreadable. "You’ve been staring at me, and now you’re talking about the moon?"

Her fingers grazed the petals again, slower this time, as if lost in thought once again. Finally, her gaze shifted to the flowers in your hand. "You handpicked these yourself, didn’t you?" she asked, her voice quiet.

You glanced down at the flower, your grip tightening as a nervous laugh escaped you. "Y-yeah.. . I thought they looked nice." Her attention on the flowers made your face red, as if she could see right through you.

Her hand moved with purpose, brushing against yours as she plucked one of your flowers from your grasp. She moved closer to you.

"Stay still." she whispered. Her fingers brushed over your head as she swept a strand of hair out of your face, her touch was both gentle and firm. You held your breath ; unsure of what to do as she leaned in closer, the flower in her hand brushing against your skin.

She slid it into your hair with quick care, her hands grazing your cheek as she did so. The contact sent a small shiver down your spine, and your cheeks burned under her gaze.

"There." she said softly, though her voice was stoic, you could tell she was trying to be meaningful. And that made your heart race. Her lips curled into a faint smile as she moved back.

You fumbled for words, your voice barely above a whisper. “I.. thank you.” Your eyes darted away, too nervous to meet her gaze for long. But you could feel her watching you, her eyes lingering like a shadow under the moonlight.

And though, Arlecchino was now a figure of authority, her blank and stoic nature still a mask that still only few could see past. As time went on, you began to notice how she watched you, how her gaze lingered a little too long, the faint, almost unnoticeable smile that tugged at her lips when she caught you looking.

Yet, despite it all, you were oblivious.

To you, it was still the same Arlecchino, your childhood (best) friend, nothing more. You couldn't see the way she’d lean closer than necessary when speaking, the way her fingers brushed against yours with purpose or how her voice when she spoke to you, had softened, that made your heart beat as fast as ever.

You didn’t understand. You had no idea how close Arlecchino was to snapping, how close she was to revealing everything she’d kept hidden for years. She was. . patient, though. Waiting for you to see it, to understand the signs she was sending. But no matter how many times she leaned a little closer, brushed her fingers against yours, or let her gaze stare in a way that was anything but casual, you remained so damn oblivious.

She watched you laugh it off, the energy radiating from you as if the moment hadn’t never even shifted. Maybe it was because you didn’t know how to read her or maybe you didn’t want to.

After all, why would someone like Arlecchino be interested in someone like you?

It was the way you avoided her gaze this time that finally broke her patience. You could feel it, that heavy, unfeeling, presence she carried, the kind that lingered even when she wasn’t looking directly at you.

Tonight, though, it felt different, impossible to ignore. You shifted in your seat, fingers fidgeting with your coffee in your lap and looking at your papers as your eyes darted anywhere but toward her.

You always did this, pulled away the moment things started to feel too intimate, too feeling, too real.

When her words carried more weight or were more gentle than usual, or her actions felt. . careful in a way you couldn’t quite ignore, you would shy away, brushing it off as nothing. It was easier to pretend it didn’t mean anything.

But tonight, Arlecchino wasn’t going to let you slip away.

The scrape of her chair against the floor made your heart race. Your head snapped up, eyes meeting hers as she stood, her figure shadowed by the light. Each step she took toward you was slow and proper. Her stilettos clicked softly against the floor.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn't speak.

She stopped just in front of you, her presence overwhelming as she leaned down slightly, close enough that you could see the faint shadows under her eyes, the way her lips pressed together in quiet wanting. Then her hand lifted, hand holding your chin, lifting your face upward.

"Look at me." she said softly.

Her voice was quiet but firm, leaving no room for argument. You froze, glancing away, but her grip was steady, not forceful, just firm. You had no choice but to meet her gaze.

And in her eyes, you saw something that made your breath hitch.

It wasn’t the cold expression she wore around others, or the confidence you had come to expect. This was different. Her expression was. . gentle, soft in a way you’d never seen before, and the weight of it was almost too much to bear for your heart.

"I’ve waited long enough." she said, her tone low, but you could hear the frustration beneath it. And god, was it hot. "You’re not blind, ma chérie. my love You know what I want."

Your heart pounded against your chest, your mind scrambling for something to say, but no words came. All you could do was sit there, wide eyed and trembling, your face becoming flushed.

Her fingers brushed gently along your hair. For a moment, her features softened, the blankness in her gaze melting into something warmer. "I’ve.. been waiting for you to see me." she said, her voice quieter now, but no less insistent. "Tell me you feel it too."

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Your thoughts were a blur, tangled with emotions you hadn’t let yourself come to until now.

And then she leaned in.

It wasn’t rushed her movements were hesitated, giving you just enough time to stop her if you wanted to.

But you didn’t.

Her lips brushed against yours, soft and uncertain. When you didn’t pull away, her hesitation faded. The kiss deepened, careful but filled with everything she’d been holding back. One of her hands slid to you waist, holding you, while the world around you seemed to fade into the background.

Your cheeks burned, your breath caught in your throat, and your chest felt like it might burst. You could hear the frantic rhythm of your own heartbeat, and you were sure she could feel it too.

And for the first time, you realized ; maybe you hadn’t been as oblivious as you pretended to be.

nsfw utc

Arlecchino pulled back just enough to look at you, her eyes dark, gazing into your own. "Are you sure you want us to do this?" she asked you, consent is key. ( and there is no other way it should be. ) She held onto your waist firmly.

You nodded, your words caught in your throat, but your actions spoke louder than anything you could say.

"I want to hear you say it. Say you want this, ma lumière." my light

You hesitated at first but, you knew you wanted this. You knew you wanted her.

"Arle.. I, I want you."

You could feel her fingers sliding inside you, you were so tight, so tense. You felt a bit nervous and were holding onto her just as she was holding onto you.

"Relax yourself. . your so tense." She mumbled. She had you on her waist, one of her hands gripping your waist tight and firm as if you were going to run away from her, her breath touching your neck, leaving love bites all over, her fingers soaked from how wet you were. Her fingers were pumping in and out of you, making you squirm and moan , it made you feel so damn filled up with every time they went inside of you.

"S-so m-much... -" "You can take it, it's alright, relax." She said, you were squeezing around her, begging to be fucked into. And the way she was fucking you? You loved it. The way your arms were wrapped around her neck, your lips releasing sweet noises, and the way Arlecchino was stretching your pussy open with her fingers.

"Are you enjoying yourself? Feeling good..?" She said, feeling your tight walls clench her fingers, you couldn't focus on anything else, just the fact she was making you feel so good.

"O-oh Arle.. mm- I'm going to . .- ! " "That's it dove. Let yourself go for me, go on."

"You're staring, dove. Something on my face..?" She asked you, you were panting for air, trying to calm down from your high.

"I love you."

"I love you more."

ugh i need this woman

[thewitchblue]

You eyed the family suspiciously. They are dressed too nicely. They don't even dress up this nicely for galas. Why do they look like they were in a fight but somehow appear so polished? As if they got into a fight, then went on a date.

Tim looked pretty normal, at least. It seems like Jason and Dick were able to gang up on him and capture him without much force.

You had been wedding planning with Tim in your apartment until he had to leave for patrol. He left your home with a kiss only for Dick and Jason to immediately kidnap him the second he was out of your window.

Apparently, Dick was feeling petty and wanted a surprise wedding since the engagement "wasn't a big deal."

Dick was petty the entire time. From the cheers to the toast to the vows he altered when he broke into Tim's room and your apartment, everything was very passive-aggressive.

It was a small and private wedding, and it was beautiful. He must have stolen your shared wedding plan that Tim insisted on writing down. Tim had said he needed all the details to refer back to when you both go to each place.

Bruce must have been in on it, as he told you to wear your wedding attire to check for tailoring needs at the manor, but you didn't expect the wedding to happen.

Nobody in the manor said anything despite your rapid questions until you had to walk down the aisle. Not even Alfred revealed what was going to happen.

Everything started clicking when you walked through the manor and saw all the decorations. You looked for Tim, who was squirming at the end of the aisle, his hands tied with a constrictor knot and a gag Jason happened to have mixed in his Red Hood gear (nobody asked questions). Jason had an iron grasp on his shoulders and had him lifted into the air, so he made no progress in running to you.

You shared a look with Tim as if to ask if he wants to continue the wedding. Tim looked flustered, but he stopped squirming long enough to nod. He's fine with getting married now, but he was incredibly anxious being unable to walk alongside you. He felt silly, but he wanted to be at your side, and he was willing to fight for it.

You, unsurprisingly, had Alfred walking you down the aisle. How did Dick manage to swear all the guests into secrecy? You know nothing was a coincidence.

Alfred had to borderline chase after you as you sped over to Tim with a grin. You'd have to applaud Dick for his efforts. Everything was perfect. It was exactly as you planned with Tim.

You laughed when you noticed the ring bearer was actually holding two painite rocks instead of rings. That was definitely Tim's idea. He has grown attached to rocks. He even told you he's going to make you a rock garden for your anniversary. He's already thinking about his future with you.

Tim calmed down significantly when you were at his side. Jason finally let him go, untied him, and stepped back into the background as if nothing had happened.

Tim gasped for air as he yanked off the gag. His glare promised a fight later, and Jason's answering smile felt like a challenge. You sighed. You can already imagine the photos of Tim dangling like a squirming puppy. You shouldn't have expected a normal wedding. It was really idealistic to think you could ever have a normal wedding in this family.

Your eyes turned to the gems with a fondness as you remember all the rocks you've given him through the years. All those memories will be immortalised. You remember every rock given and your thought process when you picked them up.

You both were handed your respective rocks, then your rings after trading rocks. You took a deep breath before saying,

"Tim, I give you yet another rock to love and cherish. I promise to keep giving you rocks until my last breath. You will always remember getting beat by your big brothers every time you look at the pair of gems, but one day, you will look at them like the best beat down you've ever experienced."

Tim gave a shrug and said he rated it,

"7/10. I could have fought more if my laptop wasn't my main priority."

Dick and Jason looked offended, but everybody else laughed.

"Tim, I promise my love for you will be as immortal as these stones and as fierce as an otter."

Tim laughed. He loved your little speech for him. You gave him a kiss to seal your vows, and he begins his,

"I told you rocks were for proposals when you gave me my now ring, and I'm happy to be here to tell you I was correct. I'm correct again in choosing you to spend the rest of my life with you."

Tim sounded incredibly amused. You laughed and hugged the gem closer. He twisted his wedding ring nervously as he continued,

"My love for you will be as permanent as the rocks you've given me. This rock rock isn't a diamond, but it's become more precious than any diamond in the world. You are my rock and my love."

Tim gave you a kiss to end his vows. He's never looked happier as he looked at you. You were his everything.

"I didn't realise this was a rock rock."

You teased. Jason called you both weird but he had too soft of an expression for the words to have any bite behind them.

Dick handed you both the paperwork and patted Tim on the back. Tim didn't trust him for one second and read the certificate to make sure Dick isn't legally binding him to anything besides you.

You also read the papers before signing anything. You love Tim, but you don't trust his brothers when they feel petty or slighted.

"'You are from now on required to inform Dick Grayson first about any future big commitments such as any potential future children.' Dick, are you serious?"

Tim sounded offended as he read the words outloud while you chuckled. Dick was still mad. You shook your head and asked him,

"How would we even hide a kid?"

Dick immediately said,

"The same way you hid your engagement."

Tim was irritated now as he said,

"We were engaged for an hour until you found out. Let it go."

Dick didn't let it go. He brought it up at any chance he could. Jason snapped first.

"Suck it up and shut up, Dickhead. I was right there and you weren't. Deal with it."

Jason then proceeded to chug his cup of vodka to calm his urge to punch Dick. You both left when the two brothers started to bicker with each other over Jason's drinking. Jason will forever be the little 10 year old kid to Dick.

"You're officially stuck with me now."

You said as you took his ringed hand in yours. He looked at your conjoined hands with a fond expression.

"I'm not stuck with you. I love you."

You tugged his tie lightly and dragged him into a kiss. You vaguely heard the drunken wolf whistles and cheers, but you didn't care. He's yours forever. That's all that matters to you at that moment.

This is a part two @hearts4mica requested. I may have had too much fun with it.

[justallihere]

i've been talking about this for two months now, but we're past onyx storm and i'm finally far enough into this fic that i'm almost ready to start posting, which means. . .

dead on arrival chapter 1 will be coming your way on feb 3rd!

this is a bones-inspired modern au, and i'm in love with every moment of it so far. i can't wait to start sharing it with you, but in the meantime, here's the summary - and below the cut, a longer look into the first bit of chapter 1

Violet Sorrengail is a forensic anthropologist good with only one thing: dead people. Their bones speak a language only she can hear, but the living aren't quite so easy to understand - particularly one FBI Agent Xaden Riorson, who does everything possible to get under her skin. When an unexpected murder victim washes up in DC, the ensuing investigation brings them closer together despite her every effort to stay away, and she's forced to decide if the careful distance she keeps around her heart is really worth it.

There was a dead body.

That was what the text message said anyway, the one that interrupted Violet Sorrengail’s music with a cheerful little ding and made her flinch. It popped up on the screen of her car—from FBI Agent Xaden Riorson.

7:03 am There’s a dead body. I’ll pick you up in 10. 

When she read it, she rolled her eyes. Of course there was a fucking dead body. That was the only reason he ever texted, called, emailed, or otherwise contacted her. There was a steady stream of texts from him dating back six months, from their first case together, all variations of: Got a body. On my way to pick you up. Any updates on the case? Why aren’t you in the lab? I have new evidence for you. Never so much as a hello or a how are you. If his neck was more easily reachable, she would have strangled him by now, but as it was, he stood about fifteen inches taller than her, and Violet hated both high heels and step stools, so he got to keep breathing. For now. 

A bark came from the passenger seat. She spared a glance at Tairn and found the dog was already glaring at the car screen, as if he knew exactly who had texted. He held a special sort of contempt for Xaden Riorson that Violet didn't think he'd ever shown anyone she knew, and he'd been her service dog for almost three years.

She was stuck at a red light, so she took a fortifying drink of her coffee and then plucked her cell phone out of the second empty cup holder to respond. 

7:04 am  it’s 7 in the morning on a monday y tf do u think i’m in the lab already. i’m 20 min away 

Riorson hated shorthand text. Violet normally didn’t do it, but once, in a hurry, she’d typed bc instead of because, and it was the first thing he’d commented on the next time he saw her. She’d made it a point ever since to shorten as many words as possible. 

7:04 am  Then I’ll pick you up in 20. Washed up from the Potomac at a park in Alexandria a couple hours ago.

Sounded lovely—and unstable for her, given it had rained the entire weekend before and she could break or dislocate just about anything with a single wrong look.

It took her twenty-two minutes instead of the promised twenty to get to the lab, and she felt confident Riorson was losing his mind. He had a thing for punctuality that bordered on compulsive. Sure enough, he was already there, his government-issued SUV parked next to her usual spot. He stood outside it, leaning against the closed driver’s door, wearing a sleek black suit and aviators, not a strand of dark hair out of place. He looked the perfect picture of professionalism, were it not for the tattoo on his left arm that wound from wrist to jawline. The early morning sun gilded his brown skin, and he looked almost ethereal. It was both infuriating and unfair how beautiful he was, but he made up for it by being a complete and utter dick most of the time. 

Riorson was too composed to show any outward signs of impatience, but Violet was sure he was counting the seconds it took her to gather her coffee, her phone, and her bag and climb out of her own car to join him. Instead of waiting for her to round the car and open the passenger door, Tairn followed her out of the driver's side, his leash trailing. She didn't bother to pick it up; he stuck close to her side regardless, his nose nearly against her thigh.

“I need to go inside and get waders,” she informed Riorson instead of offering any polite greeting. She knew he certainly wasn’t going to offer her one. She skirted around the back of his car to the passenger side. She was wearing jeans and a white sweater and sneakers—not exactly appropriate attire for investigating a dead body on a riverbank. “I’ll be right back.” 

“Your waders and boots are in the trunk, and Sloane has the rest of all your fancy tools and equipment. She rode ahead to the scene with Rhiannon.” 

Well, that at least answered the question of which intern was on the schedule today. And hopefully Rhiannon was far enough ahead of them that she’d be done with her preliminary analysis by the time Violet got there. If this was the FBI’s problem, and Riorson wanted Violet there, then the remains were presumably in bad shape. 

Violet opened the back door for Tairn and stood back as he jumped inside, settling on the nice leather seats without a care for his claws. There were scratches in the material already, but Violet was sure most of them came from Xaden's own dog, Sgaeyl. She wasn't a service dog like Tairn, but Riorson had brought her around a few times, usually when a case called them in on a weekend or late at night. Tairn used his teeth to tug his leash closer when it dangled, and then sat back on his haunches, looking at her expectantly. She shut the door.

Violet climbed into the passenger seat, dropping her bag at her feet and her coffee in one of the cup holders, then buckling her seat belt as Riorson climbed in next to her, starting the car without a word. 

He was seemingly allergic to music, so they almost always rode in silence. Violet was never quite sure why he felt the need to drive her to crime scenes. She could just as easily get herself there, or hitch a ride in the forensics van with Rhiannon or Ridoc. But since the very first case, he’d insisted, and he was about as much fun to argue with as a brick wall, and some things simply weren’t worth the energy to complain about. 

Every so often, Tairn would make a little chuffing noise in the back seat, but he didn't actually lean forward and alert, so she ignored him. He was always restless and grumbling around Xaden. Despite his relative youth, he acted remarkably like an old man.

"So why are we going to Alexandria?" Violet asked skeptically as Riorson weaved expertly through the early morning DC traffic, heading the opposite way Violet had just come from. She had a charming, spacious house in Georgetown she'd received as a gift from her father, with a secluded backyard and even a small heated pool. As one of the most renowned forensic anthropologists in the world, she made good money, enough to cover the utilities and the property taxes and insurance with ease, but it was still far too rich of a neighborhood for her; she never could've afforded it outright. There had been questions for a while about where the money came from for her father to afford to buy her such a place, if it had been earned through legal means, but after six months of investigating when she first got the deed, everyone had stopped looking into it, and she'd been able to finally move in with no problems.

She'd been there for three years now with no additional issues. She suspected that was her mother's doing, but Lilith Sorrengail had never admitted it outright.

"Because that's where the dead body is?" Riorson offered dryly without taking his eyes from the road.

Violet huffed, and Tairn echoed the noise behind her. "It's in Virginia," she said, like it should've been obvious, because it should have. "What makes this the FBI's problem? Shouldn't local police get first dibs?"

"They don't want it," he answered. "The remains are in bad enough shape that we need you, Sorrengail. Do you really think Alexandria PD has the resources to investigate this?"

"Do you really think I know anything about the resources Alexandria PD has?" she countered. She didn't, and she didn't want to. That fell into the pile of things that were very firmly not her problem. Her brain had a lot of room, but local police jurisdiction wasn't really something she bothered to make space for. Riorson gave her bodies, and she told him how they died. That was her job.

He did look at her then, a brief, cutting glance from the corner of his eye. "I thought you knew everything."

She rolled her eyes. "Obviously not, Riorson."

A little smirk curled up one corner of his mouth, but he didn't say anything else.

Violet spent the rest of the car ride braiding her hair. She kept it long, and she liked to wear it loose, but her work didn't often lend to it. When she was younger, her older sister, Mira, had braided it into a crown for her when she'd gone through a phase of reading only princess books, and had taught her to do it herself as a teenager. It had quickly become her signature style in college and while she completed her PhD; it was the easiest way to ensure it was all out of the way while she was in the lab or on the university's body farm, studying decomposing remains. Beyond its practicality, she just thought it was pretty, especially because the ends of her hair were leached of all pigment, so the silver strands looked interesting all weaved together.

It was a challenge in the car—she had to lean forward to flip her hair over and start the plait at the back of her head, which didn't do great things for her heart rate—but it wasn't the first time she'd done this and it wouldn't be the last. She had hair ties and pins in her bag that she held between her teeth until she needed them.

By the time she was done, they'd reached the crime scene. The park was right on the Potomac River, and already blocked off with yellow tape. Riorson eased the SUV around a group of civilians standing and tittering as they watched the FBI forensics team as they gathered evidence. Violet couldn't find her own people among the sea of navy jackets, so they must have been closer to the river.

She hopped out and paused when her head spun, bracing a hand on the open door. Tairn barked, scratching at the door she hadn't yet opened for him.

"You good, Violence?" Riorson paused, leaning back down to look at her through his own open door. His sunglasses slid down his nose, revealing dark eyes and long, thick lashes.

She lifted her head enough to glare at him. "Don't call me Violence."