#and on those blessed words. good night | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

acid-ixx · 1 day ago

Text

ch.5 pt 1: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1,

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: self-esteem issues, typical implications of trauma and emotional neglect, allusions to self-harm.

you had always been a good kid.

you didn't have a consistent a plus, and you most certainly don't always win awards, let alone shower in a streak of gold medals and thick paper announcing your spot as first place. you're not the picture-perfect kid aunties will brag about and compare their other children to. you're not always refined, as a child born into the streets of gotham, bound to be rough around the edges—

but you were good.

and your momma always told you every night, in her hushed whispers and cuddling arms, after her sweet lullabies harmonizing with the hums of your broken fan, that it's alright if you're not the greatest; as long as you're good.

she taught you manners, to always respect everyone around you, your elders, strangers, even children your age, because blessings always come in the form of good faith if you're kind.

you believe her, of course you do, she's the only person you had in your life, the only person you needed. you should've never desired for anything else; what else could you wish for if not her love and presence only?

she's enough for you, and you're enough because she tells you too, with her siren-like eyes softening when she gazes at you with only love encrypted in her eyes, her once seductive smile plastered all over wanted posters now beaming with joy at having you in her arms rather than inauthentic pursuits of attracting men around her.

you always followed through with her words, because you love her and it's no doubt that she loved you more than enough too, too much that she had to continue on with her prostitute lifestyle to provide for your little family, too much that it was the reason why she had to be killed off in the first place.

because of her, you chose to be kind, you chose to lower yourself, to never raise your voice higher than those around you, to be humble, and to never show when you're at your limit, even to others closest to you other than your mother.

you remember so little of her the more you age, you grasp on straws just reminiscing on every moment spent with her.

"a good kid," she says, her voice almost a tantalizing memory threatening to drift away, "won't finish first, but fate will always make sure that they never finish last. so choose to be good, alright, baby?"

"yes, momma," your reply came in curtly, tiny fingers playing with the ends of her hair, without moment's hesitation, or doubt in the meaning of her words.

because her words are god for someone like you, because she is your mother who always knew what's best—

because she is your mother, and you may not like her for who she is as a person, for all the wrongs she did in the past before throwing it all away to raise you; but you love her either way, and follow whichever path she leads you to like a little duckling...

a good kid doesn't finish first, but they'll eventually get what they always wanted, right?

even if they wait for weeks, months, years; fate will find a way...

so why can't you have you have what he have right now?

why, just why, are you always finishing last?

why can't you receive the same attention tim did when he was first introduced?

elegant, poised, a rich boy with millionaire parents who had so much to spend, standing proudly and confidently at the doorstep of the manor, as if he had already belonged the moment he stepped foot into the staircase. thirteen year old, older and taller than you, better than you.

the memory is still clear as day, because it was the same day you had bothered alfred to update you on your offer to hang outside in the gardens with your father, only for the butler to look down at you with the same sympathetic eyes and tired smile, retelling you in his familiar excuse that bruce is busy.

'papa is busy,' the words echo in your brain in a mocking tandem, you wish to bang your head on the kitchen's mahogany doors at another attempt rejected. you wish to rip at your hair like you always do. but you can't, you just can't because alfred is in the same room as you, aged hands patting the delicate strands atop your head. you feel disappointment, you always do, then it's shame; shame because it's always alfred who has to witness your bated breaths and spilling tears at another day wasted alone—!

shame because this always happens, it's like bruce never wanted you in the first place; he probably doesn't even think you exist.

but of course, your young brain reasons, your father's always busy when it comes to you, only you.

his timetable consists of mourning his dead son, handling wayne enterprises and juggling his philanthropist career. when will you ever be worth enough that he places you in the same pedestal as all his other obligations?

and back then, you thought every night he spends missing are nights spent with multiple women— back when you've not known of his identity.

yet the point stands still, his missions do not relate to whatever situation stands before you now.

why?

why is it him to who answers the door to tim, the young boy's piercing blue eyes looking up at your father in a challenging gaze? whilst you stand, restlessly in a corner at the scene that unfolds before you. why is it him, who at first makes bruce hesitate, yet still take in the boy holding the camera, hand on his back to guide him inside, as the boy speaks cryptic words you couldn't fathom as you watch behind arch of the living room?

your blood curdles, heart starts to pound out if its gilded cage, and you feel your body buzzing in pure, unadulterated envy, the sole emotion you feel clawing its way into your vision; you see green, you can't see anything else but the scene before you. shaky breaths, blurry vision, balance barely stable as alfred could only offer a pat on your back and his pitying gaze on you.

no words, not even comfort, the manor seems dark again, everything feels as if it's closing into your body and devouring you whole.

why, why, why?

the questions circulate, the memories resurface all the time at just how easy it was for tim, just how he didn't even need to beg to have your father, yes, your father to keep his eyes on a boy whom he have only spoken once in his lifetime.

tim doesn't need alfred to relay a message, he doesn't even need to hesitate being in the same room as the man who seems always a mile away from you, who could never look down even when your fingers come up to fiddle with the cuffs of his sleeves, just like how you did with your mother's hair, all in the name of getting him to see you.

but you're not tim, you're perfect, you never will be.

it hurts, everything hurts when a stranger, someone like tim had the opportunity to talk to bruce, you never had any—!

even if you're always good, even if you always tried to succeed in your academics, your extracurriculars, your everything, even if you always try...

... the moment timothy jackson drake stepped into the manor, the moment his shining blue eyes, almost twinkling like yours when you've been first introduced, stared analytically at the man you called father, was the moment it piqued his interest; was the moment you knew that being good doesn't equate getting what you always wanted:

the attention of a father who chose to cope with grief in another new robin partner instead.

to be bruce's child first, rather than an afterthought later.

ever since then, ever since tim came into the picture, it was harder to gain bruce's attention. even alfred was divided between you and your seemingly divine... brother who just decided to take your place, who will soon be bruce's third child, erasing your name off of his memory.

being good was not enough, being great didn't even compare— your mother's words seemed easily overshadowed by the gnawing jealousy at just how wonderful your new brother is, at just how similar he is in regards to bruce, but different and also infinitely better than you.

it was the first crack in your fragile, glass heart after it had been wrapped in thousands of bandages from the heartbreak of your mother, it was the first rip at the seams at the already lacerated wounds that emotional neglect has left you.

from the days, weeks, months, you couldn't recall, trying to form some sort of interaction with bruce, dick and now even tim, instead of having alfred be your medium of communication.

from the cold, rainy nights spent with just your thin blankets and fading memories of your mother to soothe you from the nightmares that relishes in your fear.

imagining what it's like having your father speak words of assurances in a dull, almost alien-like tremor (you've never even heard his voice up close before...) comforted you at first, but now it became thousands of hushed whispers wishing you were never born in the first place if it meant your trepidation would end.

and it would've been better, the dread that buzzes restlessly under your skin could've been satiated if tim had even the decency to acknowledge your presence. but just like bruce, god, just like dick who had easily accepted the smart, academically talented boy as his own sibling— you're still amounted to nothing to be even considered worthy.

good, but not enough, not worth the effort of being greeted every morning, not worth the time spending small talks with. even dick, the athlete who once promised to ditch some patrols in bludhaven in passing moment's as an excuse to swat you away, have now opted to bother the newest addition to the family, forgetting that it was you who idolized him the most—

even if it was tim who met him at the carnival first, before dick's parents had died, going as far to dedicate the entire act for the boy— it was you watching him through the broken down television too, legs swinging back and forth on your springy, dusty couch as you doodle him doing stunts, talking to you because he meant the world to you too after you realized he was considered a brother to you.

tim met him first, yet you did so too, but as his younger sibling instead...! so it's unfair, it's unfair, everything is so unfair. tim and his stupid fucking goals of helping your father cope, your father, not his, his parents are alive, your mother is gone, goddamnit—!

it's all unfair. your mother says the world treats good kids like you right, so why...?

... what else could he want? what else does he want to take away from you?

and how could you blame him...?

he was perfect in the sense that you aren't. he was what bruce needed: a reliable pillar of support, stubborn enough to deal with the stress piling up with the loss of his second child, qualities that couldn't be seeked in you even if anyone tries their hardest to squint past that once wide-eyed, vulnerable exterior of yours.

all they could see is a broken child, but not of their own. they could offer you sympathy, pity at just how terrible your past came to be, but that's what every child of gotham goes through. not even witnessing your mother's last gulps of breath would be unique enough to pique their attention. they couldn't possibly see you being part of their family, never.

you learn quickly, that the world has always been unfair, that sometimes, your mother's words aren't always right, not always the best. you need to be better than best, but you couldn't.

so you still chose to be good still, because what else could you do? who else could your identity be outside of the morals she had taught you?

that's who you always are—

that's who you always will be.

always the lesser one. always the forgotten muse and the unspoken poetry.

because that's what good people are, always belittling themselves for others, always allowing the bigger people to step on them like ants. to crush on their hopes and dreams like the crumbs of bread that spill onto the sides of a pavement.

tim is a good person, it was why he wanted to help bruce in the first place, but you couldn't also forget the fact that he's the perfect son for bruce too— that's the main difference between you both. you're worlds apart. he's naturally smart, almost flawless both physically and mentally, and helps slowly but surely fill the hole in bruce's heart unlike you who realizes that you'll only deepen it instead.

and you're a good kid, you're his good child, you wish you were his kid.

you're kind but never the greatest, talented but not good enough.

and that's who you'll always will be.

just a person defined by their worth, by the words of their mother. just a kid with nothing more than a smile to offer, no matter how strained the side of your lips are, no matter if the tears threaten to crawl out your eyes like spiders the longer your presence get ignored—

you're good, but you'll never be good enough.

... so what made you better now? what made you worthy now that all their eyes are now on you?

you wish it was easy to answer, but life's always unfair to a good kid like you.

has anyone ever noticed why the wayne manor has been so dull lately?

why don't the blooms stand so prideful in the gardens nowadays? surely, alfred's green thumb could fix the problem, but it's been months and the most eminent scent that fixes upon their nostrils could only be obtained if they sniff hard enough to smell fresh flowers amongst the scent of mud after rain or wet concrete.

why does titus seem so down these days? damian tried to play tricks with him; his beloved pet only replied with a loud, high-pitched whine in reply and lay languidly at velvet carpets with a bone on his slack jaw. his owner noticed how his tail seemed to wag less the more the days passed by. and damian isn't stupid, but he notices how titus, with the addition of alfred the cat, would often frequent sniffing and lay on a spot damian's familiar with; one he's sure a certain rival of his would only sit upon whenever they'd hide from him.

why have there been fewer homemade baked treats in the pantry? hell, they seem to lessen every single day someone opens the pantry. wasn't it alfred who baked them? was there a thief who had been stealing, or was the steady decline not mere coincidence? nobody else took a hobby to baking, since they've all been frequently absent, prioritizing their patrols and mostly taking the cookies and crinkles at the end of their shift, munching on the treats all for themself. alfred hasn't definitely been taking a break and refuses any offers to, yet the lack of goods was noticable, and whenever alfred bakes, it doesn't quite share the same sugary, or savory goodness the past deserts have been sporting.

why has there been silence, one that so ominous, for months? dick swore he'd often hear someone conversing through doors with alfred. at first he assumed it would be tim, or cass, but with how feeble and meek the voice was, yet talkative and light with an accent he's sure he heard from bruce. yet he dismissed the implication of another presence in the room. but as of current, he misses that strange voice that speaks of stories about highschool drama and friends for terrible influences.

has the rooms been lacking of music lately? tim frequents the soft, buzzing hums his hyperactive form hears from across the living room or near the fireplace's burning embers. sometimes he'd be lulled to sleeping whenever he hears specific melodies. he'd listen so often that he even managed to recognize his favorite tunes with just a single note, eyes slowly closing every time he's in close proximity with that unknown voice, conditioned to finally sleep like a pavlovian dog. tim has been losing sleep these days, eyebags frequent in his eyes. he misses the music, he misses his only saving grace during restless nights with even energy drinks and bitter coffee being ineffective.

why has the dust been collecting off the bookshelves of their library? whenever jason visits the library, there would always be fingerprints he'd find on certain books, one he'd pick up and come to enjoy reading. some were collections of series, others being short novels. the ghost that graces him these recommendations, who sometimes even brings new books, hasn't been in the library for months now, and he's skittish the more he visits the manor each time. the library was his sanctuary for all the moments he'd have fights with bruce, or felt too deep into his traumatic anguishes. the tastes he shares with this lone stranger who visits the library at different lapses than him was now gone, and he's noticed the anger that pangs deep in his chest every damn time dust has been collected off of books, with no fingerprint in sight.

just, why has it been so silent lately? both physically and figuratively. no music dawns their ears, no hinge of the fridge being heard throughout the night, or at least the faint mutters of an unknown whispering.

these were all unsaid questions buried deep in the minds of the people under the roof of the manor. now the only things they could feel were the heavy knocks of the rain on the window and the cold sensation of tiled floors on their already covered soles.

it wasn't noticable by chance, but it could be felt by everyone, both inhabitants and visitors.

and the answers lie simple: it's a secret.

they're the deals you make when you want someone to keep their mouth shut close, they're the things you swear your life to to never confess upon. they're the unsaid statements which helped torment a certain child under the roof of an already lonely and ghostly manor.

sometimes, secrets don't take in the form of someone making one up, but rather, it takes in the form of an unspoken agreement, a pact with your surroundings, an untold promise with nature or the things around you.

you were never particularly secretive with your talents, for arts, baking, or anything that takes in the field of creativity. you kept to yourself, and don't bother anymore to annoy your family to look upon a sketch only to be dismissed, or to taste the treats you hide by a pantry for later consumption; but you loved it still whenever alfred gave you the creative liberty to stroll around the manor to decorate the bleak place into a less melancholic version of a gothic abandoned house by the forest, left with only the legacy of a long-standing family.

it was just, you never find it necessary to tell anyone why there's a charcoal portrait of alfred hanged in one of the uncrowded hallways, or why the colors of the walls change momentarily, or why certain colors of flowers were more present by the garden than other colors— so maybe you could consider that a secret.

and it made you feel less lonely, if even by a fraction. yet you don't know it, but your acts of service to the manor was what made the family enjoy their stay a bit longer, was what made them appreciate the backdrop of a new wallpaper they had thought alfred had chosen, or find the designs of resin furniture adorable.

you don't know it, but you were what made mundane living enjoyable for those who seek to relish in the sheer feeling of adrenaline instead.

when you were first taken into the manor, you were the reason why all their senses were stimulated. tiny, malnourished you couldn't keep your toes in place once you've been exposed to a new, more bigger environment.

back then, the manor carried this atmosphere of darkness, a reflection of bruce wayne's grief after his beloved parents' passing away from his arms. yet you took that pain, and turned it from its bleak, grayish colors, to an intimate, fluorescent glow. a soft, bright light emits from one of the random rooms, with custom-made beads dangling about and glow in the dark stickers that litter the room. it was one not too blinding to the eyes, and felt warm like the touch of a mother to their crying child.

your cooking of sweet treats were the ones they often like to fight over. it was through alfred's secret recipes he bestowed upon you, and your own alterations for your baking, that the kitches would always smell of cinnamon, brown butter, and caramelized sugar. it was because of you that you made the manor smell sweeter, more homey, like what would've smelled of an apartment during christmas eve. you've made them associate the kitchen with both famous, foreign, and local recipes that they came to love. steph loved it whenever she'd stumble upon a cookie decorated with purple, cass finds the ribbons on some cupcakes cute, associating it with ballet.

every time bruce, tim, or dick needs a place to destress, they often visit rooms with sweet humming or the occasional singing. it was sometimes gibberish, others with lyrics, yet pleasing to their ears all the same. it reminds them of their mothers' singing, whenever they'd knit or praise their precious jewelry. it makes bruce's stiff posture slacken, finding that odd voice sometimes sharing his talking habits through the lyrics they sang. dick would always sing along, feeling as if he was back in time with his mother playing with his hair as she sings circus music, and tim would close his tired eyes, laying his head on his hand as he dreams pleasant scenarios for once in his life.

although you never once felt any of their embrace, they've certainly felt yours in their hearts, minds, and sometimes even their body; a spiritual connection they've felt with you without even knowing it. the last time damian touched you was when he pinned your wrists to your side. and even if he tried his hardest to ignore the raging beat of his heart, screaming at him to release you from the tight cage of his grip, he refuses to. out of sheer anger and petty spite, or the desire to feel the skin of his sibling who struggles to let go from his hold, he doesn't know. but he certainly does remember how your palms lack callouses unlike his does, and how warm your touch felt, even if blazing with cold sweat from his threats.

he had remembered the smell of your sweat and even the taste of your tears by accident and committed it to memory.

it was through your indirect care that everyone felt loved and cared for, and find themselves enjoying the sweet, small moments of living within what was once a stuffy manor holding painful memories.

and nobody knows why — with the exception of dick, bruce, and damian now — that despite the batcave being filled with the entire family, it felt empty all the same.

well, not entirely empty, but bleak with color. every hue remained gray in their eyes, the pipe leaks were eminent, heavy breathing was evident all throughout. no music catched on to their ears, and they all remain skittish and rigid.

it seems as if everyone has catched on, that they're all holding their breath together as the leader of the group, batman, looks around to do a silent head count.

after all, he told both dick and damian to update the family that this meeting is urgent, and no one shall even bother ditching, or else they wouldn't get to the bottom of your disappearance without all the help they could receive.

in a race to get you, they need to burn off all resources or god help bruce because he'd run himself crazy searching for you.

alfred doesn't want that happening, but he understands.

you're important, and no one could dispute that fact. after bruce had gone through your all your diaries, your sketchbooks that he had to pry away from damian's possessive hold, and the box of belongings that you left that he stashed away in his office— he knew he couldn't just leave his child out in the streets of gotham.

you're his child, and a damn child of his means his responsibility. either he likes the obligation or not, it's his duty to protect you from the harm of living in such a dangerous city. and you're certainly not a vigilante, he'd already ran through multiple recent investigations before everyone came rushing down to the batcave to confirm you're not connected with any bad guys; which was good, and bad news.

that means you chose not to undergo the same, dangerous path jason chose, or rebel like damian, yet at the same time you must've been incapable of self defense.

and he knows that even if you fight with normal moves; without his guidance against a gallery of brutal villains out to destroy batman or anyone related to bruce, you're dead meat. bruce doesn't want you dead. the only times he wants to hold you in his arms were the ones unconnected to you laying limp with your last breath, no. he wants you alive, and well, and safe from harm.

his precious baby, his treasure. he wants to see your face in one piece, and he wishes cradle you in his arms. just because you're over eighteen doesn't mean he's fully lost you. he's your father, first and foremost, and your hero second.

that's why it's imperative that everybody follows his orders now, with the primary order being that everyone, under the guise of currently not holding a mission, is required to be in the batcave within the first thirty or forty-five minutes of the announcement. no, there's no excuses that should be said, or buts. this meeting is a priority meeting, and as vigilantes who fight for the safety of their city's citizens, they know not to disobey.

and as family members related to bruce's precious second youngest, it's an obligation for them to care as much as bruce, dick, and even damian does for the search of your disappearance.

though apparently, jason couldn't get that message, and didn't bother to update through comms over where he's at the opposite side of gotham, his devices turned off after he had recently gone off in a rebellious tangent yet again about bruce's refusal to mercilessly slaughter the deserving ones.

he'll lecture his second child soon after he reports to bruce, mentioning your safety on the line while at it, but right now?

right now he needs to address the elephant in the room: the overbearing anxiousness and antsiness everyone collectively feels, bruce's stern eyes replicating the anger, the surge of energy he feels to exact vengeance on every crime that litters the street, the same urgency he felt compelled to drown upon right after his parents have died right in front of him.

whilst alfred's knowing ones stare at each and every one of the culprits of your disappearance, all a direct reason why you had left in the first place.

someone sighs, and it's not bruce who speaks up first amongst the crowd of vigilantes.

"so what now, father? are we all just going to stand here, or are we going to address the main issue? or do you want me to be the one who brings them back home? i wouldn't mind finding them before all of you do."

"this is not the time to be... you, damian, we're all....we all need time to think." it was dick who spoke next, with a sense of urgency, as his eyes that tried his damn best to stare at damian softly, with a smile to accompany it, immediately plasters itself back on his phone, spamming your phone with messages damian was sure were all about him begging for you to take them all back. without any fights, without any hesitation.

ever the pacifist, one would think. but everyone could see wide blue eyes, glinting at the screen. begging for mercy for such a lost case, tears nearly rimming his eyelids, lips bitten raw as blood drips down his quivering chin.

cass could read his movements, she knows he's mad. but not even a master of body language is in need to know just how much dick's rage emanates off his body.

fingers clenched on his phone, teeth gritted as he spoke, eyes frantically searching through messages, scrolling up, then down, as if he's waiting for something. for someone no doubt.

tim deduces that the person they're focused on for this urgent meeting was the same person dick was trying to text. 'must've been related or close to us if it means it's this important for everyone to be involved.'

he'll look through dick's phone later to solve the itching case, his fingers twitching to whip out his side in the batcave's screen and make a new case file.

but he chose to ignore it for now, they all do, each one focusing on their primary worries.

"who's them? wait— what even are we gonna talk about?" duke's voice rang loudly through the cave. it at least broke through the tension, bruce's tense shoulders sagging in relief then suddenly reverting back to its old, rigid pose.

everyone noticed the action. they're trained individuals after all.

barbara flinched through her seat at the sight of the man, with her hands readily available to type at the keyboard. though her eyes stay glued at batman, looking deeper and noticing his fervoured state.

it's as if he is lost in thought.

and with just how much thoughts were racing in his mind, it's easy to drown. to get lost in that mirage of memories trying to link an image of you to anything he tries to remember. even now, bruce wants to see your face first and foremost. he wants to see an image of you sleeping in your tiny, creaking bed, and to erase any of those memories to replace it with new luxuries he could provide you in life; a comfort you should've been blessed with the moment you entered the double doors of his manor.

his string of pearls, his little treasure.

"(name). they left, and i need all of you to listen to me, now. rebuttals later."

when bruce spoke up, gruff and domineering, with no room for anyone to speak back, all eyes were now on him.

dick throws his phone across the room, ignoring the shatter of the pure, aluminum branded back of it. his foot was jittering, and his voice was as ready to command orders with bruce.

blue eyes stare, vicious and hungry, impatient at its prime. with the addition of damian's green, squinted ones, and bruce's stern glare, thundering and clouded.

it was a spectacle to witness the same emotions coursing through their veins. as if they're one and the same; vultures feeding off the feeling of need and urgency to actuate what seems to be an already brewing plan on the trio's part.

the rest, unknowing of what had just occurred half an hour ago within your bedroom, listens.

they ignore the gnawing feeling of intuition, of something, right at this moment, going wrong, just to hear bruce's explanation, with dick and damian butting in.

they listen, fascinated about you being bought up, a name so foreign yet familiar, a mystery in their eyes despite having met or seen you occasionally; a glimpse of you running through hallways or painting in the garden.

they listen, and all the individuals let deep, feral emotions fester within them the longer they allow their ears and their mind to devour the words dick says, all syllables a symphony of praises towards you, each vowel accentuating his favor.

they listen, and learned.

whatever happened within the batcave, is also a secret.

you have your own secrets. they have theirs.

except, yours were discovered, and they choose to let emotions brewing deep in their hearts as obscured within public view.

tim wants to search for you, steph joins in on his sentiment too. barbara's already at it whilst she types and listens in on bruce's words, cass ponders about your invisible presence and just like bruce, tries to think of memories of you stumbling by her, and duke just as much attempts to picture your face and remembers something sentimental; one he'd ponder on later once he's alone.

now they all know your secrets, not everything, but a semblance of it. they discover their neglects, and acknowledge the consequences. why throughout their stirring arguments, they all couldn't find your handmade night-lights that they like to look at during the dark, or smell the baked crusts on your home-made pumpkin pie recipe, or the humming of random music through the halls.

because you've never once visited the batcave—

and it was the only room not graced with your courtesy, care, passions, and love.

they listen to bruce's plan, yet they ignore the growing dread.

they ignore why jason is radio-silent all throughout too.

instead, they focus on you, trying to reminisce on old, buried memories they at least spent with you. good ones, not the ones containing your meek begs, and heartbroken gazes. or the ones where you stood in the corner of a room watching them talk. or the times where you all had dinner together and you're left in the wake of silence despite the chatter filling the dining room.

... and once they couldn't muster anything up, they figured on creating new ones instead.

warm.

this place feels so unnaturally warm, that it seeks shelter under your skin. warm, yet welcoming at the same time.

...where are you?

your bleary eyes slowly open, blinking gradually, squinting out the streaks of white in your vision. it's always a hassle to wake yourself up. sleep has never been peaceful for you: always awoken by nightmares, or tormenting paralysis, sometimes mere insomnia causes you to lay awake and sweating in your tiny room. and your dreams always has to involve your family, one way or another; of course it's always about them, they've been your only source of life despite never being there for yours. but now? now you feel like you've had a complete 9 hour cycle of sleep, with no hint of fatigue in your body.

you've never had any proper sleep. ever since you saw... you saw her dying that it never registers within your mind just how deprived you are of rest, constantly haunted by memories you wish you just could... forget. but you couldn't, not when your beloved mother is the only precious reminder you have in life to stay alive.

your arms, arms that were always sore, in twisted positions, bruised and with faded scars from all the times you felt too impulsed to hurt, the only way to forget the mental torment you've gone through; now lay atop cozy sheets with no pain bared, no extra sheen of sheen on sweat. your fingers stretch, you caress the pillows your head lays on, cold to the touch against your warm, uncrying face.

it feels nice, feels crisp against your skin. your ears don't burn and you don't feel the need to flip your pillow to the colder side.

a yawn slowly escaped your lips. you lick them, they're not chapped, nor dry. they don't feel bitten, nor streaked with blood. you lick again, there's no familiar sting, nor the taste of blood that seeps against cracked skin.

'this is strange.'

you feel unusually relaxed, your breathing's oddly steady. there's no scent of smoke and pollution invading your nostrils, no shadow of doubt cloaking your mind.

you don't feel like dying today.

it feels so nice, the weather's so weird... pleasant. but this? it's not normal, gotham has never felt so quiet today. there has never been a time where you wake up feeling so... human. this is not routine. you're not used to this. god, everything's so strange and yet...

it's been so long since you last felt like you were... home. wispy streaks of particles dance under the soft light that beams outside of crooked, wooden windows. it casts an angelic glow on your surroundings, unlike the shrouded darkness you're accustomed to.

your eyes do a double take, churning mechanically at an angle where you can clearly see the glass panes.

"hm?" windows that always fog up with polluted specks of dust, now clear, and bright as day. it feels like the sun is kissing your skin through the light that enters the glass, you feel the at ease as your bones crack comfortably, and your muscles stretch without ache.

and you...

you're laying in a thick mattress that buries you in deep burgundy sheets. blankets wrapped around your body like a welcoming hug, you're reminded of your mother yet again.

your heart thumps rhythmically, not erratically this time, no— you've never felt so invigorated. it's been a while since you slept in a comfortable bed, in a comfortable setting, with a comfortable atmosphere. not the sound of blades hit your ears, nor the honking of cars, or ringing of phones. wherever you're laying didn't feel stiff like cardboard back in your apartment, the pillowcases are cool to the touch. your clothes don't encase you uncomfortably tight, there's no random thread that persists on irritating your skin.

it feel so oddly peculiar, so comforting, and you want to cry.

you feel light, airy even. there's nothing but the buzz of empty warmth that encapsulates your entire body. you're not used to this, this disgusting feeling of comfort, you don't think it's real.

only one response enters your mind, the only thing you're accustomed to.

'i don't deserve this.' your thoughts drown you into a deep sea of anguish, but the dichotomy of comfort and pain stirs you into satiating confusion. this is the first time you felt blessed, the first time you wish you were good enough to feel like you're worthy of deserving such goodness in your life.

suddenly, you feel like crying, but no tears escape your eyes, and your heart refuses to beat out of its cage. you're in a trance that refuses to release you from its comforting hold.

the hazy tune of birds chirping snaps you out of your deprecating reflection of your life.

when you squint and look out the windows once more, you make out a faint reflection of green, dominating the entire view second floor view of what is supposed your home.

for the first time, you don't feel fear reminiscing on that earthly shade of color.

you're in a... forest.

your nose picks up on the scent of the damp, green, grasslands. your eyes makes out the scenery outside, droplets of water slowly dripping on tall leaves, the rivulets travelling from blades of leaves to nourished, wet soil. it produces this stimulating smell, one you haven't been able to experience for months living in the polluted air outside the windows of your apartment.

petrichor.

you don't know what, or how, or why this is happening.

all you know is common knowledge, something perceived through senses and observations. you're in a cottage, yes, the interior layout is filled with personal trinkets you know you would've bought with money if you even had it, and furniture suited to both you tastes and your mother's... but otherwise, nothing else.

other than memories of a fantasy you shared with your mother, back when you were innocent to the cruelty of the world, of gotham and its merciless passions.

"XX/XX/XXXX, entry no. 23.

i remember one conversation i had with my mother.

it was about something related to where would we choose to live if we had the choice. she asked me that, out in the random, and that took me by surprise to say the least.

huh, during that time, i never knew her intentions for my answers.

i answered her sincerely, told her that, well, i wanted to live in a comfortable cottage, with two floors and a spacious bedroom for me, with hers right beside mine; so she can keep all the monsters away when i got too scared living by my own.

i wanted fairy lights strewn on the roof of my room, and matching glow in the dark stickers of stars and constellations with hers, just like the ones we have in our quaint apartment. i told her it wouldn't be complete without the mini figurines on top of raspberry colored cabinets, the ones that i loved to collect whenever we thrifted at stores, and most importantly the picture frames of us together.

she giggled at my reply, and told me it was such a 'me' thing to choose what i had said. but i retorted and told her she'd choose the same thing. and she said i said what exactly was on her mind.

thinking about that memory now, i feel warm despite the fact that bruce forgot to attend another parent-teacher conference again this week. every memory of my mother... tugs at my heart, both painful and nostalgic. i miss her.

if my momma was here, she wouldn't even hesitate to pull out of whatever side hussle she had for a job at the first second i'd mention something about my school. she always prioritizes me as her only child. it makes me feel special, and loved, and cared for— i haven't felt that in a long time. i won't lie that alfred's presence helps but a mother's love precedes all essence.

i love her so much. i wish i never took her for granted.

now that i think about it too...

if my momma was here, we could've been in that cottage right now, living our lives, carefree, without nothing to worry us. whether it'd be food in our plates or money to pay the bills. we'll always be happy with mushroom foraging and sitting by the warm fireplace i pictured, with her homemade hot chocolate by the table. she'd be nestled beside me, keeping me warm. that's enough to make me happy, enough to dismiss the heaviness in my heart as i write this.

i wish we were at that cottage right now, forever actually. i don't need a big family, all i need is my mom. and sure we'll have some arguments along the way but it wouldn't be as bad as, well, damian threatening to draw his sword on me and stab me at the heart every second i made him mad, which is always...

funny thing is... fuck, i never noticed how she was saving up money and starving herself whilst simultaneously keeping me well-fed so she could pursue my dreams of actually getting a cottage. i was so oblivious to everything that i just, i never noticed that she was earning all this, to build my dreams, so we can escape from gotham and live new lives with each other by our side.

she was doing all this, for the sake of my comfort, my happiness, my everything. she lives her life with no breaks, and retired from her previous job as a... sex worker just so i can live normally, so i wouldn't be ashamed of being her child, of seeing her as my mother. she was everything i needed in my life. she sacrificed, and i took it for granted.

and i wanted to scold her so badly; doing this for such a lost cause as me. it hurts to think about it now.

so what if i wanted a cottage? what about it if i'm now living with my father, huh? i don't care about living comfortably at all, if that meant i didn't have mother by my side, to support me, to actually love me, then what is a house all worth for??? all i wanted and needed was her, just her. and they took me away from my mother.

my mother.

your heart breaks at the seems whilst you write that faithful night, the grip on your pen near to leaving dents on your finger. if it draws out blood, then so be it. your handwriting turns unintelligible, strokes not knowing where to end. what once was clean, white sheets of paper now crumpled by your despair, by the tears that escaped your eyes, by your fists balling at the paper, all your emotions boiling down to mere grief.

if bruce mourns for jason, you do so too for your mother.

yet you continue to write, and write, and write. it's the only medium of comfort you have, the only means to treasure memories long gone, heartaches and comfort all a coagulation of your retreat to the real world.

if dreams can come true, then you wish the fantasies of your mother being with you comes alive, that she'd be by your side, taking your pen away from your hands, kissing your sweaty forehead and matted tresses, assuring you she's fine. she'll smile with crinkling eyes, and set your quivering hands to a stop, then wrap you in her arms, shielding you away from the burden of living without her.

if you were her flower, then she is your hearth. the only warmth you'd feel in such a cold manor, the only one capable of dipping her hands into your chest, taking your beating heart, and melting off the frigid locks that kept your love in place ever since her death.

only then can you say that dreams do come true, only then can you rest; close your eyes without praying for a dreamless slumber, without nightmares, without swords piercing your body, or the dismissive turn of your family's back on you.

but if dreams do come true, what does that say about nightmares?

only reality can tell.

or you can tell.

at you current state, seated restless on your tiny room with barely any illuminated moonlight guiding your tired body, tormented by both past and future, writing endlessly on journals soon to be forgotten— wouldn't that be considered a nightmare? to be subjected upon unwanted isolation, from the very same people who promised their lives to protect lives such as yours.

your family, your father, brothers and sisters. through empty promises alone; all enough to destroy you inside out.

talentless, worthless, out of place.

yet even if your diaries were all torn apart, pages seeping with both blood and tears, you still write.

you write, and you continue through your endeavors. what once were fond memories were the same monsters chasing you through barren halls and empty rooms.

after all, it's the only way to honor her passing, even if it kills you all the same.

you continue, wiping at your sullen cheeks, and brushing away ripped strands of hair; pen inseparable from stubborn, swollen fingers.

now i'm living here, in this big manor, with nothing going on for me. i have alfred, and he's like a father figure right after mom, but it doesn't change anything... it doesn't change the grief i feel, the sorrow, the unwaning depression. nothing. i couldn't even get myself to stand up from bed because i'm so fed up with everything.

if i didn't try so hard in the first place, i would've never been left this destroyed.

i want to give up, i want to die and just disappear off the face of earth. no one would notice, and at least after i die, i would be reunited with her— but I can't. why?

i have to remind myself everyday. i just can't give up and let all her efforts go to waste. she doesn't want me dying, earlier than her age, too. she told me i couldn't just let go so easily, that life is beautiful if you try to find its hidden beauty. i'm still trying to find meaning in all her wise words, i can't just take her honor for granted, especially since i know that despite everything, she has her own anguish and regrets.

does she regret having me?

right now, i feel a spark of motivation. she's been saving up, just for me, and i want to honor her memories at least. if i can't feel like home in this manor, then i'll make myself a home. to honor her, and to build upon both our dreams.

i don't know when, or how i could even engage in this impossible goal. but for momma? i'll do anything for her, even if it means working myself to death. because at least that means proof that i tried, and she'll be proud of me in the afterlife. god, i hope she would be.

we'll get that cottage soon, momma. i promise."

thinking about it now, that was ten entries right after your breakdown during your birthday. it was at a period of time where you fully accepted that you'd never be loved by your family, that you never belonged, and matured just as quickly after taking a break from writing self destructive diaries.

you sigh, looking down at your clenched palms and indenting fingers on skin. you really wish she was here. it could've made everything better, you would've been better if she was by your side.

a knock ensures before your door, and that alone snaps you out of your thoughts. you jump in shock yet feel no pang of panic in your heart, but before you could reach out to defend yourself, the door opens after the prior knock, and your...

your mother enters.

angelic, glowing, beautiful.

she's decorated in a white dress, with a pearl necklace decorating her neck, glinting like diamonds, soft in its assertion. like an angel, rather than the devil she's portrayed to be in the newspapers she hid from you.

she looks beautiful, as always, breath-taking to the point it makes you wonder how you share the same genes as her.

but her beauty now precedes her beauty from when you last saw her bleeding in the cold tiles of your apartment. now, she looks old, yet ethereal. wrinkles flecked her skin, her eyes drooped at the lids, her hairs displayed streaks of white in some areas.

you've never seen her like this.

she had you very young, and you've lost her young. yet she looks as she's rebirthed now, living yet aging like fine wine.

she is happy, and content with her smile, and looks at you with a radiant grin, smile marks on her sunken cheeks, like you mean the world, walking towards your seated form as she hugs you weakly, yet lovingly.

warm, like the spring's gentle blooms, like the feel of petals rubbed against your fingertips.

you're caught breathless.

"momma...?"

beauty that is true, that is honest, and speaks of history. beyond the barriers of photos you see in her at her prime, when she was known as a 'man-eater', a lustful creature that steals from rich to survive.

you've never lied when you said your mother is always going to be the most beautiful woman in the world.

at least, in your eyes. because if she objectively was, then your father could've, should've stayed with her, for the sake of his pride and reputation at the very least. he could've had her by his side, even through a loveless marriage, if it meant it ensured her safety.

you dismiss the bitterness the brews inside you, and opted to focus at the strange, yet welcome circumstances beforehand.

your hands find a way to wrap around her crouched figure, fingers lingering on the once sinewy bones of her spine, now healthy even through the sagging skin.

"my baby..." you look up at her, her hands holding your head so tenderly, cradling you side to side.

"momma..." she kisses your forehead, then both your cheeks, and takes a seat beside you. when she did, you felt a surge of energy and warmth burst throughout both your body and heart. for once, you felt giddy, solitary confinement all but a dream in this fantasy land.

you don't let her hands go for even a second, fearing this moment will be taken away from you. there's warmth emanating off the fingers intertwined with yours, you wish this moment never ends.

the questions that almost left your silken throat took hesitation. you just can't ask why she's alive, where you are and why you're here in the first place; for fear she'll be taken away from you, that you couldn't see her beyond the conjured and brief memories you had of her.

you wish to cry once again, this time, you let out a small hiccup and feel saliva bundling on the back of your mouth. she hums in resounding worry, her other hand swiping away at the hair covering your wide eyes. the softness in her eyes doesn't falter, and she hums a familiar lullaby: one that triggers nostalgia, that reminds you of the days spent without electricity in your tiny apartment with her lighting a candle just so she could read you another one of your favorite stories, huddled beside her.

the last you've heard of her voice, it was parched and inaudible. she always sacrificed for you, and drinkable water was a privilege in the shady parts of gotham.

"you're probably wondering where you are and why we're here, aren't you, sunshine?" she cuts her singing off abruptly, your eyes snap open to look up at her through your eyelashes.

"... y-yeah," your reply comes in, voice barely whisper. unsure and insecure of where this conversation will go, you chose to bury your head in her shoulder. she smells of ripe strawberry and cherries, unlike the mixture bold perfumes mixed with the stench of booze she comes home with after another night of restless endeavor. yet you don't acknowledge the memories of the past, you're here with her now and it's all that matters.

"where are we, mom? am i... dreaming? please, i- i miss you." this time, your tears come out in a steady stream, but your throat doesn't constrict in itself, and you don't feel the urge to rip at your hair at anymore.

now you're just terribly sentimental rather than bitter. no more was the jealousy that aches, or the panic rushing through your veins. it's just you and your mother, and the memories of her passing that buries you at the hilt of your sadness.

"well... you're in the realm between life and death, my little angel," she states with lidded eyes, as if it is a matter of fact. her hands move to scratch your scalp, she hums and swings your crying body side to side, akin to a mother cradling her newborn baby.

you felt particularly reborn, the sudden change affecting you more than you'd like to admit. the light outside your window casts her in a sheen of white, glimmering like rays of the sun, or like the twinkle of the moon.

even if she was old, and grey and wrinkly, she's always been ethereal.

and you're convinced that she's the angel instead.

"you've been through a lot, haven't you?" her questions brought you out of your tearful stupor, she brings her lips to kiss at your forehead and wraps her palms on the sides of your face, wiping away at the waterworks refusing to cease.

all you could do was nod, and feel the warmth reflecting off her body, transferring all to you. even in the plane of death has she always been generous.

"i-i... i don't want this to end, momma..." you utter, gazing at her ever-smiling face. there was a faint translucency in her body, as if her form is slowly disappear. and for a second, you feel fear that she'll disappear. fear that dissipates just as quickly when you hear her heavenly chuckles.

"...baby, i'm here with you right now in because i want to remind you to choose the path to live. it's too early to die right now, it's too early for my baby to join me in the afterlife." her words are too complicated to comprehend with how muddled your thoughts were, her saccharine actions feel like a forbidden touch, and you just couldn't comprehend why, just why does she want you to live...

when there's nothing else left for you in the realm where she's not around.

"but i... i don't understand...? why can't, why can't i be with you, mom—?"

"because unlike me, baby, you have so much to do. i've nothing left of me to offer when i died, baby... at least now, at least you'll find that you're still always loved, even when i'm not with you."

she cuts you off with a hush, pinching your cheeks before another wave of tears and quivering hiccups escape your befuddled body.

but you can't afford to let her go a second time, you can't go back—!

you don't want to be back in that damning structure you call a manor, you don't want to watch your father from a mere corner shrouding himself in the pits of darkness you know you couldn't carry, you don't want to return to begging for dick's attention as he turns a blind eye, you don't want the pitiful stares from tim when he's in the same room as you, or duke, cass, and steph's hushed whisper whenever you pass by, plans being made without your knowledge, without acknowledgement of your presence. you don't want to be blamed by damian for even being born in the first place. you don't want anymore uncelebrated and silent birthdays anymore, or milestones celebrated with just a fucking cupcake and a pat on your head...!

you want your mom, you don't want your other family, not anymore...

even if... even if your disappearance paved the way for a new shift in interests in your family's mind, even if you're now unknowingly the center of attention after months of the manor's solitude without you; just like you had always wanted— you're tired, and you've long since given up and grown from selfish and unrealistic desires of a completely healthy family.

if you could even call them that wretched title.

if you could even consider them as one like how they never did you.

the tears return just like the pain you were temporarily barred from, now it's a waterfall that threatens to throw you off of your escape from the reality of life, stinging your eyes and falling on crumpled sheets as your fingers grip uncontrollably for a sanction of control. from what? from the fear that now is the moment that you'll truly never see her again, not even in your memories.

"... momma, please, stay—!"

but right before you could reason out, desparate words crawling and jumping out your heaving chest and into the spiraling room, right before you could beg her to stay closer with you with her flickering warmth for just a second further as her body slowly dissipates from her hold on you, as your vision darkens and you hear that faint, familiar murmur of gotham's bustling motorcycles and alleyway screaming—

her last words, full of assurances, just like the day she tucked you in that little closet and made you promise that you'd stay silent for her, sacrificing her life just so she could protect you; it grounds you into your spot, restless, broken, and chasing unsaid words to tell her before you lose her once more, and destroys any and all hope for complete, and utter happiness you forced yourself to truly believe.

"... i love you, my sweet angel. be good for me, alright...?"

and just like that, your eyes blearily open to find itself into a completely foreign surrounding yet again.

and this time, it is real and unwanted.

'jason todd, a good soldier,' were the words marked and engraved on his tombstone. buried under the healthy soils of the manor, he felt as if his presence was forgotten all the same.

it was true, he was a good soldier. always obedient, always listening and mirroring bruce's orders, even though he grew up in the ratty streets with a drug-addicted mother and an abusive father, when he was picked up by bruce and lead into the vigilante life with the beaming potential to combat even dick; jason was always the good kid, who, even if he became a tad bit rebellious on the years garnering on teenage life, died honorably for the safety of his biological mother who betrayed him.

jason todd, always the boy portrayed as a warning sign for all the future robins, always the child remembered as just that: a soldier of batman, the kid of bruce who died unfairly; the truth of his death, the truth of joker's fucked up foil to destroy the bat's mentality even further all for a good laugh, hidden beneath restricted case files and bruce's suppressed emotions— all left unattended, just for him to be replaced by another new robin; a telltale signal that felt like bruce was trying so hard to repair the broken fixtures jason left behind.

the implication itself felt as if the world is laughing at his heroic acts, never acknowledged beyond the faults that lie on his stubbornness; a learnt trait all robins grew into once they've been taken in bruce's care.

he must've never been a good kid if life decided to take him away, when his youth was at an all time high, when all he wanted to do was meet his real mother, and to save her even when she had left him to die with explosives laid beside his beaten body.

was it his fault that all he ever wanted to do was to make his father proud? what was wrong with being a hero, being robin with his magical passions?

jason was never the spiteful man everyone assumed him to be. he was never rebellious, or thirsting for vengeance, or came to hate bruce as much as what everyone else thought of when they'd first hear his name.

even when he was revived in that sunken pit of hell, nineteen with a seventeen year old soul, feeling his once lanky body too tall, too big for him to flex his fingers, to kick with his now muscly legs, crying and screaming under all the madness of forcefully having his soul be reunited with his body after two years of peaceful rest.

and when he had returned to his senses, when he discovered that there were two new children running around the manor, one a product of a one-night stand, the other donning the identity of a new robin, did jason become the spiteful image everyone imagine the young boy came to be from when he was just an impulsive teenager.

becoming alive once more, reliving betrayal after betrayal, watching in the background: never the full story, but enough to feel like he's been replaced— it became his sole duty to torment, to do to criminals what has been done to him, just to teach the bat that his moral code was flawed, was what caused a thousand other souls to be lost under the hands of the puny joker.

all this, just to feel a sense of right in a life constantly wronging him.

yet under all the blood-soaked jackets, the aluminum amoury, under clenched teeth and resentful, dead blue eyes stood a boy who loved. who stole tires to provide for his small family who never truly loved him: a father who beats at his body nightly, a mother who dismisses him in favor of her favorite substances. who read books of all genre— classic his all time favorite, jane austen his beloved author, he loved school, loved learning, jason always came home with an A+ in all his subjects, eternally grateful despite the years of betrayal, of heartache, of shredded photos and shattered picture frames.

who advocated his young life fighting crime, kicking ass beside his vigilante partner and a man he came to call his dad, even though he had all the opportunities in the world to turn rotten like the crime infested streets of gotham. because he was a good kid, too, and a soldier the next.

he was never the violent kind. he was the kid who loved above all else. idolizing dick, bruce, all the good people in the world with shining ambitions that should've never been stained so early. he even told bruce he always wanted a little sibling to care for. he wanted to teach another young, unfortunate child what it's like to share kindess in this shithole of a city.

jason todd was a ball of pure joy, loved by bruce to the point his father could've never moved on from his death, never acknowledging the next traumatized child that came after him, and also tim, too, who he always mistakenly call by jason's name.

jason couldn't see beyond the surface of what he knew, masked by hatred for what had become after two years, questions spiraling hid head that accompanies a darkness he never knew could shroud him like a cloak. bruce used to hide him under his curtain of a cape back when he was a small, manourished kid, his vision overtaken by pure black; but now the older version of him knew what true darkness is like without needing his vision disrupted.

death feels like eternal darkness, a void that devours your vision of all colors, no physical form, no thoughts, but unmoving with the feelings grounding you in place, like hell. and with the shadow of doubt that he was never truly cherished by a man he loved to call his father, that no vengeance took place after his death, jason couldn't fathom the pain greater than what he experienced in that cold, dark warehouse; spending hours hoping that he'd be saved.

how long did it take for bruce to replace him? days, months, weeks?

how long did it take for bruce to move on? was he just an afterthought to the man? was he just a good soldier in bruce's eyes?

and why, just why, does he also blame himself for his own doom? for being stubborn enough to pursue chasing after a clown smarter than him, why does he

... if he had never died, things would've never escalated that far, it wouldn't have created a domino effect that ruined not only his life, but his angel's too.

if he had never died, you wouldn't be bleeding in his arms like he did too in bruce's.

... except unlike him back then, you want to simply die now.

jason's passing was not only his guilt or bruce's, it also marked the start of your treacherous journey of thirteen and a half years living in silence, in fear and in constant yearning after your mother's death, for a love so passionate from bruce like the one he gives to all his other children but you.

for a love he had given all up for jason that he never had any to spare to you.

bruce never gave you what you wanted, what you practically needed. all in favor of mourning the passing of his second child, his son who achieved more than the levels you knew you'd never reach. you were never the desirable child, because as good as you were like jason, as nice as you could be, or talented— nobody could replace the hole that jason left within bruce from when he left the world.

you both were good kids, but jason was infinitely better.

when you were first introduced to the manor, jason assumed you and tim replaced him, he watched secretly after his resurrection, with grim prayers for your downfall 'cause he couldn't attack you like he did tim in the tower because of your civilian status, your involvement towards batman was close to zero.

you were a young child, you knew nothing, and he hates you.

he regrets hating you.

all because he hates seeing himself in those young, glinting eyes. he never realized what he felt was fear, fear that someone like you could end up like him, when he had first obsessively did research on your buried past. your world could've been so easily destroyed by the tips of his finger and he had done so mercilessly until it was too late.

he really hated you at first, but he couldn't do anything to hurt you without trespassing the manor and triggering all the signals and alarms he's sure have been updated by the new, puny little robin. he hated you so much for reasons he couldn't pinpoint, blinded by sorrow, and grief, and every piling resentment built on years of animosity he should've only directed only towards bruce, and never someone as innocent, as uninvolved as you.

you, who he calls his angel after the years of torment you've unknowingly and obliviously suffered under him.

but he was so angered, the darkness in his mind clawed him deeper in a frenzy for revenge, that it overpowered the empathy he felt for when he first saw you, standing alone in the kitchen room with an apple in your hand and a blunt knife in the other. not ready to defend yourself at the sight of him, not even pointing it at him, but inviting the man to eat with you your favorite abomination of apple slices and peanut butter— as if you didn't care about the gun in his hands and the window cutter in the other.

you didn't understand why it was so easy to ignore you. it had been years since you have talked, let alone find yourself staring at a person, that you never cared for your safety as long as it meant that... well, you could have someone to finally talk to, with your parched throat from all the moments of unuse, excitedly addressing him as mr. ghost.

he couldn't do anything, couldn't even stare at you for longer, so he ran away at first glance, and failed to see the heartbroken sigh from you agter and the tears that welled up having your hopes raised up only to be shattered once more.

that sight of you standing under the moonlit night triggered conflicting feelings within him– but it was always the strive for vengeance that took over his life, didn't it? even though meeting you bore solid evidence that you were none the wiser, that you didn't deserve anything coming from you; it was through his sheer dedication to destroy all things cherished by bruce that he never once realized that you were merely nothing to bruce— that he ruined an innocent person's life over nothing.

he resorted to praying for your demise if it meant he couldn't physically hurt you. he focused on tormenting you indirectly before the fire in his raging heart was eventually extinguished.

he was the man you see by the hallways, the monster you thought raptured knocks on your window in the middle of the night, the reason for why some of your old childhood toys would be missing eyes, had loosened stitches, or had their stuffings removed and displaced somewhere hidden you couldn't reach.

a cryptic message that made you run and bury your head in alfred's suit, asking the old man to spend the night with you after another one of your toys was ripped apart. a reaction that made jason scoff at your immaturity; as if the inner child in him wouldn't react the same way.

you were only a few years younger than tim, despite arriving in the manor before him, and jason was stupid enough to assume you had been raised well by bruce that you'd be mature at your age, he was such an idiot to think that you wouldn't be as emotionally affected but rather paranoid of the sudden paranormal activity surrounding you. that the cookies you baked were all left to be crumbs, after just leaving them to cool off for a few minute, the pens you used for journalling wouldn't have gone missing— he thought surely, you'd be broken mentally...

but never this... emotionally.

what he didn't expect were breakdowns right after, hair pulling, the biting of skin and panic attacks after panic attacks.

wide eyes staring at the ceiling, perspiration on your skin clinging on to blazing bedsheets at the lack of ventilation, sporadic breathing, bleeding scratches on your skin like a wild animal.

you cry like one, unashamed of how loud your sobs were for such a parched throat, at how long you've been wailing alone whilst hugging your too-little body, eyes closed and misty, as if it would rid you the images of your wrecked bedroom and missing journals.

yet jason never stops to wonder why no one had came running in your room to save you from destroying yourself even further.

he never wondered nobody bothered to acknowledge your crying every night, continuing on his tangent to destroy everything you loved just to prove a point, that you couldn't be worth the effort for bruce to care enough about, despite the internal conflict he felt ruining an innocent kid's life.

and he didn't even need to prove anything, because you were never worth anything. the longer jason went on without bruce's acknowledgement, the more everything felt wrong, the more he felt like whatever he's doing is torture, not retribution.

he's terrible for what he'd done, and slowly resigned to watching over you instead to ensure you'll slowly calm down after months of his monstrous presence looming over you.

but the damage was already done, and you're left to even smaller, shattered pieces.

and here he is now, watching as you bleed out in his arms, crying and babbling at the pain, yet begging under your breath to "please, please don't call batman, don't call bruce... please leave, please, please, please don't do anything stupid, jay..."

whilst pushing him away, as if scared of him, as if you'd rather death than... than to see bruce dismiss another relayed message regarding you.

even if you're dying, you refuse to undergo the same pain of neglect. even if you're dying, you don't wish to ruin their movie night plans just because you were stupid enough to drink yourself to near death to distract yourself from dick's messages.

all because you've taught yourself that you're never worth the wait, and jason takes blame in partaking the destruction of your optimism.

under the flickering light of the lamppost, your swollen eyes and snot-ridden nose don't pose the same satisfaction he felt when he first ripped your plushie apart, not anymore. all he felt was dread now, that you're bleeding, his angel is bleeding and everything happening is very much real.

he feels a hidden awe, too, at just how ethereal and warm your body feels, despite the light leaving your eyes, the fight slowly being replace by another one of your panic attacks. he holds you still, and stabilizes your body with his strong arms to prevent anymore bleeding, despite the wobbly legs and your losing consciousness.

jason couldn't afford to let you die in his arms, he couldn't fathom just how much he misses your presence.

and now he realizes just how much he hates it when you fear him throughout the entire procedure of calming you down. how you shiver in his gaze, how he feels the pricks of your goosebumps against the thick fabric of his gloves.

you never once feared him when you first met him, it was through your lack of it that he bonded with you, keeping the torment he put you through a secret. even though he makes short and sometimes brash comments with his unfiltered mouth, you'll always find joy in his words because he was the only decent guy around the manor, despite his presence being scarce and sometimes nonexistent.

you cherished him, and god, he never knew how much he cherished you too.

but now you're sobbing and mumbling incoherently about how you wish it was never him who saved you, that it could've been someone else, or you prefer to be left rotting in the damn corner, dead and discarded, if it means it wouldn't be him saving you, for damn reasons he doesn't even know.

why do you hate him so much now...? why does his precious angel look at him in a tearful daze, all desparate to push him away despite the soreness of your body, despite the blood dripping from your lower stomach all the way down to the floor in a swirl of nauseating crimson mess?

why does he see himself in you?

why does he see the same broken child who chooses to care for others than themself?

as much as jason hated to admit it, as much as he said he never wanted to die for the sole reason that he cherished the moments with his father at most—

jason wished he could've turned time back right now, at this instant. he wished he could've been stronger, could've been far more resistant of that damn explosion, that he never was stupid enough to fall for one of joker's traps—

if it meant he wouldn't be suffering from the gripping ache on his chest, from the dreaded claws you call paranoia at the sight of your ice-blue lips and dimming eyes from all the blood loss, your arms still trying to push him to a considerable distance despite him wishing to hold you oh-so tightly, as his fingers, shivering from a familiar panic he felt, try to wipe away at the river of tears collecting at the edges of your dirt-stained chin and wobbly lips, his helmet pressed atop your forehead as if to reassure you, mostly himself that you'll all be alright—

that you wouldn't go through the same route as him, scarred and traumatized after this moment under the moonlit night that watches jason wrap his gloved palms on the back of your neck despite the remaining fight and adrenaline in your body, the other bulky mass of muscles under your feet.

the polluted air bares witness to his hasty breaths, the protective hold that refuses to let go, body automated to run to his motorcycle, stepping carelessly on the bloody carnage of the alleyway's floor (they deserve torture after what they put you through, hell, he'll make sure their burial will be damning to both the police that failed to search you even though they were in close proximity to where you screamed, and the other related lackeys involved in this wretched smuggling crime), to bring you to doctor leslie for an immediate surgery.

jason hopes that instead of hate, you'll still feel a semblance of any remaining love for him instead of aching nostalgia after all this time.

he hopes you could forgive him as it is only now that he realizes how vulnerable you truly are, that despite jokingly calling you his guardian angel, he should've been the guardian, the knight, the man who protects you from all evil as what he calls his morals to be.

why were you even out in the first place? just why were you absolutely wasted? why, why, why does the image of your resigned, and tired eyes the only thing flashing and looping in his mind, filtering out the speeding motorcycle cutting through wind and traffic lanes, ignoring red lights and the loud beeps of the other vehicles before him, the pump of engines similar to the wild beating of his heart, as he speeds through shortcuts after shortcuts to take you to immediate treatment before it was too late.

he takes short breaths, too aware of his surrounding, too deep in thought, he couldn't waste any moments thinking about anything but his angel.

he wishes he could've changed so many things. but you couldn't change the past anymore, you couldn't change the grueling form of torture you call silence for a child who wanted the same type of love bruce had for when jason was alive, who had to deal with the aftermath of jason's death.

and now, as the ripe age of eighteen, still too young, and still bleeding, at the mercy of death.

it never occured to him just how interconnected your lives were together. just how much it was through his passing that affected your life.

he was the first brother who saw you without the need for your cries of attention every lonesome passing of time in the ghostly manor.

and you were the first who stared at him through tear-stained cheeks and diluted irises. not out of fear, not out of haste to warn other members of his growing family of jason's (a stranger in your eyes, no less, with armoured chest plates and a crimson helmet glinting mercilessly in the dark, lightless room only illuminated by the wretched moon, with guns loaded with bullets in his holster) sudden trespass within the kitchen windows, not out of every negative emotions he expects of you; but out of sheer shell shock that someone had finally caught you through your nightly sneaking.

out of genuine whiplash of someone finally looking at you eye-to-eye, head faced to one another, your cold fingertips pressing against the swell of your eyebags from restless nightmares and anxious paranoia triggered from academics, as if to tell yourself that this was all mere hallucination.

you matter so much to him, even if he tries to overcorrect his sins, trying his damn best to notice your presence whenever he visits the manor, even if his brash words sting your heart sometimes, even if he couldn't properly show you affection he should've given you—

it's not enough.

it was never enough, that even his gentle words spoken to you whilst he speeds through his motorcycle felt entire foreign. that despite unconscious and limp on his body, you're still flinching and the tears couldn't have enough time to dry. jason could've done so much more for his precious little sibling, he could've been the best older brother in the world like he promised himself to be back when he was an oblivious little child, just like how he sees you right now.

everything he did was not enough, but the doubts that circulate his mind didn't fester in his mind much anymore; because he turned it into motivation, he looks at you through the mirror of his motorcycle, vulnerable, aching with the need for affection (that he could provide, he could give to you infinitely...!) and transforms the regret into motivation.

to be better, to be the one you look up to, not with thoughts of how or when you'll be able to spend time with him, but with confidence and preference for his time. that he'll be the first you choose to look for.

jason promises you his undying loyalty, to protect you from the danger of this world, to savor the light and the warmth that emanates off of your presence. despite the heartache you felt because of him, because of all your tormentors— you were still kind, like an angel who had fallen from grace, but chose to grace the world instead with their remaining salvation.

if you manage to survive throughout it all, through the surgery and the anaesthesia-filled stitchings, with jason's scarred hands wrapped around your fists, daintier compared to the muscles in his. if by the end of this night, jason would have you alive (he will, he'll refuse anything else, even if it takes you being resurrected in the lazarus pit, then so be it) in his arms and resting peacefully in his apartment and not under bruce's roof, out of respect from your sheer insistence that you'd rather anywhere but the manor.

jason swears on his life that he'll make it up to you.

he'll be better for you, for his angel, to atone himself for all the sins he committed upon you.

and even if it means ripping the world upside down at its seems, even if it takes decades for you to feel comfortable within the confines of his arms, unlike the dread that claws at your body earlier, pushing him away, pushing your older brother away— he's willing to undergo even the same torture from joker if it means making up to you.

as long as he has you in his sights.

all this, just to see the fear in your eyes replaced by genuine happiness at the sight of your big brother, ready to do anything for you the moment requests spill out from your benevolent lips and gleaming eyes.

you truly are his saving grace, his angel in disguise.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 14,200+ words. no beta, we just cry. "i am good, but not an angel. i do sin, but i am not the devil. i am just a small child in a big world trying to find someone to love." it's a quote that inspired this half of the chapter partly. apologies to anyone if jason seems a bit religious here??? he's not, but i'm trying to establish connections on why he even calls you that nickname in the first place (and totally not me relating it to the flashpoint comic where he becomes a priest 😭). again, bit of a boring chapter, but no hate please haha, instead leave comments if you enjoyed reading it!!! more interactions = more content.

there are many lyrics and song references scattered about the paragraphs, can you guys spot it all for me 🫦? i'm a musically inclined guy, and there's also lots of not implicitly stated songs too, i lost count honestly. tysm for all your patience, because writing through my hectic schedule is honestly a struggle.

as stated, there are a lot of jason todd and mc parallels, i love hearing you guys' thoughts about me expanding upon this. they're very different but also share so many similarities, and i like to explore deeper on every character just to make the yandere element more obvious and distinct.

and like my previous announcement too, please please please do not copy off the scenes i wrote. although my writing is mid, it doesn't mean it should be stolen word by word or the entire scenarios or scenes i've written should be taken in and written into your own fanfics too. my potrayals of each and every characters are a bit more unique takes too (i like to make myself believe), so as much as possible, please credit me. i appreciate you all 🩷

yet again, leave comments, interactions, what you think of this chapter (but not too critical comments, or pure hate please). idk what to feel about my writing, i hate it a lot sometimes but oh well! merry christmas, this is my early gift for all of you guys and for the second part, i'll try to post as soon as possible (i need to generate more spotlight to ensure they get equal attention ofc).

taglist: @neerathebrightstar, @ghostdoodlen, @prince-nikko, @daisy-spot, @strawberryglass, @h0neybun-was-here, @confused-they, @weirdcore-fantasy, @mystyque234, @marssthings, @notwhoy0uthink, @aliengutzstuff, @lilyalone, @luffyadolover, @punpunsonny, @lazyemmy, @questionthegrapevine, @oh-nowo-i-got-uwu, @winter-world, @zavavas-dungeon, @budijojo, @altruisticbeauty, @dopepursebasketballplaid, @the-holy-pigeon, @red-phantom-0, @em-draws14, @thypplover, @cens0r3d-blog, @yl90, @sadeem575, @couldeatthatgirlforlunch, @maicenitas, @kiiyoooo, @flyingpansaurus, @farmerboywakatoshikun-blog, @rogueofbullshit, @earlqurl, @dotomuses, @sheep-from-rad, @tsuniio, @thesm1l3yface, @nosochek-3o, @radiantharu, @iwasveronica, @kdjhubby, @ashstwin, @thetreefairypersonalblog, @se-rae2, @0ut0fsweets, @notwhoy0uthink

1K notes · View notes

joonberriess · 10 months ago

Text

LOVIN’ YOU ౨ৎ ‧₊˚

TAGS — unprotected sex, nasty sex, late valentines gift, rough sex, romantic(?), daddy kink, dirty talk, breeding kink, possessive!jk, baby no. 2 might have been made here, spoiler: it was, jk is meannnnn, heavy dom-sub vibes, edging, fingering, oc loves being degraded for being a whore for jk, it gets super soft, love making, oc is a bratty sub in this one, heavy degradation, slut shaming(?), oc wants to CUCK jk as a joke but he gets his lick back on her lmao, PET NAMESSS, this is a spin-off from the main series of flawless!

WORD COUNT — 3.5 k

“Happy anniversary love.” Jungkook sleepily mumbles as he passes by. He leans over to land a kiss on your forehead, his hand slips from the back of your waist and over your hip settling with a gentle squeeze.

You tilt your head and rest it against his bicep while brushing your teeth. We look good, you think while admiring Jungkook’s bare form. He had decided to forgo a sleeping shirt last night and chose only his slutty silk pajamas you had both bought together on a whim. You were wrapped up in a baby pink robe with a pretty little night slip underneath.

“Is Jae awake,” you softly ask while admiring your appearance in the luxurious mirror. Jungkook says something but you’re busy rinsing your mouth out so you don’t catch it, and by the time you come back up he’s brushing his own teeth with a silly little smile on his face.

“What?” You purse your lips, “What’s so funny?” He shakes his head and spits out the paste from his mouth leaving you a bit annoyed at your husband’s antics. “Hmph.”

You lay your head back on his bicep again and lift your phone up to snap a picture of the two of you. “Say cheese,” you softly giggle while zooming in on his face, bursting out into laughter as Jungkook gives you a foamy smile.

You peep the way your diamond ring and wedding band glistens under the sunlight pouring in through the open french doors, Jungkook’s own wedding band shining just as bright too. You wrap your ringed hand around him and snap a few more pictures for later. “Jungkook–you’re making a mess.” You sigh as water droplets hit your thighs from his little mouth rinsing session.

“Sorry.” Jungkook wipes his face down with a towel and nods in approval at something, “All the little old French ladies are gonna be all over me, aren’t you worried someone’s gonna take me away sweetheart?” He tenderly cups your cheeks and squeezes.

This certainly has your brow raising in question, “Aren’t you worried a French man is going to take me away? What if he whisks me off to the Eiffel Tower and proposes to me? Hm?” You play at his game, watching in satisfaction as a twinge of possessiveness and jealousy spark in his dark onyx eyes.

“Take you? Baby over my dead body,” he tugs you in and holds you against him, “wish a motherfucker would..” He grunts under his breath, the tone sends a delicious little shiver down your spine. You swear you have a second heartbeat right now, you just loved when he got like this.

His big greedy hands grab handfuls of your ass through the flimsy little thong you were wearing under your night slip. A tiny gasp slips from your lips as he abruptly smacks both cheeks making you jump just a little. “Bet you don’t like that huh?” You softly smirk. Jungkook grumbles like you already know the answer to that.

He leans down to leave a flurry of kisses all over your neck and shoulder, irritably growling when your robe gets in the way as he tugs the entire thing off. “Just the fuckin’ thought of someone putting their hands on you pisses me off sweetheart—not everyone should have the luxury of being blessed with your soft little cunt and perky ass.” He whispers darkly in your ear.

“You like that? Like hearing how much I love this slutty body? It makes me never wanna let you leave those sheets darling, especially with how good you looked for me on the bed last night.” Jungkook wraps his lips around a hickey he left last night, immediately he starts sucking on it with the intention of making it darker.

You mewl softly at his words and bite your lip, “You know I don’t want anyone else,” you flutter your lashes coyly, “ ‘s the only cock I’ll ever need daddy, no one can fuck me like you do,” you lean up to whisper low and sultry in his ear, “so show them who I belong to.”

Jungkook groans at your seductive tone and hauls you up by the back of your thighs, “Ain’t I just the luckiest bastard sweetheart? What’d I do to deserve such a pretty little thing like you?” He muses while untying the bow holding your robe together.

Your robe falls apart, unveiling your tits as if they were a piece of artwork for Jungkook’s hungry eyes to feast on. He licks his lips darkly, eyes briefly flickering up to stare into your own. “Please daddy.” You softly say while spreading your legs wider, hooking your ankles together behind his strong muscular back, tugging him closer to you.

“Why should I? Thought your little french boy’s can do it better than me?” He huskily whispers, hot breath hovering over your pebbled nipple, “Will he fuck you the way I do? Have you screaming and shaking? More importantly sweetheart,” he whispers low, “will he be able to satisfy you the way I can?” He engulfs your nipple in his mouth.

You bite your lip and lean your head back while running your fingers through his hair. “I don’t know, will he?” You breathily whisper, breath hitched when Jungkook uses a hint of teeth on your sore teat. “Maybe he can, I’ll even put on a show for you daddy—so you can see how pretty I look taking someone else’s cock.”

Jungkook’s grip tightens to the point that the pressure has you squirming, “What’s the matter daddy? Thought you wanted to see how pretty I look hanging off a cock.”

“Fuckin’ minx,” he growls pulling away from your wet nipple, “that what you want? You gonna let your daddy watch someone else stuff their dick into that whore-ish cunt of yours? Is that it sweetheart? Baby wants to be a whore?” He lands a punishing smack against your ass cheek, causing it to echo loudly in the otherwise quiet bathroom.

You arch your back and whine, “For you,” you mewl softly, “only you daddy.” You finally gave in because the tension was rising and it was proving too much to handle. Jungkook didn’t give a fuck, he could play it that game—far worse too.

“Now it’s only me huh? Where’d my little whore go hm? The one who wanted to put on a show for her daddy?” He cups your chin and squeezes your cheeks together, “Hm?”

You whine again but he doesn’t let up on your suffering, “Not so bold now, huh sweetheart? Cat got your tongue baby?” He leans in, mocking your little whines in his own husky voice which immediately has you slicking up. “Why the pout?” He smirks like he isn’t the one responsible for this sweet torture.

“Because..”

“Because,” he mocks with a pout while squeezing your chin and such, waiting for a coherent answer. “Haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re a mess.”

You bite your lip at his mean tone and arch into his touch, desperately wiggling and bucking your hips just to feel— you’ll take anything at this point. Jungkook stops you with his hand and holds you still, “Look at you, humping me like a little bitch in heat.” He cruelly chuckles.

“Jungkook,” you softly sob, they’re not real tears anyways but still it’s not fair that he’s not giving you the fucking you deserve. At least a good dick sucking session would suffice but you can’t even have that. ;(

“Say it,” he reaches down to cup you through your thong, “say you’re mine sweet girl,” he purrs.

Your lips part in a small ‘o’ as his fingers breach your soaked thong, he dips them in teasingly with his fingertips brushing against your poor clit. “ ‘m yours, only yours.” You whimper softly, “Please..? Want your fingers daddy,” you wiggle around again.

Your devious husband doesn’t even warn you before he’s plunging his fingers into your sopping cunt. A breathless cry escapes and you toss your head back from the sudden burst of hot pleasure in your loins, “Mm..!”

Jungkook doesn’t even let you compose yourself before he’s curling his ring and index finger up to brush against your g-spot. He has no problem really, he knows your little cunt like the back of his hand, he’ll have you dripping in no time. “Like this? Or like this?” He suddenly stops and shifts away from your sensitive spot.

While it felt heavenly, nothing compared to Jungkook finger-fucking you into oblivion while hitting your g-spot over and over again. You find yourself panting hotly while scrambling to get a grip on his arm, “Yes..! Like that, please,” you softly cry out. You desperately roll your hips up, your pussy greedily swallowing up every inch of those thick fingers of his.

“That feel good?” He coos while tilting your face with his free hand, “Look at me sweetheart, I wanna watch you fall apart on my fingers for me like a good girl.”

You whimper when he says “good girl” it has your stomach fluttering all over again as you arch into his touch. He switches up his pace and fucks his fingers in deeper and deeper until he’s knuckle-deep inside that sopping cunt. Endless copious amounts of slick dribble down your pussy to your ass, making a real mess on that white marble counter..

“J-Jungkook..!” You breath out while digging your nails into his wrist, the pleasure was beginning to rise higher and higher, only making that little knot in your stomach tighten with each stroke.

Your husband doesn’t seem to mind you falling apart like that, in fact he speeds his pace up and rapidly fucks his fingers into your cunt. You’re literally letting out dribbles of squirt each time he fucks them back in, the pressure in your lower belly and the air around you turns hot. You find yourself shaking under his rough ministrations.

“C-Coming,” you gasp loudly, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of you.

Right as your pussy reaches that sweet abyss, Jungkook suddenly yanks his fingers out leaving your pussy gaping around nothing. You sob in frustration and let your head hit the mirror with a dull thud, “ ‘s not fair!”

Jungkook wipes his digits over your pussy before holding them up to your lips, “Suck.” He leaves no room for argument as you obediently take his fingers into your mouth and lick them clean. He watches with a dark expression, “Good girl, that’s enough. Next time you wanna play like that make sure you can handle the heat sweetheart. Cute.” He smirks evilly as he pats your cheek and heads out of the bathroom.

You bite back a groan of frustration, the edging is so going to be worth it in the long run though.. You lick your lips and hop off the counter on shaky legs, your orgasm may have been ruined but you still had a few things in your head that you wanted to try out on your dear husband.

“What’s wrong my love?” Jungkook asks from behind you as he gently massages your aching feet, “Is it the heels? You should’ve taken my shoes baby.” He softly mumbles.

It was nighttime by now and after a whole day of shopping and sight-seeing you were honestly ready to just hit the hay. Everytime he applied pressure on your sore tired feet, you couldn’t help the pained moan you’d let out. You were currently lying face down on the bed with your feet kicked back on Jungkook’s lap, just enjoying that foot rub.

“I’m okay, I was having too much fun to notice.” You softly reply while tilting your head to look back at him, “.. Jungkookie, I kind of had something on my mind—well it’s been in there for a good while now.” You softly admit.

“Okay,” he softly replies, ready and attentive.

You fully turn around and crawl over to sit on his lap, “What if we have another baby?” You toy with his necklace and pout, “It’s just that… Jae’s getting older and the house feels a little lonely now that he hangs out with friends and stuff..”

“So my sweetheart wants a baby?” He says with a soft look in his eye.

You timidly nod and wrap your arms around his neck, “Think about it, another mini-us running around the house like Jae used to,” you chuckle, “you remember when he was a devious devil…always getting into your office even though I told him not to,” you say fondly.

He chuckles endearingly, “Of course I remember baby, those were the best years of my life—raising him and coming home to you.”

“Soooo, that’s why I think it’d be a great idea to have another baby!” You giggle happily while smooching over his lips, “Cos you’re not gettin’ any younger, old man.” You stick your tongue out teasingly.

Jungkook throws his head back with a laugh, “You’ve been hanging out with Jae too much, but no, unfortunately you’re stuck with this old man.” He snorts despite not really being THAT old like his own son made him out to be.

“You’re MY old man though,” you kiss his nose gently, “and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You cheekily grin.

He brings you in for a tender kiss, laying gentle pecks over your lips until you’re whining for him to stop. “I love you sweetheart.” He murmurs softly while stroking your hair, “I’m glad you decided to stick around, don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I mean, did I really have a CHOICE?” You roll your eyes with a smile, “I’m kidding love, you know I would do it all over again for you. Nothing in the world could ever change that.” You softly say and bring him closer.

Jungkook doesn’t protest when your lips meet, he wraps his arms around your back as his eyes slip shut. The kiss itself feels magical and you can’t help but wrap your arms tighter around him in a loving embrace. You break from the kiss to catch your breath, there’s a small string of saliva that connects your lips.

“C’mere.” Jungkook mumbles and brings you back in for another sweet kiss. He slowly falls back onto the bed and brings you with him, never parting from the messy spit-slick kiss.

You and Jungkook don’t last long just kissing because you find yourself tugging on his clothes and helping him strip vice-versa. The two of you find yourselves under the warm silky sheets, and a rose-scented aroma that fills the entire room after Jungkook decides to light the candle on a whim.

The sheer intimacy of it all, you’re not in a rush this time—this time is something meaningful. You can’t really find it in yourself to come out of that little romantic bubble right now, everything just wants to make you cry. It literally makes your heart hurt over how sweet and loving Jungkook is…what did you do to deserve him?

“Hi.” You softly say when Jungkook and you come face to face after kissing for what seemed like hours.

“Hi beautiful.” He nuzzles your nose gently and presses his forehead against yours.

You blush shyly and look away, “Yah, just shut up and give me my baby already.. All that talk and no action,” you giggle, “pussy isn’t gonna breed itself.” Jungkook’s mouth drops open at what you say and it sends you reeling into explosive laughter.

“Where did my sweetheart go huh? ‘S like a little devil just popped in to say hi,” he recovers from the initial shock with a low chuckle, “you’re gonna send me to an early grave.” He groans.

You lean down to whisper in his ear, “C’mon, I know you wanna fuck me till I catch—till I’m full and round with our baby again.” You purr cupping his jawline, “Turns you on doesn’t it? Knowing damn well that’s your baby you put in me.”

He swallows harshly and nods, “Love it sweetheart, I’ll die a happy man knowing that I got to put my kids in you before any other bastard could.” He growls.

“Then get to it,” you softly coo, “or I’ll find someone else to do the job for you.”

That turns him on like a switch, he flips the two of you over and pins your arms above your head with a dark look. “Yeah? Guess I gotta show you what you’d be missing then baby,” he takes a hold of his cock and slaps the wet tip over your pussy, “gonna make sure you’re filled by the end of the night.”

You moan softly at his words and spread your legs wider, “I want it—every last drop of it daddy, want you to breed me.” You pout softly while pursing your lips for a kiss.

He kisses you like a princess but fucks you like a whore, which is what you LOVED about him. You reach down to stroke his hard cock, running your thumb over the leaky tip and over every vein on his shaft. He looks like he’s in bliss as he bites his bottom lip and watches you with hooded eyes.

“Want it in me,” you softly say while rubbing his cock through your soft squishy folds, “can I please?”

“Fuck—anything you want babydoll.”

You give him the most precious smile ever and then push his cock towards your greedy hole. You easily take the head with ease as it pops in slowly. The two of you hiss low at the pressure as Jungkook slips inch after inch into your pussy.

“More, please,” you breathlessly sigh while laying your head back on the soft pillow.

Jungkook doesn’t even think he has the strength to say no to begin with. He holds himself up over you while slowly bumping his hips into yours. His cock is utterly drenched with your slick, the slide is messy and loud whenever he bottoms out.

“Fuck,” he hisses and drops down to his elbows as he cages you in, “you feel so fucking good sweetheart.”

His balls are pressed snug, showing you that he really is taking this breeding thing seriously—more than ever now because you both have a mutual goal in mind. “It’s okay daddy,” you softly say, “I can take it.”

Jungkook pauses to look at you, damn near cursing when he sees that expression you got on your face. He hooks your thighs over his arms and folds you into a mating press with your hips tilted up, “There you go sweetheart, jus’ relax ‘n take it for me sweetheart.”

He whispers more praises under his breath while rocking into you gently. His pace doesn’t seem to stay the same because gradually he begins speeding up. Much like yesterday he really lets hell rain on your poor cunt.

You whimper and cry out while holding on with your toes curled from the pleasure. He doesn’t even bother with teasing or anything because he hits that sweet spot inside of you relentlessly. Each time he drives his cock in there’s a lewd wet smack, and the noises only get louder from there.

“T-There..! Don’t stop, please,” you whimper and grit your teeth, “feels so good..”

Jungkook huffs quietly and leans down to kiss over your bruised neck, “Yeah baby? You gonna let me fill that pussy up till you’re dripping? Gonna let me use it till I’m done?”

“Yes!” You gasp, “Anything for you,”

“For me?” He coos as he cups your chin and tilts your face to him, “Cute.” He smirks softly and continues fucking into you relentlessly.

The smacking sounds get louder and the bed creaks from force. You quite literally are seeing stars as he rocks your entire world, you can’t even form a coherent sentence let alone see through your starry vision.

“Jungkook..!” You whimper through your moans, “ ‘m gonna cum, please,” you sob as the tension begins rising, “can I, please daddy?” You whine out while gritting your teeth.

He stops to let your legs fall from his grip as he changes the pace and grabs onto your soft hips. He uses it as leverage to fuck into your cunt with repeated wet smacks. “Go on,” he grunts, “cum for me.” He spits between the two of you, right where your pussy opens up beautifully for him as he slides his thumb over your slippery clit.

Your mouth falls open when he rubs side to side in tandem with his thrusts. Your back arches and the air gets knocked out of you as you cum with intense waves of pleasure. “Jungkook,” you mewl desperately while pawing at him.

He doesn’t stop rubbing your clit until you go silent and your weak hands push at his wrist again. He growls low and rubs the sensitive bud faster until you’re drenching his lap and the sheets slick. His eyes briefly flicker up to see that you’re in bliss right now.

You feel the telltale signs of his orgasm as his cock throbs painfully inside of you. It only takes a few more pumps until Jungkook’s pressing his hips tight against you and milking every drop of his cum. His ragged moans and breathing have you getting wet all over again.

“Mm..” You tiredly let your hands flop on the bed, “I’m so sleepy..” You softly say.

Jungkook quietly grunts, “Just rest, I got you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys @frieschan @lilyflowerguk @sayokodiary @babycandy111 @looneybleus @ash07128 @gyukookswhore

#bts #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut

4K notes · View notes

chastiefoul · 9 months ago

Text

—finally giving up on your unrequited love ft. alhaitham

a/n: ouch i hurt myself writing this. wc: 1.6k words of yapping about unrequited feelings

once upon a time you were grateful for alhaitham’s indifference, the lack of anything he was being when you’re badgering him with chatters, a detailed description of your day, concerns over him, and the occasional gifts.

it seemed like a blessing once, like acceptance. the slightest open of the door, thinking you could invite yourself in and he’d embrace that fact. but as his apathy remain constant and unchanging, you’ve come to realization—an embarassing one at that.

that indifference, that should’ve been a sign for you; alhaitham will never return your feelings.

a stroll a day, keeps the stressful thoughts away.

however today’s walk is just not doing it for you, once you decided to wake up from the dreamland you thought you’ve been living in. a faraway and unrealistic vision of a life where you end up together with the akademiya scribe. an exaggerated sigh escaped you at your own daydreaming. usually by now you’d be quick on your feet to visit the scribe, however the overdue revelation you had last night made you finally think twice before doing it. and only because of that now you’d realized just how much of your life was centered on the grey-haired man, which was a scary discovery, knowing just exactly how little you mattered to his.

you found an empty bench mid-walk, immediately sitting on it. you leaned back, both of your hands holding your weight as you look above. the sky was clear that day, but your mind was clearer, as if a thick fog has finally been lifted.

seriously, what have you been doing all this time? giving your all to someone who wanted none of you. alhaitham’s curt nod, his brief and short responses really should’ve been a clue as to how he felt about you. yet you kept being stubborn, and sometimes hope was human’s greatest enemy. what should have been a bare minimum gesture he did, your mind managed to twist it into something more; clinging to it like a water on a desert. when it turned out that was exactly all there was to it—a mirage.

you chuckled sadly. even remembering those pathetic displays, you couldn’t bring yourself to fully regret having this feeling towards alhaitham. those moments where you’d steal a glance at him and felt like the world was okay. you would not allow yourself to forget that as you became more selfish, wanting him to look at you and feel the same. but here you were, reluctantly learning to accept the fact that he may never does.

suddenly a shadow loomed over you, shielding you from the sunlight you didn’t realize was so bright.

a familiar blond invaded your vision. “(y/n)?” he called out unsure, not expecting you to be there. “oh hi there, kaveh,” you lightly said, as if your heavy train of thoughts hadn’t existed at all. you adjusted your sitting position, shifting yourself to the side as you spare an empty spot beside you for him to sit. kaveh swiftly took your silent offer up, making himself as comfortable as he could on the wooden bench. “i spotted you from afar and you seemed a little troubled, hopefully i was wrong?” the ever so kind kaveh spoke up, and you couldn’t help but smile. kaveh always felt like a friend more than alhaitham ever was, albeit knowing him after you got to know the scribe. you weren’t even sure if the grey-haired man would ever mention even a word about his roommate if it wasn’t for you hanging wround on his office on a peaceful lunch break when the fuming blond barged in and yell at him about a key.

as it turned out, it’s a known fact that most people became quiet irritable when it comes to being in contact with the curt and aloof scribe, since kaveh has been nothing but a good friend since the day he gave you a weird look about wanting to get close to the acting grand master.

“it’s kind of complicated to say,” you started, thinking of the words as you went on. “let’s just say i’m having a quite bittersweet moment.”

you rested your gaze on the bustling street in front of you. he nodded in reply, “i’m guessing it’s more bitter than it is sweet?” he asked genuinely as you smiled once more despite not feeling a drop of mirth. “i suppose so,” you replied curtly, not knowing what to say to his keen observation. keen and exactly correct.

it’s the kind of bitterness that lingered. a kind of flavor you’d expected, since you’re the one who put it in. still, when that sharp taste hit your tongue you couldn’t help but flinch. after all, things don’t stop affecting you even though you saw it coming from miles away. you just hoped the sweetness will get stronger overtime, overpowering as it wash down the unpleasant aftertaste.

kaveh mirrored your smile in return except his looked particularly patronizing, as if he could sense your helplessness.

“will you tell me what happened?” his voice sounded gentle, a care you’ve never heard from the man you’d give a limb to for him to say things along that line. how do you even begin to answer such a simple question? nothing happened, and that’s why it was the problem. the fact that you’re the only one who’s mulling all over this, being so conflicted to what he thought must be nothing. a pain so overwhelming that’s swirling all over your chest while his biggest inconvenient that day was probably a typo made in a document made by a lousy student.

the whole thing just sounded so... pathetic.

“nothing happened... it’s just, i have decided to finally give up on something,” you try your best to sound nonchalant despite having no bravery to look at him, scared that he didn’t look like he believed you.

“well, i might know a thing or two about it. sometimes when an architecture project is too... unreasonable,” kaveh paused, the word tasted like a sour lime on his mouth. “there’s no way but to give it up. especially if you take a step back as take the whole picture from many aspects; in my case, there are budget, location, materials, and so on. there would definitely be some regret about letting go especially an ambitious task, however i think many of my past-self would really like to give the present-me a big gratitude for not forcing it through,” he rambled on, despite having no idea what were you referring on. “even sometimes, the reward was just not worth the risk, you know?” he ended it at that, throwing the question at you.

you swallowed on nothing, but you needed that to let out a reply.

“yes, i do know.”

“yeah? does this mean in your case, whatever you were fighting for was not worth it in the end?”

oh, that’s the worst part. you knew, you knew it with your heart, body and soul that it would be so worth it if there’s an outcome, a scenario where alhaitham might return your feelings. oh it would be so worth it. you could smile, just imagining how worth it would it be.

but that was all it was. an unattainable imagination. an ending that you couldn’t allow yourself to be so cocky to reach.

kaveh waited for your respond patiently, but when the silence had gone for too long he moved his stare to you. he widened his eyes, his gaze softened.

“i don’t think you’re as okay as you made yourself to be,” he said softly, as you felt your cheeks wet by the uninvited tears, running along freely across your face. yet, you couldn’t make an effort to stop them, your heart knew more than anyone you needed that. to feel the sadness, to recognize it.

to let go of the fact that alhaitham will never return your feelings.

kaveh was just quiet as you sobbed quietly, putting a handkerchief silently at the space between you both. there is no empty consolation, no comforting words, no small pats on the back. there’s just silence, a little safe bubble for you to cry in without people coming over to you and asked why.

giving up is such a funny thing, how could doing it hurt more than to keep trying even though you received no sign of reciprocity at all? but you knew the answer of that.

when there hasn’t been a rejection, it’s in everyone’s nature to have hope. a hope that there’s a chance of obtaining something you’ve wished for. a chance that something could happen.

giving up means finality. a state of accepting an outcome you hadn’t wanted. a result you never asked for. an ending where all that’s left was what should have and what could have. a harsh reality people could only accept as it dangled the possibilities and visions of what ‘could have happened’ if you’d just kept trying right in front of your eyes.

like chasing your own shadow; a fun thing to do when you’re a child, but now it’s just a fitting metaphor, reminding you of a fool’s way who love in such a pathetic way.

but now it’s definitely a curse. after all, anything that has to do with love was not indifference.

it was never, indifference.

---

the urge to write this in alhaitham pov........................ should i?

#genshin x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin impact #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin fanfic #genshin angst #alhaitham angst #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x reader

2K notes · View notes

nichuuu · 5 days ago

Text

From Eden

Jeon Heejin x M reader

PSA: This shit has not seen the editing board because I'm lazy. Fell off real hard. Sorry gang.

Word count: 10k

You liked to think that your first meeting with her after all those years was a fluke.

As it went for most people who went their separate ways at a point in their lives: there was history between you and Jeon Heejin. It was a little more choppy than you’d like to admit, but it formed the crux of your relationship and you couldn’t just ignore it. She seemed to find no qualms in forgetting what happened between the two of you. And as you caught up with her at a booth seat in some club you guys bumped into each other at, you wondered if you’d overreacted when the two of you had your falling out.

She was possibly kinda bad company for the night – not exactly a face you wanted to see three beers in and ditched by the rest of your friends cause they all got too drunk and found themselves booted from this hellhole. But at the end of the day, they all say that it’s better to be in poor company than to be alone.

***

To whatever gods that were out there, you thanked all of them collectively for the fact that the toilet that she’d dragged you into was empty. You hoped that the cubicle door was enough to keep whatever was happening in the bathroom privy to its occupants. The music that pulsed on outside the bathroom should be enough to cover you right?

Heejin—as usual—had no qualms about skipping past the usual formalities of intimacy. Those deft hands were on your belt faster than you could utter her name, and your cock was in her hand before you even knew it. She was gentle with you, stroking you considerately as she laid a hand on your chest. Those fingers made you tingle from the tip down, pushing you to new levels of pleasure you’d no idea you could experience. They gripped you lightly yet firmly, applying pressure at all the right spots to make your toes curl in your shoes and your muscles tense throughout your body. You could only wonder: did she know what she was doing to you? Or was she just getting really lucky. However sordid this situation was, it felt right to you… and maybe to her as well.

“Jesus Heejin”--your hissing through your teeth. It sounds a little more aggressive than you’d like, but you know she’d have no qualms about it anyway–“you sure know your way around a dick.”

The smirk on her face was snitching on the fact that she definitely knew what she was doing. She leaned in, flushing herself against your chest while she continued to deliver languid strokes to the rock hard meat in her hand. “Thanks… He loves a nice handjob from time to time, though I always imagine myself giving it to you instead of him to get into it..”

You summoned the strength to look into her eyes – really gaze deep into those lustful, beautiful orbs she’d been blessed with. Past the want and need, there was an undeniable look of sincerity she held, a wordless soulful confession to you that she had always fantasised you in place of her ‘lover’. It drove you to push a little further, “and what are you thinking about now that I’m actually the one you’re giving it to?”

Heejin thought about it for a moment, almost as if she had a million and one answers that could express her carnal desires. Honestly, you wouldn’t put it past her to actually harbour a million and one answers. She was always a wild thinker in many aspects. She was also diligent, and that translated into the way her hand hadn’t stopped moving throughout the eternity (it was shorter than that, but it sure felt like it) she took to produce a congenial answer.

“Now that you’re actually here,” she finally answered, making sure to hit you with a smile that blurred the distinct line between sweet and sultry, “I’m thinking about how good you’re gonna fill me with this pretty, thick cock.”

“Pretty?” you couldn’t help but chuckle. You’d heard and read of many ways that people described dicks, but never in your life would you ever expect the word ‘pretty’ to be amongst that mix. Heejin giggled – one of mischief and ‘know-it-all’ energy. It’s pretty – her grip around you tightened, squeezing you with pleasurable force as her movements quickened almost in sync with your breathing – because I like the way it feels in my hand… and I know that this cock is gonna be better than anything that he’ll ever give me.

She stopped, putting a jarring halt to the pleasure that surged through your system. Her hand on your chest snaked up to your cheek – a sweet action that almost took the pure filth out of the words that followed. “I want you to fuck me–no, own me.”

It felt almost like a command in the way that you immediately wanted to fulfill her request. Her thumb traces circles on your face; her speech only gets filthier, “fuck me like I’m yours. Make me cum so hard that I forget all about him.”

You found yourself back in control of the part of your brain that controls the facilities of your speech and movement. You gingery held the wrist that was delivering those soft strokes of heaven just moments ago and pulled her hand off your throbbing shaft. As much as you’d love to have her jerk you off, there were more pressing matters at hand – namely the situation of her clothing and the fact that it was still on her. You wrapped an arm around her, pulled her close.

“Heejin darling,” you whispered, relishing the way she shivered as your warm breath made contact with her ear. “I can’t do much if you still have all of these damned clothes on.”

She quickly recognised the game that you were playing and was eager to match you step-for-step. She held your gaze as she hooked a finger into the top of the tube top that adorned that wonderful figure and—rather enthusiastically—pulled it down. The nipple covers were quickly discarded and her small, perky breasts caught your gaze. Judging from her smile, she loved that you were staring.

“You’re nice”, she told you, moving some hair out her face like you were looking there of all places. “He’s always commanding me: take off your clothes, do this, do that… I could get very used to you.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little. Her constant comparison of you and the man she was supposed to be loving was making you feel a little better about yourself (even though you knew that was far from the intended effect). You’d like to return the favour; you began running kisses down her body – starting from her lips before making your way down to her collarbone. Her shuddering sighs told you that you were doing something right, and you endeavored to keep up your performance for the rest of… Well… Whatever this session was.

“God… you’re fucking perfect, you know?” you informed her, wondering if she ever knew how much you adored that body of hers. Yes, you were more wholesome at a younger age – looking at her soft features and dorky personality to decide that you liked her. However, innocence never stopped you from stealing a glance or two at her ass when she wore tight jeans or a quick look at her slim figure whenever she wore anything that hugged her body like a glove. You’d never know if she ever caught you looking, but now you’re glad she knows that you are giving her your fullest attention (it was hard not to really).

You weren’t sure if her cheeks were flushing because of your comment or if she was just getting turned on. Either way, she still had remarks to deliver, “perfect is a little strong, but I’ll take the comment because I’m just so humble.”

Mischief was and would always be her idiosyncrasy.

A creak made both of you freeze. Female voices filled the bathroom, accompanied by the sound of heels clacking against the floor as your little getaway location was patronised by unwelcome guests.

“Ugh… This damned contact lens is not coming out,” an identified voice carped. It sounded like the woman who said it was just in front of the stall that you were in. Judging from the slight look of annoyance that crossed Heejin’s face, you deduced that those were fellow bridesmaids who were in there together with you. With the same expression lingering on her soft features, she reached down and unclasped her jeans. She unzipped them slightly before pulling them down – past the delightful curve of her waist and till they were halfway down her supple thighs.

“Do you need help?” another voice rings out. Heels striked against the floor as another female occupant moved to join the scene; Heejin moved to grab you by the cock and pull you closer (as if the two of you weren’t already skin to skin in that stall).

“Fuck me now,” she hissed, an almost angry look filling her eyes. It was like she was being fuelled by the annoyance that stemmed from the presence of her fellow bridesmaids – using it as an excuse to quickly get filled with cock and have it pumping in and out of her within the next few seconds or so. She was lucky that you were taught to never keep a girl waiting.

Your movements are quick and firm; grabbing her by the waist and turning her around. Her gasp was telling of her surprise towards your sudden movements, but the grin that followed when she turned halfway around to you to watch as you pulled down her underwear told you that she liked how things were moving. Never in your life would you have imagined this: you and Jeon Heejin – each of you half naked in your own respects in a bathroom stall while people chatted freely beyond the wall of the stall. If the teenage version of yourself ever found out about this, you didn’t know how he’d respond.

Your right hand snaked down towards her crotch, and you are pleasantly surprised to find the slick wetness that could very well be running down the inside of her thigh. You could always check, but you liked to imagine. You took your shaft in your right hand. She bent slightly at the waist, her hands pressed against the white wall of the stall. The rest of her tight frame joined her hands soon after you parted the wet lips of her cunt and hilted yourself inside of her.

Her insides felt like a warm embrace – better than you could’ve ever imagined it to be. It felt like a perfect fit; the throbbing meat within her walls filled her perfectly and felt every small movement the flesh could ever register. To call it heavenly would be downplaying the sheer pleasure she was bringing just by letting you be inside of her. Jeon Heejin felt like something unreal, unfathomable. You doubted that your hastily crafted description of her sweet wet cunt could allow one to process this taste of heaven.

Heejin let out a sharp gasp – loud enough for only the two of you to hear and loud enough for you to know that she too was unprepared for this new experience. From the way the muscles on her back tensed as her walls tightened around you, it felt as if her body was welcoming you. It was almost like she was subconsciously pulling you closer, deeper. You could get very used to this.

You revel in it a little, take in the feelings, the new sensation; the sound of the intentional soft breaths that the two of you were taking. This was certainly a novelty for you, and if you were being very honest with yourself: the events that led up to this moment felt a little too much like a fever dream. You half expected yourself to wake up in the next few seconds, or maybe—

“What are you waiting for?”–of course. It had to be her to really cement the fact that this whole thing was actually real. Sure, it’s inconceivable; but no imaginative power of yours could ever replicate the sarcasm (splashed with hunger) behind her voice, nor could you visualise the smouldering look in her eyes as she bit her lip–“your dick is in me. Do something with it.”

It felt like a challenge. She knew damn well that you always took up her challenges.

Withdrawing yourself from the warmth of her slick, you took a moment to cast your gaze downward. You appreciate the sight of your shaft glistening in her juices for a moment—and only a moment. There were pressing matters at hand—before thrusting back into her and reacquainting yourself with the warmth of her walls. You’d have loved to get into this slowly; unfortunately, Heejin chose the worst possible place to get it on. You’d have to live with her choices (and this isn’t exactly new for you).

And as a third voice joins the fray outside your stall—I think I have some eye drops here. Maybe that could help?—you began pumping yourself in and out of her, slow and controlled with full strokes that filled her to the brim. The voices continued to fill the bathroom as the three anonymous patrons struggled with one of their lenses; you struggled to keep yourself together inside of Heejin’s hot wet cunt.

“F-Fuck yes,” she hissed. Don’t worry, it was soft. Or you could just be too absorbed by the delightful sound of wet squelching as your shaft appears and disappears between her legs to notice that she may be a tad loud. Even if it was, the trouble outside was enough to keep the other three “I can’t believe I’m finally getting this dick. God… You’re so… Oh my god.”

It humoured you to see her in this state, though laughing at her would be the pot calling the kettle black; you yourself were trying to hold on to something tangible—that wasn’t her waist cause hot damn was your grip on it doing a number on you. Counterintuitive, but hot nonetheless—to keep you grounded in your senses. Slip up and you’d be dealing with the risk of being found in a girl’s bathroom.

“Jesus Heejin”–you were trying your best to throw in some dirty talk. It would help to spice things up if it weren’t for the fact that your own words were failing you. Your mind was almost completely consumed by the warm squeeze of her pussy, the small twitches of her walls as you drilled yourself into her tight frame like you were slowly nailing a painting onto the wall of the cramped stall. Actually, you were nailing a painting to the wall of the stall: the way her body moved and responded to your thrusts could easily be considered fine art in your books; her body could be considered a canvas given its pale complexion and its smooth surface. Heejin was an art piece herself – a complicated mix of emotions that could take the place of colour and a mind so complex that no composition could ever capture its essence. Good god… You were hooked on this girl–”you have no idea how fucking good you feel around my cock.”

To be clear: from the moment you started fucking her, she hadn’t turned back to face the wall. This whole time she’d been facing you – eyes smoking under the fire of passion and her mouth slightly parted as if her soft moans and sighs were keeping them permanently open. Simply put – she was hot. If you were to discard the complications behind the sex, one could easily classify this as plain, passionate and simple fucking (in a highly risky scenario that could jeopardize both of your reputations, mainly Heejin’s) between two people who have longed for each other. But the plainness of that sounded unappealing to you; the enthralling fact about this was the complexity of the situation – the thrill behind the immorality of it and the sheer risk behind satisfying your own desires. As she gasped when your hands found purchase in her soft breasts, you wondered if she had the same thoughts running through your head as you (though from the looks of it, she was purely enjoying the sex and probably leaving her thoughts behind. Words fail in times like these – you’d be one to know).

Her voice is unsteady as she hissed through her teeth—harder. Fucking give it to me like I’m yours—to perversely request for more than what you were giving her. To see her this uncouth enthralled you to no end. With one hand on her left tit, you moved to secure her hair in a bunch in your other hand. Her hair was a little far from silky—no doubt from all the dye that it’d seen—but it provided friction for you to grip onto her strands with ease as you decreased the intervals between your thrusts. The sound of wet squelching began to permeate the stall, and it was starting to be accompanied by the soft sounds of skin slapping against skin as you struggled to control your desires to rail the girl before you. Thankfully, the cries of victory from the women outside masked the unsavoury sounds.

“Thank god!” one of them, presumably the one who had their contact lens stuck. You’d affectionately refer to them as ‘Eyes’. “I thought it’d be in there forever. Thanks guys.”

“No worries”, another chimed. It was the second voice you heard when all of them entered. She’d be ‘Two’. “Normally you could take this to Heejin. She’d get you fixed up in a flash.”

“Really?” the third asked. You’ll call her ‘Three’. “Do idols get their contacts stuck a lot?”

“Probably,” Eyes mused, “all that dancing on stage probably isn’t suited for glasses, and who knows what type of contacts their stylists have them on.”

Heejin catched your gaze. Struggling to control her breathing, she managed to confirm Eye’s statement—she’s… kinda right. Oh fuck…—before you pulled back firmly on her hair to shut her mouth. Don’t be mistaken: you loved her personality and all, but now really wasn’t the time for it to shine. For good measure, you sealed her lips with a kiss – sloppy and clumsy and hurried. You squeezed her breast a little harder.

“Where is she anyway?” Three asked. “I haven’t seen her since she left to go talk to that friend of hers…”

A tongue click of disapproval could be heard. You could imagine that it was followed by a tongue wave of dismissal from the way Two commented, “leave her be. She rarely gets to get out of her schedule. Probably trying to catch up with some old friends or something…”

There was a hum of agreement; Heejin moaned straight into your mouth as you captured her nipple between your fingers and squeezed. If the women outside knew how Heejin was ‘catching up’ with you, you didn’t know how they’d react to the sight of her being fucked raw in a bathroom stall meters away from them. You didn’t know how she was getting away with this, but you weren’t exactly complaining. If it wasn’t for understanding bridesmaids, you wouldn't be able to make a wet mess out of her. Maybe you’d thank them later, but you’d decide on that after you were done with Heejin.

“Was that the guy she was talking about the other day?” Two inquired. You had no idea what she looked like, and it scared you a little that she’d seen your face.

There was a moment of pause before Eyes quipped, “what guy?”

Silence followed Eyes’ question. For a second, you were worried that they’d all picked up on the lewd sounds of you fucking the very girl that they were speaking of. You held your breath, but you didn’t stop pumping your shaft between Heejin’s legs. She was almost like a lifeline – a slick and wet and oh-so-hot one that was keeping grounded in your senses while hooking to the sensation of the slick thrusts inside her pussy. Miracle drug… Or maybe just a drug – either way: Heejin was everything to you right now. Listening in on their conversation was just so that you wouldn’t be found during your few minutes in heaven.

“Nevermind. I think I wasn’t supposed to talk about that,” Two muttered. “Let’s get out of here before someone spikes our drink or something.”

They began discussing more mundane things, and you couldn’t care less about them because all that really mattered was the fact that their voices were fading away. You waited till you heard the sound of the creaky door closing to relinquish Heejin’s lips from your possession. She let out a gasp of air, followed by a desperate cry – loud and pleading now that she had the freedom to speak.

“I’m gonna fucking cum,” she hissed. It was almost a snarl really. “Cum with me. Please.”

She was lucky that you: a) had a really big soft spot for her and; b) knew better than to turn a nice girl down.

With a grunt, the hand on her breast shoots to her throat, gripping it tightly as you frantically fuck Heejin to catch up with her imminent orgasm. She was into it, reciprocating by accompanying your hand on her throat and squeezing even tighter. She lets strained cries tumble from her mouth—Oh yes baby… I’m yours. Oh fuck… Oh my fucking god… You’re gonna make me cum so hard—her wells squeezing tighter and tighter around you. Husky was her voice as she pleaded with you to take your liberties—Fucking cum anywhere you like. I just want to be yours—with her, and she was practically shaking in your grasp as you drove yourself closer and closer to the point of no return inside her wet tight walls. Everything – your heart and soul and whatever – pointed you towards making a huge mess out of the women in your arms, and you endeavoured to achieve that goal one way or another.

The tingling at the base of your cock was steadily growing up your shaft. Your thoughts blurred together, nullifying and cancelling each other out till all you could think of was her. With every pump into her, you told yourself that she was yours to take. With every sigh that left her lips, you thought about how many times she pictured this moment in her head. With each gasp and sigh and moan and cry, you fought the urge to hiss through your teeth—Heejin, I love you so much—and admit your feelings for her and how much you’ve missed her touch; tell her how no one made you feel like she could; let her know that for all these years, you’d longed to reconnect with her and sort things out once and for all. Sweet thoughts; perverse desires. The latter wins – all that comes out of your mouth is, “I’m gonna fucking cum.”

And it happened. A little quicker than you’d have liked but there was no way to control the course that the lust of man would take you down. Your cock pops out of Heejin’s heat, glistening with her slick wetness as you pump yourself to completion with your free hand. The hand on Heejin’s throat was pulled down to her crotch, and she used your fingers to rub the swollen nub of her clit as the first ropes of semen shot out and landed on her lower back. She came as the second rope landed on the swell of her left ass cheek, and her knees buckled as the third and fourth spurts hit the fabric of her tube top and the right side of her lower back respectively. You lost track of the rest of your load as Heejin leaned against you, quaking as her orgasm struck her in waves and your load continued to streak her back. It all was so fast. You wondered how either you managed to process your actions in the moment.

She panted against you, sweaty and spent as she closed her eyes and caught her breath. Your dick stayed flushed against the small of her back, slick with a mix of fluids from you and her. Your hand at her crotch slowly rubs circles into her clit, easing her off her peak and giving you something else to focus on other than how beautiful she looked. You feared that if you stared too long, you’d say something that you didn’t want her to know. The last thing you wanted was to have that moment of intimacy—facilitated by the afterglow of really good sex—to be ruined by some stupid feelings.

“Hey,” she whispered – all soft and tender as she opened her eyes to stare up at you. “That was fucking incredible.”

You managed a chuckle, restraining the urge to kiss her where she stood. She smiled, reached up to cup your cheek as you stared deep into her eyes. For a moment, the world went silent for you and her.

Then she pulled you down to her, kissed you where she stood. The position was a little awkward, your noses bumping each other at odd spots on your faces as she let the sweet nectar that was her lips grace your mouth in a soft and sweet kiss. It was like nothing you’d ever experienced, different from the kiss you’d given her in the midst of fucking her. It felt so right, so tender.

She released your lips with a soft smack, positively glowing as she gazed into your eyes for a little bit longer.

“Keep this between us,” she whispered, “I love you. I always have.”

***

You stared blankly at her. It was all you could do really.

“What part of this can’t you understand?” she asked. The anger behind her voice was potent, palpable. “I have a boyfriend. Stay away.”

In your hand, the note that you’d plan to hand her felt a little lighter than it had when you first approached. Wishful thinking had you delusional; there was no chance that she would ever go to that dance with you.

You thought that maybe the friendship could coax her into it – that maybe the years of what almost felt like kinship would drive her to just hear you out for a little bit; yet you seemed to forget that love is blind and can cloud your judgement.

In a moment, it felt like everything you’d built with her had turned to ashes.

***

“Indulge me Heejin. Bring me through your thought process.”

On the bed of your apartment, Heejin tosses her phone aside. Languidly, she flips onto her side, propping her head up with her hand as her elbow dents the pillow.

“I know,” she mutters, a little bit shamefully if you might add. “Dating another guy to make you jealous and confess is a classic fanfiction folly and all… But I was desperate.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You know that we could’ve just… talked, right?”

Her lips form a line. She sighs and lets her head flop back onto the pillow with a bit of a thump. To be very clear: you aren’t asking her all these questions to guilt trip her into an apology. You are genuinely curious to understand how she was thinking at the period in your lives. It’s a good point of reflection for the both of you considering you both screwed up in one way or another, and maybe even a good chance to offload some emotional baggage. You’ll admit – finding out that she’d dated the guy she was currently with just to get you to run to her and confess your love in highschool was a bit of a shocking discovery. It was foolish, yes… But you wondered why Heejin of all women would resort to such methods. She could be awfully blunt when she wanted to be, and somehow even more blunt when she was telling you that you looked like shit in skinny jeans. You never knew as one to shy away from a confrontation when necessary, and even though she could be a bit of a big dork, she was emotionally aware enough to understand that communication would easily have settled your feelings for each other.

Heejin rolls in the bed, moving close to you so that she can throw an arm around you as she asks, “you’re not mad right?”

“No. Just curious,” you tell her truthfully. She’s silent for a moment, then she looks you in the eyes and opens up: I always meant to talk to you about it. When I heard from Haesul that you liked me I… I was just ecstatic. You were everything I wanted in a man, and I really just wanted to make you mine. Believe me when I say that I wanted to just run to you after the school bell rang and tell you that I loved you too… and maybe ask you out on a date the next weekend.

Her thumb traces circles on your back. You can tell that she’s being sincere from the way she never shies from your gaze. She continues, “but as I’m running to your class down the hall… This guy comes up to me and just tells me that he’s been crushing on me for years and wants to date me. I want to tell him ‘no’ on the spot. I really did. But I see an opportunity to… I dunno… Spice things up a little.”

And you can guess the rest of the story, but you just want to hear her say it just to be sure. Sure enough, she tells you the exact line that you predicted out of her—one thing led to another and then… well, here we are—and you can’t help but chuckle. The whole thing is pretty damn foolish to be honest, and you recognise the fact that if you’d just acted a little less rashly, maybe you wouldn’t have had to go down the path that you did. It’s a folly of the past but it does bring some shame to your present.

“I’m sorry”—she surprises you with this one. You assumed that you guys are past the stage of reconciliation at this point. I mean… You did fuck in a bathroom before she texted you after the wedding she was attending, so it would be kinda right to just conclude that you guys pre-fired the make-up sex—“I was rash and stupid. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising again?” you ask her, “I thought we were through with the sob ‘sorry’s and what-nots.”

“Just for good measure,” she whispers, a gleam in her eyes as she shifts around in your bed a little. “You can never be too careful when it comes to these types of things. Don’t want to make you an enemy again, do I?”

“That wouldn’t be too bad,” you reason, albeit playful rather than serious. She recognises that and scoffs as you continue, “they say to keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”

“So what I’m hearing is: you’d stay for the hate sex,” she fires back. You smile.

“Not quite… But somewhat.”

Heejin sighs and slaps your leg. You secretly like pissing her off a little, but she didn’t need to know.

“Now mister,” she says, hijacking the course of the conversation. “Indulge me and bring me through your thought process, and this isn’t about highschool by the way.”

She presses herself up against you, and you feel her hand slide down your torso and to your crotch.

“Tell me,” she whispers, a bit of smoky sultriness sneaking its way into her voice. “Why are you so fucking hard?”

It’s here that you realise that you’ve kinda walked into a trap. Not that what’s about to proceed is bad or anything, but it’s just that you’re a little disappointed that you hadn’t spotted this a little earlier. There were signs that you ignored when you saw her in your bed – namely the fact that she was wearing a see-through sleeveless dress that had a plunging neckline. If that wasn’t enough, she was blatantly playing with herself when you walked in, staring at her phone with this blanked out expression while her fingers worked between her thighs. If it weren’t for your questions about her relationship decisions, the two of you would probably have been naked and sweating in your bed right now.

“Can I guy not be excited by a pretty girl?” you’re not trying to play innocent, but you are seeing how far it can get you in this situation just for fun.

“Not this guy.” Heejin’s fingers snake around your cock, gripping it lightly through your pants. “And definitely not when it comes to this girl.”

You chuckle softly and catch her hand at your crotch. You pull it away and lean in to whisper into her ear, “don’t worry Heejin. I’m not ignoring the fact that you’re wearing the easiest thing for me to fuck you in.”

Her eyes brighten. “So you did notice…”

And the kiss that follows is far from tame really. You’re at fault for this one since you initiated it, but that knowledge doesn’t stop you from keeping your hands to yourself as you reach down and locate her pussy. Okay wait, you’re making it sound like it took you some effort to find it when you really only took about a second; it’s really easy considering that the panties she’s wearing were so sheer and thin that you could hardly consider it underwear. It was probably more like a concept of clothing than an actual, tangible thing. And her dress? The hem was a lot shorter than it looked. She probably hiked it up or something.

You’re unsurprised by the slick wetness of her cunt practically dripping out of her at this juncture. She’s probably been holding it in for a while now – suppressing all that lust and hunger to talk about feelings for some 30 minutes before she finally gets the chance to let loose on you. Hats off to her really: she had more control than you’d credit her for.

“Fuck baby,” you whisper, latheing your fingers in her juices by dipping them in between her undoubtedly flushed lips. “So wet for me already.”

“Wetter than I’ll ever be for him,” she sighs, almost breathlessly as she shuts her eyes to enjoy the sensation of your fingers getting familiar with her warm cunt. “You should—mmph… you should be grateful that I’m actually attracted to you.”

“I feel honoured.” you’re being genuine with her, but right now it comes off more as a sarcastic passing comment that leans towards the more tame side of dirty talk. Either way, anything you say would probably end with her putting your dick into one—or maybe all—of her holes and using it to her liking. Not that you’re complaining or anything, but it’s just the way the cookie crumbles. There’s no stopping Heejin’s desire, and there really isn’t a point to trying to stop it. You’d be missing out on, like, a lot. “Though, no pressure, I’d be more honoured if you actually did something about that attraction.”

She smiles, borderline sadistic and a bit more enthusiastic than you’re used to. Her hands are deft as she quickly undoes the knot that keeps your sweatpants around your waist, pulls it off eagerly and makes quick work of your boxers. Your cock springs free, hard and throbbing as she slides out of bed to discard her dress. In record time, she’s between your legs and stroking your shaft with patient strokes of her hand. The cheeky comments that you had beforehand quickly sank back down your chest – replaced by an earthy groan that only Heejin was capable of drawing out of you.

“You know… I was doing a bit of thinking,” she tells you.

“You do a lot of that.”

Heejin has no comments, only a cheeky little grin as she breathes warm air onto the tip of your cock. It makes you shudder, surging pleasure through your veins down to your bones. She’s oddly good at making you squirm, and you’re not too sure how to feel about that.

“Anyway,” she continues, unfazed by what she’d just done to you. “Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was about to suggest that maybe I could cross out one of my fantasies today.”

You’re no stranger to her wild thoughts that could probably fight that of Sabrina Carpenter. As you’d recently found out: fucking in a bathroom stall was one of many wild fantasies that she’d been wanting to cross out. Now that she had you, she’d been busy crossing more and more of them out. The whole infidelity thing was already a major part of her list considering the fact that she’s doing it with you instead of her ‘official’ partner, and things only get wilder from there. Sex with her can sometimes be like exposure therapy, not that you’ve done it before or anything.

“And which one are we ruling out today?” you inquire, watching with great interest as she produces her phone from below the mattress and swipes through it eagerly. You never saw her grab the damn thing, but you figured that you were probably too preoccupied with the sight of her undressing to take notice. By the way: the entire time that the two of you had been talking? Yeah, she’s been stroking you through all of that. One can only imagine how you were feeling at the moment.

When you saw her phone, you thought that she was going to open her notes app and start looking through her kinks or something. Nothing prepares you for the sound of a dial tone, and you can only watch as she lays the phone next to your thigh, just out of your reach.

“No prizes for guessing who I’m calling,” she grins, almost too innocently for your taste. “Try not to make too much noise okay?”

And before anything can be said, she slacks her jaw and draws you into the warm wet depths of her mouth.

The dial tone only continues as Heejin goes still – adjusting to your size and length and taste and shape and whatever she needs to configure herself to. Frankly: if she’d just started sucking you off with that tight seal around your cock, you would’ve been in perdition in mere seconds after she starts. So you give a small thanks to whoever’s watching over you from up above, and you pray that the person on the other end of the line doesn't pick up. While you utter that silent prayer, Heejin’s tongue introduces itself to your tip, sliding almost gracefully over the head of your cock as her phone rings for the nth time. Another ring; her tongue flattens itself against the base of your dick and melts itself to the surface. You grit your teeth, fearful that the moment you make a sound, the other party would pick up and hear it. She slides up in a fluid motion, almost perfectly seamless if she hadn’t gone too far up too fast. Your cock ends up hitting her in the chin, and she smiles as if it were some cute thing that she was taking care of.

“Heejin,” you grunt, keeping an eye on the phone screen in fear for both of your lives. “Let’s not—”

The caller chooses that moment to pick up, and this is where the game starts. Your lips shut so fast it feels almost automatic, and Heejin tears her eyes away from yours to focus on the other player of this perverse game.

“Hi baby,” she greets her ‘lover’, all sweet and cute like she isn’t pumping your saliva-slick shaft in her hand as she calls him a pet name. “I was missing you, so I called.”

“Oh… I’m kinda busy now.” he sounds highly uninterested in her, tone dull and dry as Heejin takes a moment to give your cock a squeeze. “Can you call me back another time?”

For a moment, you’re ecstatic. Maybe you wouldn’t have to be subject to her games this time.

“Quick chat. Promise,” Heejin fires back. She smiles wickedly, relishing the look on your face as you stare at her in a mix of shock and horror. “Just tell me about your day so far. It’s so hard to wait for you to get home to tell me about your day.”

There’s a moment of silence. Heejin takes advantage of the situation; she puts you back into her mouth and makes quick, sloppy work of your cock. The sound of slurping and gurgling is almost deafening, and there’s no way in hell that this man on the other side of the phone was not hearing all of this as Heejin blew you. You tilt your head back, clenching your teeth to prevent the guttural groan that’s building up deep within your chest from escaping your body. You’re hoping deep breaths of air can fill the space – block the desire to cry out in pleasure at the cusp of being translated into phonetics.

“Fine.” you’re almost grateful to hear that dull voice. “I’ve just been doing some filing and some paperwork… Nothing much really.”

“Mhm,” Heejin mumbles, your cock still in her mouth. She frees it for a second to deliver a line—that sounds like super important work babe—that’s definitely sarcastic in her head and in concept, but masterfully manipulated to sound sincere and enthusiastic. “Anything else?”

“Uh… No.”

Heejin seems almost too gleeful between your legs. “Great. I’ll give you a quick run-down of my day then.”

She proceeds to give him utter bullshit, lying through her teeth about lazing around in her dorm and eating yoghurt. All the while she’s lazily delivering firm pumps to your cock, the sound of her spit squelching in her own hand a little too loud for your liking. Then she starts twisting, and you feel as if all hell is breaking loose inside of you. Your throat is pricked with the sharp gasps that are fighting to be let out of your mouth, skin tingling with the effervescence of pleasure racing through just about every vein in your body. You’re certain you have a knuckle-white grip on your sheets as uses her thumb to rub against the underside of your slit while her other fingers pull the skin around your head tight to keep the sensitive part of you exposed to her impending assault.

“Oh, and by the way,” she adds, and you’re wondering what other lies she’s capable of generating right now. “I got a call from my old friend that I met at the club before the wedding… He says he wants to be my personal photographer.”

And now you’re shocked and stunned. What was a passing joke yesterday is now being used against you in a way that you can’t even fathom. Heejin revels in the silence—and all the emotions that could possibly be engendered by that single statement—as she smiles and licks you from base to tip. The layer of saliva around your cock thickens, and she uses that to get more aggressive with her motions. You didn’t know if she has limits to her cruelty, and you really hope that she’s reaching it soon.

“You know how I feel about that guy…” he begins.

“I know, I know… I’m just telling you to keep you in the know.”—her dismissal of his worries is quick and almost genuine if it weren’t for the fact that she was going against his wishes while she assuages his worries—”wouldn’t want to fight with you again, would I?”

He grunts in agreement. “Stay away from him baby. He’s bad company.”

“Yeah,” she hums, locking eyes with you as she hovers her mouth over your tip. She gives it a swipe of her tongue, smiling as you grimace under the pressure that shoots up from your crotch. “He’s such a bad guy…”

Not that you’re into this or anything, but hearing that drawl—sinful and sultry; raunchy and earthy—made your breath hitch a little. Sure, you’re no stranger to Heejin’s sensual side; but this was a bit of her that you had yet to experience. It felt like she’d dug up a new side to her, something unearthed and unaired, and you’ll be the only one to see it. She could take your breath away in many ways and you’d just found another.

The man on the other end grunts once more. With a gruff “Alright. I’ll text you later”, he hangs up on Heejin, leaving you free to let out the breath that you’d been holding in up till that point.

“Isn’t he a bundle of sunshine?” Heejin drops the facade almost instantly, using the hand that wasn’t occupied with your cock to retrieve her phone. “Five minutes and twenty-seven seconds… Huh. That’s longer than most of our calls.”

You can only pant and watch as she giggles and tosses her phone aside. She crawls back up the bed and takes your lips into hers, and you’d like to think that it’s a sweet apology for the hell she’d just put you through. Deep down you know it wasn’t, but you’re in the mood for some wishful thinking after what you went through.

“Not sure if I’m being greedy here,” Heejin whispers, “but I’d like you to indulge me just a little more…”

“I’d like to hear this one through first,” you quickly request, because no way in hell were you about to live through those 5 minutes and 27 seconds for a second time. “Can’t let you bite off more than you can chew.”

Heejin laughs, fully aware where this was coming from.

“Don’t worry. I think you’ll like this one,” she assures you, placing a hand on your chest for good measure. “Hand on my heart, honest-to-god: you’ll love this one as much as the next guy.”

You couldn’t help it. You had to check her – match her step for step.

“Considering that I just saw you lie through your teeth, I think it’s fair to say that I don’t quite trust you,” you tell her as plainly as you can. And it’s not that you actually don’t, but more so the fact that you’re just baiting her into saying something really raunchy that’ll rile the two of you up to no end. Depravity is the root of really good sex after all.

“I promise you,” her lips tilt at an angle as she smiles, “when we're done with this one, I’ll let you cum in my mouth.”

***

You figured that she’d come to you with the news at some point – tell you that he’d found her out and that things are gonna happen and blah blah. What you didn’t expect was for her to show up in the middle of the night to be a bearer of bad news.

“Went back to get a sweater that I’d forgotten,” Heejin’s explaining, a can of beer in her hand and fry in the other. “Open the door and next thing I know, the fucker’s blowing up on me in my face.”

She takes a swig and sighs. “Never liked him anyway… We fought more than we talked. Before you ask, make-up sex was horrible.”

You can only frown and nod in sympathy. You’re complicit in this whole ordeal and so don’t have much of a say in this thing. Guilty as charged, red-handed and whatever. You’re just glad that he didn't come over and beat you up like she said he would. Heejin downs the rest of the beer in the can in a gulp and gently places it on your table.

“Is anything gonna happen to you?” you can’t help but ask out of concern.

Her smile assures you a little, but her words don’t, “honestly? I don’t know. I’ll find out if my publicist gives me hell tomorrow.”

She rises from her seat. “I’m just glad it’s over,” she says. “Don’t know how much longer I could’ve lived with that dry son of a bitch.”

Her sweater comes off her body. She tosses it at you. In her T-shirt, she struts towards the bedroom, stops in the doorway. With a look over her shoulder, she beckons you to join her—come make my night, would ya?—before slipping into the room.

Always a dance with her.

***

You’re starting to question where Heejin draws the line between her sex life and her regular life.

(You’ve said this about a thousand times by now, but) Not that you’re carping or whatever, it’s just that sex on the kitchen counter while your instant noodles are clearly being overdone in the pot a few meters away is a bit of a safety hazard. You’re no chef, but bubble frothing out of a closed pot really isn’t a good sign.

“Heejin,” you say, struggling to fit her name between the ragged breaths and frantic thrusts.

“I know,” she rasps in reply. “Ngh… We can… Turn it off later. I’m so close.”

Pretty solid reasoning in your opinion.

How you got into this situation is a bit more complicated that you’d care to explain, but let’s just say that a late night snack can quickly turn into a literal fuck-fest when Jeon Heejin palmed the shape of your boner as you put a pack of instant noodles into a boiling pot. You didn’t know what came over you really, but after the noodles went in and the pot lid was closed, you had her propped up on the counter and her panties around her ankles. You can figure out how you got to this point.

Okay: to be fair to Heejin, you did kinda start this whole situation that might just put your lives on the line. You’re the perpetrator, criminal mastermind; yada-yada. But if you were to consider the technicalities, she did aggravate you to fuck her, and by so virtue of that you’re kinda both at fault. Does it make sense? Great, cause a situation where you’re both a little dirty minded makes for really great sex.

Great… Now you just explained the complicated situation. Eh, who’s exempt from a little contradiction now and then. Anyway… Where were you?

“Oh my fucking god.” she’s moaning a lot louder than usual, loud enough to probably convert her voice into some sort of energy for the homeless or something. Between her thighs lay a wet mess that was the source of all this crying and keening, and your juice slicked cock is the thing that’s driving her wild with ecstasy as she wraps her legs around your waist and pulls you deeper into each thrust with her legs. “Fuck me harder please. I need to cum all over your pretty cock so badly I–”

She barely has it in her to finish her sentence. Her plea is truncated by a sharp cry, and it would be pretty funny if it weren’t for the fact that it's probably one of the hottest things you’ve ever heard. The cry is almost delicate, fragile to the ear and almost like sweet music that plays in the dark. The keyword here is ‘almost’. Your description rings true, but the fact that she’s such a needy little bitch right now kind of ruins it. ‘Ruin’ is a little heavy handed; ‘taint’ would be a better word.

Yeah… Her want taints the beauty behind her desire… But only a little.

“I’m cumming”—Heejin’s practically whimpering at this rate. God you’d have quite the mess to clean up later—”I’m fucking cumming on your cock daddy I–Oh… Oh god oh fuck.”

“Fucking cum,” you hiss, saliva flying past your teeth and maybe onto her ear. “Be a good little slut and cum for me. Give me a nice and tight pussy to cum inside of.”

It feels weird, dirty even, referring to Heejin as a slut, but her reaction tells you she likes it. She loves being called your slut. You can see her mouth agape, tongue sticking out a little. She can barely keep her eyes open as the pleasure courses through her. Her nails dig into your back, and you think she might be drawing blood, but the pain doesn't matter right now. The only thing that matters is the sight before you.

She cums hard, and you know this because her walls clamp down on you like a vice. If you could, you would have taken a picture. The sight is just that amazing, but you're also preoccupied. The pressure is just right. The rhythmic pulsing of her walls against your throbbing cock is too much for you to take. Your hips stutter to a stop as you release a deep moan, and she gasps as she’s filled with rope after rope of hot cum.

When you finally come down from your high, Heejin is still panting heavily, eyes still squeezed shut, and legs still wrapped around your waist. You can't hold back the little smile that crosses your face as you watch her catch her breath. She looks so peaceful. It's hard to imagine her as a girl with the dirtiest mouth you've ever heard.

She peeks an eye open to see you staring.

“The pot dummy,” she reminds you, and the horrors of reality come crashing back all at once.

***

So you do find a little bit of a charm behind really soggy Buldak in the wee hours of the night. It’s not the best thing you’ve tasted, but it had its appeal. The sauce helped to mask the depression in the sad, close-to-slimy strands of dough in your bowls, though it didn’t stop you from experiencing a new texture that was severely overcooked noodles.

“Still think we could’ve left it in a little longer,” Heejin muses, staring at the limp noodle trapped between her chopsticks. “Maybe from there we could reverse-engineer the noodle and re-cook it.”

“Yea. And maybe we don’t fuck when there’s clearly a four minute limit to this stuff,” you add befor slurping up the last few spicy, sad and soggy strands in your bowl.

“Hey. I’m pretty sure the sex was good enough to offset this abomination,” she huffs, setting down her bowl next to yours. “Besides… We’re kinda both in the wrong this time. It’s not always just me you know?”

“Never said it was your fault.” you’re admiring the way her eyes glow in the dim light. At the right angle, it looked like the light was filling her pupils in the most adorable way. “You’re just inferring shit from a passing statement.”

“Wonder where I picked that up from…” she fired back, though it felt much more like she was conceding defeat than challenging further provocation. It was always a dance with her: unpredictable patterns in constant motion, and all you can do is follow her lead.

Maybe one day you’d find the time - make up for the dance you lost and dance with her for real.

Hi. Kinda posting here again because my therapist said that it was good for me to continue writing to regulate my emotions. This one is kinda messy and unedited cause I just wanted to get this out here for funsies. Anyway, I won't be posting as frequently as I used to, but I will drop by from time to time. No promises that I'm gonna be incredibly active and no promises that I won't disappear of the face of the earth again.

Cheers, Nichu

#kpop #fanfic #heejin #heejin smut #artms #artms heejin

746 notes · View notes

afriendofmara · 2 years ago

Text

There will always be a fondness for 2000's christian rock and pop in my heart. Little me adored those beats, even the sad ones. That was all I had to grasp onto and I did, they mean so much to me. But what makes me still so fond even nowadays, I've never viewed them in a god way. Its always been in a Friend or Family way. 6 year old me would listen to Natalie Grant bang out the tunes and sat in front of the cd player dazzled. This is what its like to find love, to find friendship, to find companionship, I thought. I listened to the entirety of Portable Sounds by Tobymac and knew that this was about what loving your family means. Today I understand that these are sometimes about friends or lovers but always they are about god. I just can't come to see that. NEEDTOBREATHE's The Outsiders is genuinely one of the best music albums in my life and my brain to this day wraps it in friendship and hands it over

#ohp its me again #idk rambling #wow thinkin about god and star ranch apparently #its really wild how much of that place i remember in my whole soul #every inch is something i miss #its 9:30am man #anyway #back to god #i have a collection of all the early 2000's christian music i adore still in a playlist #and this playlist is titled 'ACHOOO! bless you' because thats the kind of god im thinking of #not a real one #but a tradition #something passed down from who knows how long (not me) that is protecting your friend when they sneeze #the ancient ties that bind us by our words. the god that is in us simply doing our best for those we love #this is the energy i give towards my fave christian songs because simply put.#young me was a dumbass about relationship matters and now im still in love with words that are about god- not friendship #anyway yall have a wonderful day. a wonderful night. a good evening.#this has been. theo at 9:30am just Talking for some reason

0 notes

artytaeh · 6 months ago

Text

a honorary thought about how theodore nott would be with you, mrs. nott, his wife— during those blessed first vacations as a married couple; your honeymoon.

warnings: includes smut, so obviously it's advised for +18 readers; read at your own risk. use of italian provided by google translator, if i have readers who speak italian fluently, please don't murder me! </3

honeymoon!theo who seems extremely relaxed, calm and unprepared for this first vacation with you as his wife, to italy— his home country. what you don't know is that theodore had been thinking and planning these weeks for months, maybe even years, during those mornings at hogwarts that he woke up before he needed to leave his bed and prepare for classes. unbeknownst to you, theodore is prepared to suggest names for your future children: that's how well theo has thought (and planned) for a future with you.

honeymoon!theo who doesn't give you much context or details over what you'll be doing during those weeks; you know that it'll be in italy, and got some advice over which clothes would be a good idea to bring in your luggage. if you expected one week of vacation— yeah, dolcezza, not happening. italy is a beautiful country; given the opportunity to show you around, theodore will make sure that his family's money is put to good use, and ensure at least three weeks of walking around.

honeymoon!theo who has most of the days planned; he made sure that three weeks was enough time to see part of italy's best spots, yet never giving you one day that makes you feel exhausted. at most, you'll see or visit three different places during the same day, yet not far enough that'll get your feet hurting from walking too much.

honeymoon!theo who had a hard time selecting where to take you during these three weeks— at the same time that he wants you to see how lively, colorful and amazing his homeland is, theodore doesn't want to have you exhausted in a matter of days. in the end, theo decided that he'd give you the best of two worlds: the beautiful cities, and the breathtaking countryside.

honeymoon!theo who makes sure that you'll have a taste of most of italy's native dishes. desserts, treats, appetizers, dinner and even drinks; theodore makes it a point to show you why he slandered hogwarts' food on a daily basis. however, if you're a picky eater or have a few food limitations, theo makes sure to only encourage you to eat what he knows that you'll like. never forces you to taste anything that you might not like, should it have any ingredient that you don't eat / don't like.

honeymoon!theo who will buy a slice of pizza, a cup of pasta or other treats as you stroll around the streets, making sure that you taste some of them and are never the slightest bit hungry.

honeymoon!theo who teached you a few sentences and phrases in italian, helping you with the pronounciation just right. simple things, really, like petnames, simple phrases (how to say thank you, how to say hello and good morning, even a few curse words should someone be a jerk to you and because you cursing on his native language turns him on).

honeymoon!theo who refers to you as mrs. nott. if you're at a restaurant— theodore will be a gentleman and make the order for the two of you, saying what he'd like to have, and what mrs. nott chose instead for today's meal. will teasingly refer to you as mrs. nott, if you ever engage playful banter or have a silly argument. if you're angry, well, being called mrs. nott dissolves any annoyance that you might have towards your husband.

honeymoon!theo who takes the chance of being in italy again, to buy his favorite brands of cigarettes; he promises to smoke a little less, though. one in the morning, as he waits for you to finish dressing up for the day— then one at night, leaving the windows open after you two were intimate, as you are comfortably laying on his chest. one hand holds the cigarette, while the other runs its fingers through your hair; here, theodore has each hand holding two of his biggest addictions. surely, if possible, theodore might sneak one cigarette during afternoon or after lunch; if you don't like the smell, theo will make sure to do it away from you. is there a shop you'd like to check? while you explore it, theo might smoke his second cigarette of the day.

honeymoon!theo who never gets his hands out of you. waist, lower back, holding hands or intertwined fingers; now that you're his, he has even less reasons to let go of you. italy is a crowded, famous country for vacations; between locals and tourists you walk together, as theodore guides you along, making sure that he never loses sight or hold of his wife.

honeymoon!theo that has a morning routine; lazying around in bed for a little longer, forearms feeling the softness of the pillow as he rests his head there— prompted up enough to see you. his gaze never wavers; theodore watches as you walk around the bedroom, each step being a soft pad on the floor, as you rummage through the wardrobe and seek for what you'll wear today; making your way then to the bathroom. if he's too sleepy, theo will take a light nap as he waits for you, lulled by the muffled sound of the water running for your shower; should he feel a bit more energetic, or more of a morning person, theo will follow you like a puppy, hugging your waist from behind as he kisses his way to shower with you.

honeymoon!theo who decides that his vocation is to help mrs. nott, his stunning, gorgeous wife getting ready for anything. oh, so you're preparing yourself to sleep? theodore will be more than happy to brush your hair, or to have you teaching him what products to apply, and how, to your hair— are you too lazy to take off your make-up? don't worry, theo does it for you; and even throws a dirty joke about removing your make-up in another, more elaborate and definitely much more pleasant, way. specially after a long day strolling around the streets, theodore will be more than happy to just let you relax, while he takes care of you.

honeymoon!theo who also loves to help you getting ready to leave, too. do you need this thing from the wardrobe or from your luggage? don't worry, he'll get it for you. are these the shoes you're wearing tonight? sit on the bed, bella, i'll tie them for you. do you need him to hold something or even help you with your hair? theodore nott is a very competent husband (or does his best to learn how to be very helpful for you). if you don't need help, well, theodore will sit on the edge of the bed, with those icy blue eyes gaining a new loving shade, as he looks at his bellissima getting ready to leave the room with him.

honeymoon!theo who took you to some window shopping with you, at venice and milan. two beautiful cities, where people proudly dress to impress; the shops didn't disappoint you at all. each dress or mannequin that you stared for more than two seconds got theodore to hold you by the hand, and gently dragging you to enter the shop; theo was more than happy to hold bags for you, one arm wrapped around your waist, while the other proudly holds his wife's bags from all the stuff you bought (correction: what theodore persuaded you to bring along, strictly using his family's money).

honeymoon!theo who perfected the art of convincing mrs. nott to agree with allowing him to spoil her; why shouldn't you be pampered by your own husband? in fact, theodore argues that doing so is a significant other's duty (and privilege). should you argue that everything's too expensive, well, theodore has two valid arguments for that: one, the nott family is ridiculously wealthy— one dress won't make his wallet lighter; and two, it's your money too, now. so why shouldn't you use it?

🗯️ : but teddy, darling— this is too much. i won't have enough space in my luggage to take all of these extra clothes with me.

t : don't worry about that, carina. if anything, we'll buy an extra luggage for you. fanculo, you know what? let's buy you a bigger one so you'll have to buy more things to fill it up. here, cara mia, look at this shop.

honeymoon!theo who takes a few nights to take you to dance around with him, strolling around some streets with good bars— a fancier version of those slytherin parties that you went together, except the lack of excessive green, besides lorenzo and mattheo's tendencies to start a brawl over flirting with an already taken girl. theodore dances with you, the two of you swaying with the rhythm, having the most fun, as you try to talk to each other sometimes or exchange a few comments here and there. if a younger guy has the audacity to look at you, theodore will glare at them in such an intimidating way, that the bloke doesn't even have to know about how theodore nott was a feared rival at hogwarts; should he be older, theodore will yell a clear threat in italian.

t : guarda ancora mia ragazza e ti garantisco che nessuno incontrerà i tuoi occhi dopo che li avrò cavati davanti a tutta la tua famiglia, stronzo del cazzo.

🗯️ : theo, what was that? what did you say? i didn't understand...

t : nothing, dolcezza; would you like a drink? here, let's go buy one together.

honeymoon!theo who translates anything and everything to you, specially if you ask him. if you're at a museum and would like to know what the description of some painting is, then theodore will explain or straight-out translate for you. don't worry, he's more than happy to do that— theo does it so patiently, that you would notice that he actually enjoys it. maybe he's returning the favor, for those few times that you've helped him pronounce a few words before class starts; maybe because theodore finds it heartwarming how you show such interest for his culture, and how endearing it is to see you trying to understand a few words here and there.

honeymoon!theo who separated these few days strolling around the city, walking around the streets and seeing a few attractions that he knew that you'd like (a few museums, for example); and got you to another city, one where he planned to have a more lighthearted routine. summer in italy is hot; to have you not enjoying the heat with one day or two to tan, to enjoy a pool or simply lazying around would be wrong; a waste, even. during those days, theodore made sure to let you rest on your chair, while massaging the sunscreen into your skin. those few days spent like that were fun; you didn't do much, but sometimes, doing nothing is the best.

honeymoon!theo who got to drink a few cocktails with you during those few days, sunglasses shielding your sights from the blazing sun, and swimsuits ready to have at least a swim together. conversation flows as easily between you as ever; taking a sip of your cocktail while the other talks, taking turns to share opinions or to continue the conversation. perhaps theodore took the chance to lightheartedly discuss what you'd do after these weeks— would you like to live with him to nott's estate, and leaving your shared cozy apartment for the time being?

honeymoon!theo who would only not shower with you if you two really had to get ready as fast as possible. otherwise, he's joining you; kissing your shoulders while you wash yourself, hugging your waist as he hums to whatever you're telling him. unless you'd rather wash your own hair or have a specific way of doing it, then theodore is more than happy to do it for you; as soon as he's done, he'll poke your nose with your shampoo's foam, signaling his concluded work. surely, theodore marvels at having you hugging him and washing his back at the same time— hey, where are you going? no, hug him for a little bit more; his back should be properly washed, you know?

honeymoon!theo who finds these weeks blissful. no quickies, no hurries; contrary to hogwarts, that even your own dorms weren't the most private places; or your daily life, where some of his friends are comfortable enough to visit without invitations— here at the hotel or alugada house you're at, there's privacy, time, and no restrictions for noise.

honeymoon!theo who takes his time with you. taking each piece of clothing with a calm movement, kissing every inch of skin in display; making sure that tomorrow morning, you'll have to complain or pout at him, due to those new bruises his lips will leave on your skin. neck and thighs are two favorites of his; however, there's something sinfully attractive and arousing about marking up your chest. a little dirty secret of his, one that only his eyes are allowed to see— besides yours, of course.

honeymoon!theo who gets a little insane in the head each. single. time that you have the audacity to speak italian to him, specially during these intimate moments. it doesn't matter if your pronounciation isn't perfect— even a single amore does things to him. whisper fanculo a me to his ear, and you might have to choose a more lighthearted agenda tomorrow, for the sake of your sore legs.

honeymoon!theo who becomes impossibly possessive. having been an overprotective boyfriend at times, making sure that each single student and their mothers knew that you're taken for life, these few weeks are feral. it becomes calmer as the days pass by, though; theodore takes some time to normalize the overwhelming reality that finally, finally you are his wife— mrs. nott.

so, honeymoon!theo who doesn't shut up. theodore needs to tell you how long he's waited for this, to have that ring on your finger; that same hand that he holds as he thrusts into you, or pleasures you in anyway— thumb tracing over the piece of jewelry exchanged on that day that you two got married. his fingers intertwine with yours, blue eyes bewitched by the sight of you under him, and even more intensely if you go on top. theodore nott is a shameless man; he'll only encourage you to moan louder for him, to tell him how good he makes you feel. theodore nott is so, so shameless, that he won't hold back any moan, any groan, anything he wants to say; this man will continue his rambling over how long he's dreamt about putting a ring on your finger, about being wed to you, about showing you his homeland— he'd say all of his in italian, though. if you're lucky, you'll catch up a few words; if not, well, theodore's voice sounds even better when he speaks his native language so fluently.

honeymoon!theo who doesn't have to hold back his baby fever anymore. will get you that final orgasm, with you sitting on his lap, his cock deep inside you, your back flushed against his warm chest; your hips feel those calloused, warm hands holding your hips down, making sure that the two of you can see the reflection of that mirror in front of the bed— one that theodore, shamelessly, requested to have it placed there. blue eyes lock their gaze there, where he disappears inside you, as you take him so well.

honeymoon!theo who doesn't shut up as he keeps you like this for a long moment, as praises leave his lips; 'you're stunning, cara mia, davvero bellissima— you'll look even prettier with our babies inside you.' as he speaks, theo presses kisses to your neck, one hand moving to rub circles on your clit; as if he wasn't already buried so deep inside you, pressing against that spot that has your legs shaking. theo doesn't let you stray much farther from his aching erection: 'brava ragazza, you'll take it all, won't you? we can't have a single drop leave your pretty little cunt.'

honeymoon!theo who secretly hopes that you'll come back to england with a baby in your womb; as much as he absolutely adores this life with you, on getting your full attention, falling into a domestic routine— theodore can't wait to see how your child would look like. theo can only pray that they inherite your lovely smile and beautiful hair, but keep his eyes. blue eyes, identical to the ones his mother, phoena nott, had. besides, if you do end up pregnant and keep the baby— next time that you go to italy, there would be a tiny human keeping you two company. theodore daydreams about that day.

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪸 ’

౨ৎ calling out my name ♡ ͡

in the summer rain, ciao amore . . .

🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.

— spreading the 'theodore nott being a loving husband and slightly obsessed with the love of his life' agenda; this boy had the first draft of how your honeymoon would be after your fifth date with him.

the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷

#theodore nott #headcanons #slytherin boys #slytherin boys react #hp fandom #theodore nott x reader #hp fanfic #theo nott #harry potter #theodore nott x you #honeymoon #honeymoon headcanons #fluff #smut #theodore nott smut #theodore nott dating headcanons #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott dating #theodore nott headcanons

2K notes · View notes

charliemwrites · 7 months ago

Text

Part 2!

Finally finished moving house so hopefully I’ll be updating semi-regularly again.

Content: brief and non-descriptive explanation of Rasputin’s backstory (injury and illness)

Agatha is over again.

You don’t know why. She doesn’t like you, your cats, or anything as far as you can tell. It seems her primary motivation for talking to you at all is to exercise her role as neighborhood matriarch. She “keeps tabs” on everyone, but especially you - the unmarried woman living alone that keeps odd hours.

A rebellious part of you wants to roll your eyes and make snarky comments whenever she sniffs at your life choices. The same part of you that would make scenes at holiday dinners or slam doors when you were a teenager. That girl has long been smoothed and polished - or maybe just worn down. It’s so much effort to make rude, nosy, traditionalists clutch their pearls. Much easier to smile in their face and do what you want anyway.

Still, that part of you itches at the surface sometimes. Makes your eye twitch.

“I know your generation is different but that’s just not the type of neighborhood we live in,” she’s saying.

You’re a bit foggy from a late night patching plotholes and haven’t registered much of anything she’s said. You really just want to go inside and stare at the TV until words make sense again.

“What do you mean?” you ask, for once not feigning your confusion. But of course this is the one time she doesn’t buy it.

She looks down her frail little nose at you, cornflower blue eyes baleful. You don’t feel scolded, but you sense that you’re supposed to.

“Now you know just what I mean. People will talk.”

People always talk, it’s an unfortunate byproduct of the human condition. Like a deaf bird, you’ve never understood all the chatter.

“Talk about… the buttercups?” you wonder, pointing at the blossoms. You’re quite proud of them actually.

Agatha puffs up and hisses out a breath. “You ought to keep to this side of the street. Away from those men.”

You blink. Men…?

A bang comes from across the street, followed by rough German cursing. (At least you think it’s cursing.)

Ah. Those men.

“I was just welcoming them to the neighborhood.”

It comes out of your mouth automatically, innocent excuses for something you remind yourself you don’t need to justify.

“I’d rather they didn’t feel welcome,” she snips. “Better they sell that awful house and go somewhere else.”

You flick your eyes over her bony shoulder. Konig passes by a window, massive biceps on display as he lifts something outside of view.

“They’re nice,” you say. Nice to look at. Krueger’s face alone quite makes up for his conversational shortcomings.

“The only reason men like that act nice is because they want something,” Agatha snaps. “This is a respectable neighborhood.”

Yeah, soooo respectable when Bertram rifles through your mail or Lisa looks into your backyard.

“Well,” you muse, “better to be on good terms with them, I think. They're not the type you want to piss off.”

That defiant streak lights up at the way her face sours. If only she knew what sort of words you use when it’s just you and the cats.

“You’ve just proven my point. Those are not the type of men young ladies should associating themselves with.”

You have to try very hard not to scrunch up your face. One blessed day, people will stop referring to you as “young lady” in that insufferably condescending tone. You can’t wait for that day.

Some of your mounting irritation must show on your face because she takes on a sickly sweet “teaching” tone.

“Neighborhoods are like gardens. Everything grows best when the rows are kept separate. That’s why the farmers plant them that way.”

You glance pointedly at your own yard, where the flowers are blooming in haphazard sprigs wherever you tossed the seeds. Agatha’s lips get thin.

“Best that you stay on this side of the street, missy. That’s the last I’ll hear of it.”

She spins on her heel and stalks off like a particularly drab bird. You stand on your porch for a second longer, face contorted in annoyed confusion. You don’t even have strong feelings about the three men; the simple act of someone - Agatha of all people - labeling them as “Off Limits” makes them instantly more appealing.

Maybe you should see someone about that or something. Then the pathetic cries of Guy through the window lure you back inside.

It’s nearly sundown when there’s a knock at your door. Still agitated from your talk with Agatha, you puff up like Shithead when Rasputin sits on her favorite toy. March up to the door, fling it open - and come up short when you see the three men looming on your doorstep.

Before you can recover, a little gray blob scrambles past your ankles, crying like the sky is falling.

“Oh!” Konig gasps in pleasant surprise. “Hallo, Bubchen!”

And all 6-foot-plus of Austrian instantly folds to scoop Guy up. You’ve barely managed a now-useless shout of alarm when Shithead wedges her fat head between your calves. Behind you, Rasputin politely screeches his little chainsmoker call.

And somehow, in the chaos of fumbling for furballs, you end up with all three men in your foyer.

Guy is purring away in Konig’s thick arms. Shithead is attempting to scale Krueger’s tight cargo pants. And Rasputin is pawing the air at Nikto, visibly calculating the jump to his wide shoulders.

Which leaves you with the clean serving platter you dropped off just yesterday. You blink at it for a moment, then glance at them.

“So… the cookies were good then?”

“Very good!” Konig rushes to say. Krueger and Nikto each nod, almost comically solemn.

“We have no baking or cooking skills,” Krueger continues, “so tell us what needs fixing.”

It takes you a moment to understand what he means. The house. He wants to fix your house. It’s surprisingly sweet, and you laugh a bit, shaking your head. “You don’t need to do that, I was just-“

“Is custom,” Nikto interrupts.

Konig nods with all the enthusiasm of a bobblehead as Krueger crosses his arms. (Whatever effect he’s going for is ruined by Shithead clinging to his pocket and screaming.)

“In our country, we bring gifts as guests. Our gift is repairs,” he explains.

You arch your brows playfully. “I don’t remember inviting you to be guests.”

He arches his brows right back. “We did not invite you either.”

Well shit.

“Okay, okay. I guess there’s a couple things…”

Konig perks up. “We would be happy to help, Biene!”

It’s strange having men in the house. You think you should be more nervous about it, can’t remember the last non-family man allowed into your space. Especially alone.

There’s a sharp awareness, of course. Hard not to be aware of them. It’s not just that they’re big, dwarfing all of your you-sized furniture. There’s a presence to them, something felt but not seen by your untrained eye. Maybe it’s in the set of their shoulders, the way they stand with both boots firmly planted. Maybe it’s the precise way they speak and move, not just separately but as a unit. Acting more like a collective consciousness than as individuals.

Whatever it is, you couldn’t ignore them if you tried. And you’re definitely not trying.

You set Krueger to work on the kitchen cabinet you’ve been meaning to replace. He clicks his tongue at the tape-and-lean method you’ve been using to keep the old one in place. Shithead immediately sets to work helping by gnawing at his shoelaces.

Konig is stationed in the guest bathroom, where the sink doesn’t run right. Guy comes mewing into your arms when he’s set down, effectively tattling that his new friend is mean and awful for withholding affection for even a moment.

You try not to visibly hesitate when you corner yourself in your own laundry room. Nikto has followed you right in, seemingly unaware that he’s invading your personal space. He’s not even looking at you though, eyes zeroed in on the dryer you point to.

“It’s not heating up, so the clothes stay wet or take forever to dry,” you explain.

He grunts in acknowledgement, then nods to Rasputin, who has taken up residence on the washer. His one golden eye blinks slow and serene at the two of you.

“What happened?” he asks.

You hum, softening in pleasant surprise at the question.

“I’m not sure how he lost his eye. It was infected when I found him. But I know for sure the tail and leg are from getting hit by a car.”

You sigh, scratching at Rasputin’s chin. A rusty purr starts up as he tilts his head, revealing some nasty scars around his throat.

“The vet said that that’s probably from a fight with another cat,” you add.

Guy steps from your arms to cuddle up to Rasputin, shoving his face into his ragged ear. Grooming time, then. That’s as good an indication as any that Nikto’s probably safe enough.

“I ran down from an office building to save him.” You blink hard, eyes stinging just from the memory. “But anyway, he gets to rest and be pampered now.”

When you glance up from Rasputin’s happy little face, you almost startle at the sharp blue eyes pinning you in place. Your face feels warm, even though you’re not embarrassed.

“I’ll, um, get out of the way,” you say, clearing your throat. “Keep an eye on things, Ras.”

With the men occupied, you find yourself once again at loose ends. You drift towards the den, but it feels awkward to sit on your ass watching TV while your neighbors fix your house.

You check the time on your phone - ignoring the text from your mother - and figure it’s not too early to start dinner.

“Will I be in the way if I start cooking?” you ask Krueger.

He flicks you a dimissive glance. “A little thing like you?”

You scoff and cross to the fridge. “You could have just said no.”

“Nein,” he snorts.

Rude bastard, you think - though not without fondness, unfortunately. The surly attitude is already growing on you.

There’s meat and spare boxes of pasta and veggies - that’ll work. You start tugging out ingredients, mentally doubling portions for your guests. They look like they work out even beyond the construction labor, hopefully you’ll have enough to satisfy their appetites.

“So what’s the plan with the house?” you ask as you get to work. “Just fixing it up to sell or…?”

“We will live there, the three of us,” Krueger answers. He swipes a screwdriver from Shithead’s batting paws. “Somewhere to stay when we are not working.”

You hum, biting back the next obvious question, loathe to become as nosy as the rest of your neighbors. Still… getting to know people, right?

It sounds like they expect to travel a lot. You can’t imagine them as business types - not in the traditional sense anyway. Though the image of Konig sitting in a tiny cubicle does make you smile a bit. Between their statures, their clothes, their shoes, and the occasional nasty scar, you take a guess.

“Are you guys military?”

“Contractor,” Krueger corrects.

You perk up. “Wait, really?”

He scowls. “Does it sound like a joke?”

You huff and turn back to the veggies you’re cutting. “No, no. I just - you know about guns and knives and things, then?”

He pauses. You shoot him a curious glance, only to quickly look away at the intense scrutiny directed your way.

“Yes,” he answers slowly.

“Then… could you maybe answer some questions…?”

His eyes narrow. “Questions?”

You keep your gaze on the cutting board. “Okay, wait, it's not suspicious. I’m a writer and it’s hard to google very specific questions sometimes. It’s just easier to ask an expert in person.”

Never mind that majority of your readers would never know the difference. It bothers you when things aren’t accurate.

He makes a considering noise. “A writer?”

You flush. “That’s what I do. Why I’m always home? I publish fiction.”

He stands, brushing his hands off on his pants. You peek his way, shocked to see a task you’ve been putting off for weeks already done. Hell, it looks sturdier than the rest of the cabinet doors, too.

“And your fiction requires knowledge of guns and knives and ‘things’?” he asks.

Your face feels like it’s on fire. “Sometimes…”

“Fine. I will answer your questions,” he allows.

You beam. “Thank you!”

He grunts, snatches a slice of pepper and pops it into his mouth.

“What else needs doing?”

Dinner ends up much more pleasant than expected. Nikto abstains from eating, you assume because he doesn’t feel comfortable removing his ever-present mask, but he sits at the table with Rasputin in his lap. He speaks little, and has that intense gaze that prickles at your freeze instinct, but you grow used to it as the meal progresses.

Konig, however, becomes chattier with food in his belly. He’s much more forthcoming when he answers your polite and totally casual questions - though you notice Krueger kick him under the table once or twice.

You suppose he gets you back by effectively announcing to the others what your career is. Which just kicks off the usual line of questioning about how and why you got into writing. Still, there’s no judgment from these men that make their living in labors of blood and sacrifice, where you expected censure. You only find genuine curiosity and intrigue, good-natured questions. Not even Krueger makes backhanded comments about it not being a “real” job.

Before you know it, the moon is high and you’re sending the three of them off, bellies full and a little friendlier than before. Nikto nods to you (and Rasputin) as he leaves, a big Tupperware of his dinner portion in hand.

You tell yourself it’s not anticipation that goes through you, knowing they’ll be back with it soon.

Previous | Next

Masterlist

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #cod krueger #sebastian krueger #konig #konig cod #cod nikto #polyamory #bad neighbours #men at work

1K notes · View notes

malereadermaniac · 7 months ago

Text

Barack bunny pt 2 - Male Reader x Pro-hero's as generals (+bonuses)

This was requested by @jojorefrence23 ! Thought it was such a good sequel idea! word count: 4.6k (loooooong) Nsfw / MDNI ~ amab m!reader / FDNI Characters: Enji, Fatgum, Aizawa, Dabi, Shigi, Shinso + Tamaki, Mirio, Shindo Top!Characters x Bottom!Reader

Inevitably, your reputation as your division's barrack bunny had reached other divisions which weren't lucky enough to be blessed by your presence

Most lieutenants had also heard of you, and news of you had travelled to even some generals

Some were more interested than others, surprisingly few were concerned about your more energetic hobbies - especially as you were a man getting it on with other guys in your devision and not a female cadet; their rules weren't exactly updated to ban gay relationships too!

And so, other people began to talk to you, your presence more known than ever before - most of the guys who were already trying to get with you livid at this

General Aizawa (EraserHead)

Even the most reserved of the generals had become interested in you, the man being called 'eraserhead' behind his back due to the blank expression on his face at all times

To be fair, the man has to manage a bunch of knucklehead young men without getting any ass - so when you basically show up on a platter, it's hard for him not to test the waters

Aizawa already had a softspot for you, as you were one of the less rowdy ones in the bunch - always chipper but never annoying, and always happy to help whenever the overworked general needed it

So once the two of you were all alone in his office as you helped him out with whatever he needed, your trusted general decided to get a little more personal with you

Conversation swept you both up and you two ended up talking until late into the night - Aizawa even comfortable enough to talk about his daughter with you; DILF? Smash.

One thing led to another and the man was holding your waist and your cheek with his slender, rough hands as he kissed you - his tongue completely dominating yours

A few moments later, you were bent over his desk, getting fucked like a cheap slut. Aizawa holding both of your arms back only with one of his hands, the other on the small of your back as his cock fills you up

Your General's whole office had been christened with your moans that night - the muscular man standing naked above you as he came on your face with a horny look in his eyes, holding you in his strong arms as he fucks you against all 4 walls of his office

It's easier to just say that you were very tired the next morning at attention

But ever since then, you were even more Aizawa's favourite

The man did everything in his power (which he had quite a bit of) to keep you away from your other escapades - bakugou being one of the many which would cuss out the general behind his back foe this

The fucking didn't stop either

I mean, the man was constantly stressed and sexually frustrated, and you were young and horny as fuck 24/7

Aizawa's favourite thing to do was call you into his office a few hours after training, watching you walk into his office with a smile and pep in your step always made him feel at ease

The sexy general would then gesture towards his crotch with his head and eyes, those sunken, sexy eyes of his

Within the next minuet, you're under Aizawa's desk, his cock slipped out out of his cammo cargoes, half of his veiny, thick dick down your throat and your hand wrapped around whatever you couldn't get in

And while the situation only really pleasured your general, you couldn't help but feel incredibly turned on by the sight above you - Aizawa moaning and grunnting, his long, muscular arms hanging down his sides as his chin is tilted up to show his sexy stubble, his sexy eyes looking down at you with a look than sends shivers down your spine

The man also always sports a black, tight tanktop every time he's in his office - a comfort thing - and fucking hell does he look delicious with his muscles popping out of that top, sweat clearly dampening the material as he pants and moans from your mouth

But don't think the man stops there, Aizawa is more than happy to return the favour after you'd pleasure him so, so nicely - so for another hour or two you're usually stuck in his office; his veiny fingers inside of you as your usually reserved general laps at your twitching cock, you cumming on his face and hair everytime as if on a schedule, the action followed up by a couple rounds of his cock re-arranging your guts

Late Night talking is very common with you two - like with most of your other partners, they feel comfortable around you - you two chat about life and other things, Aizawa feels at home with you

The man knew he was in deep shit when he caught himself fantasising about you meeting Eri back home...

General Taishiro (Fatgum)

Easily the most popular and well liked general in your entire unit - earning a nickname from the troops to show how friendly he was with you guys

Fatgum - as the blonde, muscular man was still somehow in shape despite eating like he'd been starved for days at every single meal time

Taishiro is a very attractive man, and so he was very used to women and men pouncing on him and offering themselves to him whenever they built up the courage - and that's exactly what he expected you to do

You may as well be walking around with a scarlet letter on you, because litterally everyone you talked to knew about how you get down and dirty - so of fucking course your favourite general had to know too!

However, when you didn't pounce on General Taishiro, and instead barely gave him a second look, that's when the man became interested - predicable really

All of the troops in your unit loved this man, and you did too, and that's exactly why you barely gave your general a second look

You didn't want to ruin your friendship with him or his view of you, or even his relationship with your fellow troops (some of whom would threaten to fight the man)

But your views on the matter definitely changed one night, when Taishiro 'accidentally' bumped into you

It was just after training, you had just showered after having a little fun with Kirishima and weren't looking when you turned the corner to leave the shower room

That's when your face smashed into not a hard, cold wall, but instead the warm, soft, bare chest of your general

You apologised but the general took the opportunity to strike up conversation - knowing very well that he was fully nude except for a very small towel around his hips, his muscular body on full display

But the blonde actually couldn't believe it when your eyes didn't stray from his even once the whole conversation - he couldn't say the same about his, your nude body looked like it was made for him

The man even thought he'd heard wrong, that you weren't the barrack bunny everyone claimed you were

However the hickeys covering your neck and the lovebites on your shoulders and nipples blew that thought away

It took you by surprise when Taishiro's attitude slightly changed, his tone more dominant - but what the general actually said was what caught you by surprise

"Come take a shower with me"

No question mark at the end or anything, it was more like an order

The next thing led to another and the two of you were passionately making out in a shower stall, your general much taller than you as he held his huge, manly hand around your waist and gently caressing your cheek with his thumb

Taishiro was literally taking your breath away, all that could be heard in the shower room was a small stream of water from the shower and you sexy, breathy pants as the general you viewed as a friendly guy was holding you up in his massive arms with ease and eating you out in his arms!

Fuck the man knew what to do to turn you on!

The poor water bill that night must of been through the roof because you and your sexy, manly general didn't stop fucking until the sun came up - amd for most of the night he held you up in his arms! Strong ass man I tell you!

His loads filled you up to brim after just a 3 rounds - those rounds having lasted an hour each!!!

So to call it a night, Taishiro decided to gently finger his thick cum out of you- making you cum in the process and giving the blonde general an incredible image to think about whenever he has some alone time...

'Wait... why was General Taishiro showering in the common showers when he has his own??'

Your relationship didn't stop there either! Your friendly general joining the group of men that were wrapped around your finger

But man were the others livid, because the blonde made sure everyone knew he was now also up in your guts at least twice a week by making sure to sit next to you every meal time

The blonde would eat his food with the generals even quicker than normal, pop some gum in and come and wiggle hid way right next to you, his muscular arms dropped around you as he gives smug looks to the other troops

His office had become the usual place for you two as well - the snacks in his mini-fridge coming in handy when you're exhausted and hungry from fucking like animals

His favourite thing to do is to eat you out on his desk, his long, warm tongue doing things to you you'd never experienced - his favourite part being you grabbing his sexy blonde hair once you get oh so close to cumming

But Taishiro wasn't opposed to 'quietly' (loud as fuck) have sex in your bed with the others

You really woke up a smug part of him, one that wants to show you off, show off how only his big, veiny, uncut cock makes you moan like a bitch in heat

General Todoroki (Enji)

The highest ranking general which all of the troops barely ever saw - even his sons rarely saw him unless they were reporting their weekly tasks

Strict and no-bullshit is how most people described General Todoroki - and definitely unopposed to nepotism; his sons were both in higher ranks just cause!

But another way his underlings would describe him is sexually frustrated

The man was divorced and hadn't gotten a piece of ANYTHING in at least a year - so when your activities were reported to him by a worried little troop, his ears perked up

You were scared shitless the whole day after being called to his office for 8pm - but your guys and even Shoto assured you it was going to be nothing bad

But your heart certainly sank when you walked into that office and saw the chief general sitting in his chair with his huge arms crossed across his beefy chest and a look on his face that could only be described as a scowl

When General Enji started with "I've heard of you and your... relations" my god were you actually shaking

But you didn't expect him to cut you a deal

"I won't pass the concern on... as long as you can please me well enough"

And the rest was history

As you'd expect, after having earth-shattering sex on both behalf - Enji becoming addicted to your tight body and sexy features after being celibate for so long - you two continued having 'meetings' every few weeks whenever the chief called you to his office

And the man is just as anyone would think he is in bed - a fucking sadistic dom!

Enji loved having you service him below his desk, chocking on his thick cock and trying to stifle your sounds, gripping his thick, muscular thighs when someone walks into his office to talk about something

If you even make a sound which Enji has to make an excuse for, as soon whoever was bothering Enji leaves, you get pulled up into the huge General's lap and get spanked so, so much

The sadist makes you count his slaps out loud, his massive, rough hands leaving bright red marks on your ass to adorn his love bites from previously eating you out

Enji likes to see you cry - not in a horrible way, but either due to your gag reflex, his spanking, or from the sheer amount of pleasure you were being subjected to

Unlike the other guys who have fallen for you, Enji doesn't get jealous of the others - the General knows that he's at the top of the hierarchy and that you are pretty much at his beck and call, the others don't have that power over you

Oh and the man really eats up the whole power synamic - practically ripping his cargoes at the seam with his boner whenever you calm him 'sir'or 'general'

If there's one thing the man doesn't like, it's that his sons are getting a piece of you too - he feels a little weird about it, but he mainly feels a carnal need to posses you in that respect; if he sees Shoto talking to you woth that lovestruck look in his eyes, expect a 'meeting' later that day

Oh and another thing General Enji fucking loves is after he cums inside of you; you on his lap lazily leaning against his desk, regaining your composure, his huge dick still stretching you as his cum leaks from your hole, and my god your much smaller, fucking spent cock, semi-flaccid just resting on your stomach.... it makes the man want another round instantly

Lieutenant Shigiraki (Defo OOC)

Another kinda reserved guy in your course - but once you break down his walls, Shigi is really just a sweet guy

The two of you became quite friendly after you managed to get him to talk - and you kinda gathered that he's never really had any friends (other than Lieutenant Todoroki)

And you can tell this because after only a few conversations with the Lieutenant, he was oversharing so, so much about his life

How he's never really had friends, how he's never even kissed anyone because he's insecure about his dry skin and because he thinks he's ugly

And when you comfort him and assure him that he's quite attractive, you realised that Shigi hasn't ever even experienced a compliment before - HOW SAD WAS THID GUYS LIFE??

And again, you could tell this because the man got a VERY obvious boner when you complimented him.....

It became very obvious that Shigiraki had developed a crush on you very quickly, the man looking for you every second of the day and spending time around you - not even talking! Just hanging

And my lord when he found out from Dabi about your reputation. Shigiraki literally went full on emo, he got mad at you whenever you tried to talk to you and all!

It was only when you waited for him outside of his room that he HAD to talk to you

And even then, he didn't talk! He listened to your demands of asking what was wrong, but halfway through, your words were falling on dead ears as he became captivated by your looks - your body looking incredible in your unit's pyjamas

Shigiraki then cutting you off after not being able to deal with his achingly hard cock anymore, his rough yet warm hands grabbing your face and his lips crashing against yours

For an inexperienced guy, Shigiraki was a fucking good kisser

The cliche struggling to open the door and get inside the room while stripping occurred as the two of you didn't break the kiss - and again, for a fucking virgin Shigiraki was incredible

People had been missing out! The man was well endowed with a horse cock on him! Long but not too thick as to break you, veiny and white with a cute pink, uncut tip - guessing he'd learnt how to expertly use it and his hands for a matter of fact from all the porn he told you he watches (romantic gay porn mind you)

Guess Internet access after 9pm was a bonus from being a lieutenant

Anyways, after your first sexual affair with the stereotypical 'I like my white boys malnourished' lieutenant, the two of you continued what you had going on

Shigiraki fucking loved the way you looked in any of the provided uniform - the pyjamas, the cargoes, the tank tops; all of it just made you look so hot to him

Also, for a lieutenant, the man surely liked to be dominated a little (guess that's why he's in the army!)

Shigiraki fucking loved it when you held his hands above his head and rode him to high-heaven, moving down to kiss him and his neck as you listen to his slutty moans

His hands just felt right around your hips, their dry exterior a nice contrast to your sweaty and hot skin

And my god does this masochist fucking LOVE IT when you tug so harshly on his hair when he's fucking tou missonary and you're about to cum hard - the man spending at least an hour a day looking at the sexy scratch marks adorning his surprisingly muscular back

Like everyone else smitten with you, Shigi also fucking hated that any other man was blessed with your touch and your taste or even just your pressance and breath - but Shigiraki was like actually going crazy over it, visibly jealous and possessive over you whenever another guys tried to talk to you when he was with you

Many guys have talked about it and even put the fact that their all fucking you aside to try and deal with the way Shigi was behaving - 6 of them having a 'chat' with him, which you had to deal with the consequences of and scold them all

But you can't get mad at your lieutenants possessiveness, he's just too cute and smitten for you!

Lieutenant Todoroki (Dabi)

By far one of the sexiest men in your unit, a man who came to the army straight after college and never left - his literal battle scars as proof of that

Dabi was one of the first few that you had caught the eye of - and since his literal father was in charge, he'd had quite a few partners in his time in the army, so the rugged man decided to try his luck with you

And boy oh boy! Did he manage to rizz you the fuck up! The taller man having you up against a wall within seconds of chatting with you, his knee rubbing your crotch gently doing 'the thing'

Basically, you were making out with one of your lieutenant only a week or two into your service - the muscular, dominant man roaming his hands all over your body in order to feel you and get to know you even better

Dabi was instantly addicted to your taste, your warmth, the sounds you would make as he hugs your waist and kisses you deeper turning the man on even more

And wow, history was made when the two of you managed to break off of each other enough to get to Dabi's private room

That man fucked you to heaven and back TWICE - you're pretty sure your whole unit somehow heard you from across the dorms!

And ever since then, the two of you have kept each other entertained when in need of it - you visit Dabi's room very frequently

The lieutenant just can't get enough of you, he's fucked so many people before but the way your tight ass just sucks his veiny cock in gets him going!

Dabi's also very confident in his relationship with you (whatever that relationship may be) cause he doesn't not give a fuck if other guys try to assert their dominance around you and him, Dabi just chuckles when other guys flirt or talk to you cause he knows that you and him are like a puzzle - the way his hips lock against the smooth of your ass in Doggy, the was his dick fills you up just right, the way his rough, scarred hands spank you and grip your skin; all of him just fits with all of you.

The thing that gets under Dabi's skin is that his younger brother gets to see and feel you in the way he does - he teases Todoroki endlessly about how much better of a time you have with Dabi rather than with him, or that he's sorry to his little bro but you're just insatiable around Dabi!

You inly intervene when you see it happen (but you can't really complain, it gets Todoroki really fired up the next time you two fuck)

Dabi's biggest thing is showing off his power/status by doing shit with you in front of other troops - it just turns the lieutenant on so, so much to know: a) how embarrassed yet very turned on you're getting and, b) how the others can't really say or do much about it unless they want to get written up by Dabi! They're just sentenced to the punishment of watching your body get fondled, your neck kissed and your dick and ass played with right in front of them

Fingering you is another huge thing for Dabi - 69-ing is literally his favourite foreplay with you because he gets to feel your wet, warm, tight throat around his big dick and to also see your tight hole clench around his fingers as he laps at it from time to time~

Dabi is surprisingly good at aftercare too! If you'd ask him if he was your boyfriend, he'd laugh in your face - but Dabi takes care of you and keeps you close as if you're a married couple!

The man likes to hold you close, the two of you bare-chested in some oversized sweats just breathing in each other's scents in a comfortable silence - a few sweet nothings being whispered from time to time

Shinso Hitoshi

This poor man joined the army as an escape - a place where he could make some friends and chill, a daily routine but with no life struggles

That was until he got roped into your whirlwind of a life!

It wasn't your fault that it happened, Shinso was to blame for letting himself into temptation and kissing you after months of sexual and romantic tension building up within your friendship

The two of you were close, Shinso a little more closed off, but happy to listen to your hyperactive rambling - but once the sunken eyed man kissed you one night, shit really changed

Shinso wasn't a virgin, but he'd never had actually good sex, so his mind was fucking blown when he came within minuets - feeling like an orgasm from his hand x10!

After you two fucked, Shinso was on you like a bee to a flower, literally inseparable

The man was either always touching you or near you and whenever the two of you could get it on, he would make SURE that you did

And because you were Shinso's first real partner, the man did start to confuse sex for romance - but he of course knew of your free-spirited nature and never ask you out...

The sex was great though, and he would stay haply with that, hearing your sexy moans in his ear along with his name in your whiny voice was enough for now

You had to show Shinso quite a few things, like how to finger you and how to pump his hips just right to make you weak, he was so cute, playing attention for how to make you feel amazing

And holy shit was this man's mind BLOWN when you sucked him off - his dick n balls hanging out of his unzipped camo cargoes, his muscles sweating against his white tank top just moaning as he looked down on you slobbering on his dick

He's also pretty good around others, well at least he seems to be

Shinso is too reserved to try to be possessive over you around other guys, but man, does he freak out on the inside!

Shinso will be internally screaming and thinking of beating whoever is touching you so sexually tf up! But he'd feel too embarrassed to ever mention it to you! Settling on covering you in more of his lovebites than usual...

Shinso is another man who just looks fucking stunning in army uniform, he used to work out a lot as he wouldn't hang out with people that much - and it fucking shows!

His muscular arms and fucking TONED abs look so good in his white tank, his stature just oozing SEX

And those combat boots.... Once Shinso starts to get more comfortable when having sex with you - he uses them boots real good.

His arms crossed against his chest ad he sits on a chair in an empty room, you on your knees below him as he rubs your dick harshly with his boots, cooing at you as a wet stain forms on your crotch from your pre~

Short bonuses!:

Tamaki Amajiki

Another super shy and reclusive guy, he only really joined the army for Mirio but meeting you was an added bonus!

You two don't fuck as much as Tamaki insist on hanging out - his face always dusted with a faint blush whenever he's around you

But when you two fuck, my god is it incredible - the man is shockingly good with his hands but he gets tired after only one round! But you can't complain, he's just so cute, snuggling into your naked body

And good lord, the way that his uniform is so oversized on him... it just makes you want to mentally undress him every time you see him

Mirio Togata

Another man who was built for the army - holy fuck does Mirio look so GOOD in an army uniform

The man works out constantly, his body like that of a god - his back and arms fucking huge, his abs like a washing board and his thighs deliciously suffocating (the uniform just extenuating his sexy features)

The two of you started fucking as a way to release stress, offering your help to a stressed looking Mirio led to your throat being stuffed with his cock and your nose with his pubes - and then later on your poor back arching to its limits as he wraps his huge hands around your waist and pushes you down to his bed as he drills his huge cock inside of you

Yes the man is a gentle giant when you two aren't shagging, but call an ambulance for yourself when you are - this man likes to rough you tf up

Yo Shindo

This man joined the army to try and feel powerful - he's so clearly insecure, so he tries to be the tough guy in your troop, always working out and always a dick to everyone

The two of you had your first encounter in the communal showers, the man had you on your knees real quick, his cum covering your face, your tongue cleaning his dick off

Shindo also really likes to flex while fucking your throat or ass, showing off his buldging muscles and hairy pits in his army tanktop feeds his ego and turns you on...

2K notes · View notes

goldsbitch · 6 months ago

Text

Ah...

In a world where people get born with the first sentence their soulmate shares with them tattooed on their wrist, Y/N and Oscar are probably not the ones with the easiest story to tell.

note: first Oscar fic! this is prep for a longer 1k followers celebration...i'm a little too excited for that one

warning: pure fluff

Not everyone got to meet their soulmate, and that was totally fine. Her parents weren't soulmates and they still managed to have an amazing life. Why waste time waiting around and looking for a guy who's first word he'd ever say to her was suppose to be "Ah."

"Ah."...? What was that about anyway? Stupid wrist tattoo, marking her forever with a word so unimpressive.

During her teenage years, it became an inside joke between her and her best friend. A word to overuse so much it could truly mean anything. Ah.

Her boyfriend was definitely not her soulmate. He was blessed with having a full sentence on his wrist - but in French, a language she did not speak. The hot, dark haired boy was too obsessed with studying physics to take the whole concept of soulmates seriously, so when they met in university, it was a no brainer to follow the path set by hormones rather than fate and date together.

Only after they graduated she realized just how soul-crushing it was to spend time with him. When the social circles broke down and they were left alone, it was more than clear they were not a good match. But it's hard to see the tornado when you're standing inside of it.

The vacation was suppose save the relationship. Instead, their fights were laced with her running away and him having his eyes wonder around any girl walking by.

Only two more days, she said as she walked hastily around a garden adjacent to the villa they were staying at, once again. It was like a dance - they'd fight, she'd run away, he'd search for her and they'd go back to their room for a night of silence. On repeat for the whole vacation organized by the devil himself. The plan was to turn her life upside down once she arrived back home. Start fresh. At that moment, she had no idea just how fresh that would be.

She stood in the middle of a pathway leading to dimly lit swimming pool, tired and impatient. By this time her boyfriend would usually be on his way to get her back.

Finally, grass cracking sound that followed any footstep in this garden. She closed her eyes, unable to do this dance anymore.

"I want to break up," she whispered and turned around.

Oscar did not plan on speaking with this woman standing in the middle of the way back to his hotel room. He was just coming back from his late evening swim session.

When she uttered those words, it was like each of the syllable burned on his skin. Hundred questions answered and thousand new on the table.

Absolutely baffled, yet in his typical stoic style of keeping it together on the outside, while exploding internally, he couldn't bring himself to a more than..."Ah."

Oscar fully believed in the concept of soulmates and had no doubt that he would meet his, that's why he refrained from dating anyone who did not have the specific, very strange, words on their wrist.

"I want to break up"...? Why would this be the first thing you ever say to someone?

Over the time, he figured it would just be him overhearing the words. Or that he was one of the lucky ones, having a soulmate who has a special catch phrase they use when introducing to anyone new. He imagined his soulmate to be clever and cunning. And like the dreamer he was, he already had several versions of their meet up in his head, usually followed by their whole life together playing out. Oh, what a bliss when the moment would finally come.

But when it came, it took him totally of guard. Somehow, in all the scenarios he thought about his whole life, he missed probably the most realistic one. He was only trying to get back to his room and this girl was standing in the middle of the only clear pathway, as if it was nothing. She spoke with her back turned to him.

"I want to break up."

And when she turned around, after mistaking him for someone else, he saw a beautiful face, all puffy with smudged make up. And obviously in a really bad mood. He was, as they say, too stunned to speak.

"Ah." He said bluntly, too quickly for him to even notice it, processing the fact he just heard that one specific sentence, the one that should define the rest of his life.

She stared at him, as if he just offended her entire family. "What?!"

He felt..nothing. She couldn't be his soulmate. No way. Most likely because he had his response to "I want to break up" rehearsed his whole life. It was supposed to be "Worry not, now I am here." A lovely sentence to walk around with, right? He wanted his soulmate to wear the tattoo proudly, not with - what was it he even said? Did he even say something? He didn't, did he?

"Worry not, now I am here," he tried, feeling like he had nothing to loose. The words came out clumsily, as if they tripped over one another.

He was sure her face was already the most confused one could make, but she proved him wrong, quickly.

"Sorry, I'll leave you to it. This was obviously a misunderstanding," he said, trying to be polite and took few steps ahead to get going. She reacted and stepped right into his way.

This surely couldn't be it. But, emotions were running high, she thought she was addressing her boyfriend and was somehow trying to comprehend the fact she nearly broke up with him. And then she hears an "Ah." "What did you say?" she shot at him, no filter whatsoever, watching him with fascination and some flavor of anger.

Oscar was beginning to regret ever engaging in this conversation. "Worry not, now I am here...There, now, is that tattooed on your wrist? I imagine not, so, apologies and I'll leave you to whatever you're doing," he said, without giving her much space to respond. He felt slightly guilty about leaving an obviously distressed woman alone there, but his social awkwardness won this round and he just wanted this to be over.

"No, you didn't," she said, not intent on moving anywhere. Determined look replaced her sorrow.

"I'm pretty sure I did."

"And I am sure you didn't," she said, raising her wrist all the way to his eyeline. "You said this, didn't you?!"

It was not a tone of playful or even hopeful realization. Her delivery was spiced with unresolved anger that grew inside. He squeezed his eyes, having hard time seeing the small letters in the light of the nearing night. "What's that?"

She put her hand down, having a really hard time believing this was actually happening. It took him by surprise the speed with which she reached for his own hand, but his racer reflexes kicked in and he managed to avoid her.

Annoyed sigh left her mouth. "Will you show me your hand? I've already had a pretty shit day without you making obstructions."

He looked deeply in her eyes. This was a lot of emotion battling each others, little too much for Oscar.

"I'm pretty sure we're not soulmates," he said dryly.

"Tell me what's on your hand and I'll let you fuck off from when you came from."

"I'd actually like to go the other way-"

"Show me your hand!"

Visibly taken back, almost offended by her shouting, he reveled his wrist.

Time stopped for Y/N for few seconds. She was staring at the words she uttered just a minute ago. Decided to take a deep breath before she looked in his eyes once again. "Sorry for...screaming. We're almost definitely soulmates...You said "Ah." It felt good to finally know what kind of tone this sound was spoken with. End to the endless possibilities.

The irony of the fact that Oscar had a hard time remembering if he had actually said something so stupid dwelled on him. Did he? Knowing himself, he probably did.

"Ah," he repeated with a much heavier, slightly bitter, undertone.

"Yeah."

They just stood there, staring at each other. Was this suppose to be it? The moment he longed for and the one she already mourned? Just now she noticed that he was a gorgeous guy. Heavenly actually. Such a kind smile. Innocent look with a hint of spice. But she believed in love, not necessarily soulmates. Even if she did, this was the worst moment to do this. Little, almost invisible, tears started rolling from her eyes.

"Can I take a photo of you?" she asked, with defeated smile, wanting to walk away with a tangible evidence for her lonely evenings in the future.

Oscar was still processing. "Sure," he replied to a sentence he heard thousand times each month. Very automatically his body moved for a classic hug with a fan - which she rejected and just snapped a photo of his face.

"Nice to meet you. But I have my shit to deal with. I'm not good for you anyway," she said and sprinted back to he hotel room, to her current boyfriend and a deadend life. He just stood there, unable to comprehend. When he finally did, she was gone.

"Mr. Piastri, you understand that I can't just give you a room number to someone who you don't even know by name," the receptionist said, not backing down to his urgency.

"But she is my soulmate! She just passed by, surely you would know which one of the guests she is," he said, both hand on the counter, towering the poor reception lady.

"I'm going to have to ask you to stop this request or we might be forced to cancel your stay and remove you from the premise."

He rolled his fingers into his first, mad at himself the most out of all the people. "Yeah. Great. Understood."

Y/N didn't sleep for a minute that night. When she returned back without a word, her boyfriend didn't even look up. She didn't really care.

"Let's just get through these few days," he said and she just nodded.

Mind racing around new set of eyes she memorized from the photo she had, not having a clue that he in fact was a racer.

Breakfast. Oscar's chance to take destiny into his own hands. He was the first one to arrive and planned on being the last one to leave. And should she miss her breakfast, he'd move into the lobby. Determined to talk to her at least one more time. Sat there, drinking his juice and bouncing his leg up to the point it annoyed even him.

He'd probably be at the breakfast, she realized as her sleep deprived body walked towards the elevator. A stolen glance at her partner. They hadn't said a word to each other the whole morning. To think she once thought one of them would bury the other after a nice full-filled life. Coffee and croissant was her only hope now. And of course the guy from yesterday was there. Sitting at a table, alone, very obviously finished with his breakfast. Arms crossed and eyeing all the entrances. She couldn't help but smile and light up when she saw him. He sat there. Waiting. Was there even a possibility he'd be waiting for her? Like a soulless ghost, she followed her current partner and sat down to the table he picked.

Oscar was a secret over-thinker. He spent every minute going through every possibility of what could happen. So of course he was ready, in theory, for her entering with another guy or a girl. However, the whole nature of her first sentence to him was about breaking up. And you don't say that in a healthy relationship.

It was now or never for him. He watched the pair grab a seat few tables away from him. God, she was gorgeous. Seeing her walk in, summer dress proving the internet was right once again, made him weak in his knees and unable to look away. She paused upon noticing him, eyes shyly flashing back and forth, absolutely no plan or idea what to do. Awkwardly put her things down the at the table, fumbled around aimlessly and proceeded to walk over the breakfast bar. As she walked, she could almost feel his eyes piercing through her back. For some reason, it felt as if he knew something she didn't. she had to actively convince herself to act normal, as if this was her first time having breakfast at a hotel. Copy others. Oscar did indeed stare at her as if there was no tomorrow. Eyes glued to her back, cosplaying as the worst private detective this planet ever produced. He found himself getting up and approaching the bar she was standing by, the guy she came in long gone from her close proximity.

Oscar gulped before speaking, standing right beside her, pretending to be interested in a stack of apples. Her eyes flashed to her left, but she already knew who was standing next to her. It was as if she could hear his energy, something divine, intoxicating and most importantly - inevitable.

"Morning....I hope you've had better night than when you left yesterday," he opened with, desperately trying to break the ice. He was absolutely hopeless with small talk. His tone created a small smile on her face. This sort strange and unique tonality, which was exceptionally hard to decipher, mixed with his Australian accent. Again, so many questions popping up in her head - her body wanted her to find out everything about this guy.

"I'm not sure that's the case. But thank you for asking I guess," she said and leaned over his hand to reach for a fresh peach. It was not her conscious decision to brush his hand, but it definitely could have been avoided. Neither party mattered. Two shy smiles were created at that moment.

"Would you mind sharing your name with me?" he asked, as she glanced over to his wrist, to look at his tattoo once again.

She answered, slightly hesitantly. "Y/N."

"Uuh,"

"Are interjections the only language you speak?" she whispered, still not over the whole "Ah." thing and finally stopped pretending to be interested in the breakfast bar. She did the best she could to meet his eye while not turning around and becoming too obvious.

Oscar was having trouble processing his body's reaction to this girl being so close now. "No, but I am happy you seem interested to know that."

It was impossible to fight of the smile. "I'm not, you're the reason I'm walking with this my whole life," she said, lifting her wrist once again.

He fiddled with some apples, trying to keep his hands busy. "I'd like to object that in this pair I'm the one who lost"

"Don't say the word pair," she said in a tone so unserious even she couldn't pretend to believe it.

"Why, does that idea make you nervous?" he clicked his tongue, feeling more confident with every second she stayed there with him.

"I have a boyfriend," she stated, lying to herself anyway.

He smirked. "Apologies, must have misread my own hand."

"I can't break up with someone on a holiday," she responded, reaching for straws, not even knowing why. She took two steps to the coffee line and to no surprise, he followed.

"You didnt seem to think as such yesterday," he said in more serious tone. "Look, I don't know you-"

"No, you don't," she jumped in before he continued.

"-But...let me present my hypotheses, so that we can test the whole soulmate thing. Does that not make you at least a bit excited?" he said, trying to hide his own excitement, which was something he did not have to do often, so he was not really good at it.

She found his confidence mixed with clumsiness so intoxicating. "It's overrated," she argued, perhaps trying to see how much he's willing to defend it.

"I'm so much looking forward to proving that theory wrong." There is was. The point of no return.

"Well before you do," she bit her smile, accidentally leaving a pause for him to fill.

"Ah, so you believe that I will," he said sith his signature "I won" smile.

"Again, with the interjections, you gotta unlearn that," she said, happy he couldn't see directly into her face, as she felt the blush spreading.

"Teach me."

"Stop it...." she froze, searching in memory a moment when he'd introduce himself.

"Oscar."

She finally paused and dared to look at him, or more specifically stopped resisting her wondering eyes. Her mind rushed through all the Oscar's she had the pleasure to meet and absolutely none of them did justice to the name. His kind eyes, while somewhat giving shy guy vibes, pierced through her fearlessly. So sure of himself, et somehow humble. An impossible enigma she could see herself deciphering for the rest of her life.

"Nice name," she said, in a completely new tone, one he hadn't heard yet. Calm, kind and intrigued.

"Thank you." They stared at each other for few more moment, utterly inappropriately for two strangers in a coffee line. Taking in the little intricacies about the other, as if memorizing for a test.

"You said you had a hypotheses?" she broke silence, not quite sure they were at the same planet as their surroundings anymore. All around them sort of blended together into an unclear, totally unimportant mush.

"I do. Hope I don't overstep."

"I think that does not matter now," she said, walls crumbling down one by one.

"Good. I think you don't want to break up with your current boyfriend now that you'd met me," he said boldly.

"Astonishingly obnoxious," she teased, unable to believe he caught her.

"Fair. But, yesterday you wanted to. Now, it serves like a perfect excuse why run away from this," he said and stepped just a little bit closer to her.

"I don't want to be a slave of some destiny bullshit," she said, while absolutely agreeing with destiny this time.

There was no way back for Oscar. Looking into her eyes was making him drown in lands never explored before. "Yes, but why reject it before we even get the chance to discover if we like each other."

"I don't even know you."

"Your parents didn't know each other at one point," he said matter-o-factly.

The reality was creeping into her mind. "I hardly know anything about you! Like where you live, what you do..."

He was not letting her go. "All over the globe, I am a racing driver. You?"

How come it seemed so easy and obvious for him? "Oscar, I'm..I'm scared." Intimidated was the word she wanted to use, but it felt a little bit too much.

"Of what?"

"I dunno...? Of this working out?"

"Do you realize that sounds quite ridiculous."

"...Yes".

"Well, I believe this is going to be great fun. Listen, it's not socially acceptable for me to bother you for longer. But I desperately hope this is not the last conversation we share," he lowered his voice, parting ways with her being the last thing he actually wanted to do, but his intuition told him, that he had to give her some space to come forward to his, her decision.

Y/N's head was a mess, truth slipping through, passing all the filters that seemed to have stopped working. "I am afraid it's not."

He smiled. "Good. Now, I'll leave you to your life - do whichever you think is right. But please give me your number."

"No, you give me yours so that I can call you when i want to. You know, boundaries," she ordered, trying to keep some control in her hands.

He trusted his gut. "Fair."

"Lady, I can't tell you where's Oscar's room." It was a different receptionist that Oscar had dealt with, but probably with the same training.

"But it's a suprise! Look, I have his number an everything."

"Why don't you call him?"

"You're familiar with the concept of a surprise?"

Unlike Oscar, she managed to convince the reception into giving her Oscar's room number. It was all the way up at the last floor. Fancy, she thought. It's impossible to convey the energy and adrenaline cocktail that Y/N was on when she was on the way to knock on his room and announce that she actually went though with the break up and the guy was on his way home, cutting the vacation early. It was unhinged, reckless, addictive. She had to stop herself several times, as the excitement mixed with fear was making her put on faces very strange to anyone who should pass by. If music was on, she'd dance for hours. Hell, she had no idea what was suppose to happen now. And that had never felt so exhilarating before.

With one last breath before her life changed for good, she knocked on the door.

After the longest few seconds ever experienced on this planet, he finally opened the door.

She physically couldn't hold it anymore. "I broke up with him," she blurted out the moment their eyes met.

Oscar tried to take in the image of his soulmate, standing there in front of him, flustered and ready to take the leap with him, once again, having trouble holding his smile in.

"Ah."

#f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #f1 one shot #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #formula 1 fluff #formula one x reader #op81 x reader #op81 imagine #op81 fluff #soulmate au #f1 soulmate au #oscar piastri imagine #formula 1

1K notes · View notes