#and she totally would've found out

[c0rpsedemon]

ok fr last one but there's actually a bootleg of my school's anastasia and i'm linking it bc you all NEED to understand that my infatuation with this one girl's voice which started when i was in the 6th grade and still hasn't really worn off isn't based on nothing

[rqslasher-sequel]

so weird figuring out things about ourselves at almost eighteen, at almost being an adult when these are the kinds of things that most people figured out years ago.

anyways we rlly do have a tendency to cut ppl off / lose interest if they don't show us enough attention LOL. it's definitely a defense mechanism because we think "oh surely they don't care then" and don't want to keep hoping when we already know it's over.

[chqnified]

Work is now going good. I like it there more. People respect you more. I haven't been misgendered once since coming out. EVEN when everyone was absolutely out of their minds drunk at Friday drinks, i was still he/him in every conversation.

It is possible. And it clearly isn't that complicated if completely pissed people can remember to refer to you correctly.

There are times where it is bloody boring, but that's accounting for you. Some of the people in the office are characters though and i gladly add to that crackpot group.

[spidernuggets]

im very intrigued and fascinated about the way you write jason! i wonder what would happen next when reader found out the man she has been lusting for is the red hood👀 (if youre up to and feel free to ignore this if you dont) for part 2 jason x reader. thank youuuu

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Part 2 to this.

MDNI

Warning: more of reader's fantasies, Jason losing his self-control, slight biting, fingering

"Ah, you're a bouncer?" You said, leaning your chin against your palm as you talked with Jason. When he asked you out on a proper date at the same place the two of you first met, you were thrilled.

Sure, you didn't want to replace your boy, Red Hood, but he didn't seem like the person who'd reveak his identity to some civilian who would oatch him up every once in a while. Plus, you haven't been dating for a while, so now you got this hunk of beef sitting right in front of you.

"Yeah, yeah.. Not at a set place, though. I move around from time to time." Jason said, sipping on his black coffee. When asking you out, he believed it would've been a breeze.

Well, it has. It wasn't awkward. It seemed like you were having a great time, and he liked that. What he didn't like was now that you told him— Well. Told Red Hood your... 'infatuation' with this newfound civilian, Jason Todd, with every glace you took with each part of his body; his legs, his arms, his hands, his fucking nose, his mind would replay those atrocious but delicious scenes you described to him: Choking you with his biceps, squishing your face with his thighs, your sopping cunt dragging over his crooked nose-

"Do you get a lot of weirdos to deal with?" You suddenly asked, breaking him out of his trance.

He shrugged, pretending that his cock wasn't semi hard right now. "Here and there." He said.

Jason would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about you before you told him about your fantasies. He remembers the ice-cold showers he had to take with his hand grasped around his cock, visualising your mouth and moans as his slick mixed with the water.

He was so ashamed. You were some innocent civilian he met, helping him out with his injuries. But that all changed when you met Jason Todd. He still felt a little humiliation thinking about you naked so easily. He taught himself to be more respectful than that. But, hey. He asked you on a date. Baby steps.

You shrugged. "Shouldn't be a problem for you, huh? With those muscles, I doubt they'd give you much threat."

You bastard.

Why the hell did you have to comment on his muscles? He felt like pouncing on you to satisfy your desire if shoving his tongue dow your throat.

He cleared his throat. "Nothing I can't handle."

"Thanks for asking me out, Jason," you said, looking up at him as the two of you stood outside. "I had fun. We should do it again sometime."

He hated you. You acted all innocent. He knew right now that you were thinking of the most filthiest things. And that's making him think of the most filthiest things. That's your fault he's thinking this way. It's totally your fault. But he wouldn't admit to himsekf that he's definitely coming over to your place as Red Hood to hear what other things you have to say about Jason.

He nodded. "I had fun, too." He lightly smiled back. "I'll see you around, yeah?"

"Mhm. Bye, Jason," you said as you got on your bus.

"Holy. Shit, Red." You groaned, cleaning a small wound on his arm.

"I don't wanna hear it." He gruffs.

Yes. Yes, the hell he does.

"Don't care. You should've thought twice about coming over for me to clean a scratch," you scoffed.

"As if he couldn't get any sexier, he's a goddamn bouncer. Fuuuck, I would literally pay to see him throw around some weirdos."

Red Hood turned to face you. "You know bouncers don't do that, right?"

"Shut up. Don't interrupt me. Anyway. I literally would've let him kiss me there. Slow and soft, hard and wet, who cares, I'd accept either. And if we weren't in a damn cafe, I would've let him bend me over that stulid table."

Jason didn't realise how good his self-control was. If he was alone, he'd be rock hard. Hell, he'd probably already be cumming.

"There. All done." You said, tossing the blood-stained wipes into the bin. "What?" You said when you turned around, seeing Red Hood stare silently at you.

It was stupid, really. Jason Todd and Red Hood are the same person. The same person that you were thinking so dirty of. But you didn't know that. So, you talking about wanting to fuck 'some other guy' instead of him pissed him off. He wanted you to tell him directly.

Ah. Maybe that's why he wasn't hard.

"You literally saw me beat people to a pulp, and you're worked up about this guy being a bouncer? One whose job isn't to toss people around?" He gruffed, a scowl on his face.

"You jealous?" You smirked. "I told you so many times. I'd be interested in you if I knew what you look like. You're hot as fuck... But at the same time I don't know if you're hot as fuck."

"You're really fucking annoying, you know that?" He said, standing up, making you scrunch your brows together.

"What?—"

"How many times do I have to tell you to shut up about your weird sexual desires about this guy you went on ONE date with?" Jason doesn't know what he's doing. Or what he's saying. He wants to do all that shit with you. Make you scream, make you cum, make you feel good. It's not your fault you don't know, but he doesn't want to blame himself for wanting you so much.

You rolled your eyes. "I told you not to come back if you didn't wanna kno—"

Jason tore his helmet off, his eyes blown, and his cheeks flushed. It was just hot under his helmet, he guesses.

"Oh, what the fuck." You said, your shoulders sagging and your jaw dropped as he revealed himself to you. Though your shock quickly changed to embarrassment.

Oh my fucking god, you just told this guy the most horrid things you'd let him do to you.

Jason stormed his way right in front of you, towering over you. "How many times, huh?" He repeated. "I told you to shut up, but you never fucking listen."

His rough voice was supposed to be threatening. But why the hell were your legs clenched together at the way he shadowed over you? Why the hell was his snarled face and gritted teeth making you want to get on your knees.

"Your face.. that face.." He lowly said, pointing his finger between your eyes. "You're doing it again! You're letting that vulgar brain think again! Do you know how hard it was today? Having to take you on a date without wanting you to drag you to an empty aisle and fuck you senseless?" His hands moved to your hips, gripping them tight as his touch sent a wave of heat rushing to your core.

"The fuck- I didn't know!How the hell was I supposed to know you were Red Hood!" You defended yourself, though he ignored it.

"Come here." He demanded, tmdragging you dmto the couch. He sat down, pulling you with him. You stumbled over him, your ass rutting against his crotch, making him groan as your back was flush against his chest.

Jason left one hand resting on your hip, bringing his other arm to wrap around your neck. "This what you wanted, sweetheart?" He said spitefully.

You gasped, your hands instantly holding onto his forearm. Holy shit, it's happening. You don't know whether to be scared or excited.

"Jason.." You squeaked, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

"What? I thought this was what you wanted." He lowly said, giving your hips a squeeze before trailing his hand down to your thigh, rubbing it up and down. He then flexed his other arm, just a bit to put slight strain to your throat.

It was pathetic when you let out a small whine. He barely touched you, yet you can feel your panties soaking up already.

Jason took your chin between his index and thumb, turning your head to look at him. "Is this what you wanted?" He lowly asked as his lips just barely grazed over yours.

"Yes.." You whispered, leaning closer just to feel more of his lips. Jason let out a guttural groan as he pressed his lips against yours, his hand tightly gripping your thigh while you couldn't help but whimper, finally feeling his chapped lips.

As Jason dragged his tongue over your bottom lip, seeking entrance, you made no hesitation giving him what he wanted. And finally, your dreams of him stuffing your mouth with his tongue have been fulfilled.

While his tongue explored every inch of your mouth, his hand was inching up your thigh, tracing the waistband of your sweatpants before his fingers trailed inside, gliding over your soaked panties

"Shit.. Wet already?" Jason muttered against your lips as your hips stuttered among his hold.

"Fuck— Red, I swear if you're gonna spend the next 20 minutes teasing me, I'm kicking you out and finishing this off myself," you hissed impatiently.

"Needy, needy, needy," Jason shook his head and clicked his tongue as his fingers moved in circular motions over your clothes cunt, making you whine and throw your head back over his shoulder.

"Oh.. Yes, just like that.." You muttered, grasping onto his bicep.

Jason's ego skyrocketed at your cute moans as his hand found its way under your panties, feeling your sopping sex as your breath shuddered, begging for more.

He groaned at your pleas, his fingers pinching at your clit as you whined, turning your head as you sunk your teeth just barely into his arm while Jason let out a whispered curse.

He let two of his fingers find their way into your cunt, pumping in and out, the lewd, squelching sounds and moans filling up your living room.

"Fuck! Faster— Please!" You whined as your hips bucked against his hand, making Jason oblige to your begging as he quickened the pace.

You felt your stomach knotting up as your breath was caught in your throat, your other hand reaching up behind you, grasping at Jason's hair. He knew you were close as he continued to pump his thick fingers inside of your pussy while his thumb rubbed against your throbbing clit, his lips pressing soft, reassuring kisses to your neck.

Your back arched as you felt yourself let go, your cum soaking both his fingers and your panties. Jason moved his arm from your neck to your waist, supporting you up while you panted, turning your head to face him while he pressed a kiss to your forhead.

"Fuck.. Jason.. I—" Before you could get up, Jason grabbed your waist, pushing you down to lie on the couch while he hovered over you, pressing his knee between your legs.

"Hold on, sweet thing. Did you think we were finished?" He muttered. "No, no... there's so much that you wanted me to do to you... And I'm gonna make sure you don't miss out.."

i'll personally pay for everyone's therapy after reading this, I'm so sorry, writing smut isn't my forte

@little-miss-naill @viylikescats @jasontoddsthunderthigh @bizarresuperflaw @927roses-and-stuff @myromanempiree @heylosers06 @doorflameburnt @kurai-hono-blog @linasymphonia @blacksiren777 @diamondnightsky23 @lizzyk137

[importantpuppystarfish]

I fell in love with my sister

Male reader x Yuna

Warnings: Incest, totally blood related siblings

I had never thought I would fell in love with my own sister.

Maybe its because I have been watching too much stepsister porn which leaded me to have the same attraction over my own blood related sister. I had always wished I had a sister to fuck and luckily I found my sister attractive. My love for her has grown stronger ever since she became a member of Itzy.

Her busy schedule as an idol means I rarely get to see her at home; coming by once in a while to spend time with her family. I know its totally wrong to think of her like that but the way she dances and reveals a lot of skin lately makes me uncontrollable to have feelings for her. I have mastrubated quite a few times watching her fancams. My phone gallery is full of her hot fancams & images which I use to imagine nasty stuff. I’m sure plenty of guys think the same way about her, but I’m fortunate that she’s my sister.

I am not even sure if she is a virgin or not, who knows, her company managers might have taken some advantage of her body. I don't know if she feels the same for me. I am left wondering; could she possibly like me?

On a certain night, within the summer hiatus, she reappeared at home. She was dressed in extraordinarily short clothes that exposed her sexy waist. Our eyes locked, and a profound connection seemed to pass between us. We stare into each others soul through our eyes. The home seemed to be empty. Yuna asked curiously "Yo Oppa? Where's mom and dad?". “They’re currently away to village on some business,” I replied. Yuna’s lips curled into a smile as she bit them, displaying a seductive expression. "Guess we gotta be alone and sleeping together then!" said Yuna. I felt a surge of motivation and realized this might be my opportunity to express my feelings for her.

After she took a bath and changed into a T-shirt and shorts, the fragrance of her body was pleasantly appealing. Her body smell was better than flowers and it was turning me on so hard. We cooked the dinner together and had a few talks about our recent lives, how is it going and our memories when we used to live together. While preparing the meal together, we exchanged glances. I look a peek at her tits and ass a lot. It seemed she was aware of my gaze, yet she seemed comfortable with it.

After having dinner and brushing our teeth, it was time for bed. We both felt a subtle attraction between us. I went to toilet to pee. Yeah, I always had a habit of not locking my phone with a PIN or passcode since my parents did not know how to use smartphone so I thought it wasn't necessary. After coming out from the washroom, I realized I was in a difficult situation when I noticed Yuna was browsing through my gallery. She seem to be shocked to discover what she found.

Yuna ~ "So is this the reason you've been peeking at my body while we were cooking? Are you somehow sexually attracted over me?"

I started feeling submissive and scared at what she said.. She seem to be not angry but waiting for my reply.

Yuna speaks again ~ "It's ok.. I understand how boys feel, I know what would've been going through."

Yuna starts approaching towards me. Putting her hands over my arms, head to head looking at each other eyes. She leaned and kiss at my lips aggressively.. Our lips meeting each other aggressively. Her eyes closed but mines open in shock. The whole room was quite, we started getting sweaty due to tensions. She started sliding her tongue inside my mouth leading for a french kiss.. We kissed romantically exchanging our tongues and salivas through our mouth. The kiss lasted pretty long. She opened her tshirt and was wearing a simple bra. Oh god damn she looked like an angel. Yuna starts unbuttoning my pants and said in a freaky way smiling "damn its hard, isn't it? looks like the size is huge".. She made a wow expression in an impressed way looking at my dick.. I was shy and nervous what to do.. This was the time i feel it is heaven.. I never imagined my sister in this position in real life..

Yuna starts to put my cock inside her mouth, she started licking the head with her tongue and starts sucking it like a pro.. It seemed that she was already experienced, she sucked it very well with hesitation and i was moaning really loud in heaven.. I literally cummed inside her mouth that time without permission. Yuna seemed to swallow the cum inside her mouth already. She was smiling. I start making my first move by unbuttoning her bra. She helped me unbutton it, the bra fell off.

She seem to have pink nipples since her skin was really pale. Her tits were massive enough to squeeze really good with my hand.. I start squeezing her boobs, trying to put it on my mouth. She laughed a bit because i was nervous.. She lay down on the bed, allowing me to suck her tits. She put her hands on my head, moaning in joy.. I started exploring her body more downwards.. I started licking her belly, navel & thighs.. Her skin is so fucking delicious.. It was so warm. As i move more downwards, i pulled down her panties. Her pussy looks like flowers! How clean and shaved it is! It was damn wet as well.. I started eating her pussy without hesitation.. I can hear Yuna moaning.. She locked my face and mouth inside her pussy with her thighs & legs.. Eventually she was enjoying and calling me for a kiss to taste herself

We kissed passionately, enjoying each others breathe. Now I started getting out of control and wanting to slide my cock inside her. I started fucking her, it was my first time ever. It felt so good pounding her. Yuna seemed to enjoy her brother's dick inside her. I wanted to cum inside. "Yuna, do you think I should do this?" "Yes i want ur cum inside me oppa!" replied Yuna in excitement. "Oppa please! I want ur cum inside me! Breed me!"

I couldn't control anymore hearing at her sexual seductive words. I instantly cummed inside her without a 2nd thought. I leaned to her face for a kissed. We both French kissed passionately.. Laying both besides each other in the bed. Its late middle night.. All silent in the room.. We can hear our huge breathing. I asked Yuna "What about our parents? What will we explain about our children or should we do an abortion? "

Yuna replied in an odd way "I guess we have to hide them. Lets live together in a another place and start a family. I love you Oppa!". From that day, Yuna is my sister, my wife and the mother of my children!

[luveline]

hiyaa girlyy!! so i have a fic request and it's totally fine if you don't want to write / don't feel comfortable reading or doing it: and also, i'm not sure if someone thought of this yet, but how about spencer just being friends with a stripper. like their are murders ongoing abt strippers and spencer sees reader at one of the crime scènes and everybody's shocked since their sooo sweet and comfortable together? (and bonus point if she wears his jacket or something since it's cold)

thank you for your request! if you have more requests for this pairing please send them my way!

"I tried to call you!" 

Hotch looks up from his phone at the shout. He'd been texting Jessica one handed in an attempt to tell her and Jack that he won't be home tonight, and he isn't usually easily startled, but he isn't expecting you to talk to him. Or call him. 

He blinks back his fatigue —you're obviously not talking to him. You're almost nondescript in your hoodie, but Hotch isn't confident you're wearing any pants, or underwear. It was a rush job to bring everyone out from the club, and you and the rest of the dancers stand on the sidewalk in various states of undress. 

"Can we get some jackets, please?" Hotch asks, turning back to the beat cops standing by. "Thermal blankets? Anything?" 

When he turns back, Spencer's not where he was. Hotch casts his gaze back to you near the club doors, your hair messed up from the scuffle but your face intricate and untouched, just as pretty as the rest of your fellow dancers, and doubly so as you throw your arms around Spencer Reid's tall shoulders. 

"I'm so glad you're okay," Spencer says, squeezing you hard, your heels lifting off of the rain-sullied sidewalk. "I told you to stay home!" 

"I can't stay home, Spencer. How would I make money?" 

"I'll pay for the hours you miss, I told you that, too." 

"Baby, you couldn't afford it," you tease lightly, setting back down. Your hand immediately rises to Spencer's cheek, your painted nails scratching delicately at his skin. "I've missed you. Where have you been?" 

"California, then Albuquerque." 

"Killing bad guys?" 

Hotch doesn't consider Spencer a lonely guy, and he doesn't think he'd ever be collected enough to enter a strip club, and yet. There he is, hugging and checking over a stripper with as much care and tenderness as he'd show any member of the team. And judging by your smile, you're enamoured with him. Whether romantically or otherwise is anyone's guess. 

Morgan's, apparently. "Sorry, I'm sorry, does Reid have a girlfriend? Like, a…?" 

"You can say stripper," Emily says, though she's similarly nonplussed. "I mean, there's no way. Right?" 

"They're just friends," JJ says. 

The team turns to her in betrayal. Clearly, JJ knew about this and said nothing, and Hotch has things to do but this is so thoroughly bizarre that he gives himself five minutes of curiosity; he lets the others berate her for answers. 

"Come on, JJ! When did this happen? How did this happen?" Emily asks, her voice dropping to a scandalised whisper. 

In the background, Spencer peels out of his jacket that barely fits around your shoulders. You wear it anyhow, wrapping your arm through his and leaning on his shoulder. "Thanks, Dr. Reid." 

"I really wish you'd stay home when I tell you too." He rubs your arm amicably. 

"Her old boss was a typical heavy-handed sleaze," JJ explains, voice soft with sympathy. "Spence said he used to see her at the grocery store with bruises. She stayed with him for a few days and found a new club… He said she can smile through anything, even a broken wrist." 

Hotch understands. This part of Virginia pretends to be better than it is, and while you seem happy enough now in your profession, he knows it can't be easy. Spencer did for you what he would've done for anyone. You've clearly seen the good in him, treating him with a real and easy affection, adoring through shivers as you look up at him and ask, "Are you eating enough? You look tired." 

"I'm exhausted worrying about you. You're exhausting. Like, where are the sweatpants I got you? You'll get hypothermia." 

"I was trying not to get murdered. You're lucky I grabbed the hoodie." You turn to the team, as though you've known they were watching the entire time. "You wanna introduce me to your friends?" you ask. Hotch detects a hint of insecurity under all your bubbly sweetness. 

Spencer laughs loudly, ushering you forward with a hand on your shoulder. "Don't chicken out this time." 

"Don't embarrass me in front of the special agents!" you whisper. 

"I'm a special agent." 

"No, you're a doctor. He's a special agent." Your gaze narrows in on Hotch. "Hi, you're the boss, huh?" You eye his naked marriage finger briefly, and he knows you're kidding, but he still has to fight to stay expressionless as you continue, "How come handsome guys like you don't ever wanna see me dance?" 

Hotch puts out his hand. "Aaron Hotchner. It's nice to meet you." 

You shake his hand, though you stay as close to Spencer as you can manage without stepping on his shoes. "Right. Too respectful. It's really nice to meet you too, Agent Hotchner. Can you catch the bad guy soon? I'll end up on Spencer's cough again if I don't make rent." 

Morgan opens his mouth and Hotch promptly shuts him down with a raised hand. "We will. You have my word." 

[love-byers]

the first time i saw this, when i was NOT a byler shipper, i thought el was running TO mike. i thought we were getting a sweet moment where el runs to mike and he puts an arm around her or hugs her.

then i realized she was running away from him. 

and i was like, why?? they're supposed to be the couple why does she not want his comfort??

and even after will calls her out on doing mike wrong by lying to him, even after she sees that mike is attempting to talk to her and comfort her, that he's not angry at her, she still tells angela to lie to mike. more lies. that's how much she cares about keeping up the persona. had angela lied to mike, el would've continued lying to him the entire week. something she knows in her heart is wrong and not fair to mike.

this is a theme in s4. putting who you want to be seen as before being honest with your bf/gf. going above and beyond to preserve your lie, to be seen as who you want to be.

chrissy does that with jason. who she portrays herself as is completely different than who she really is and what she's really going through. jason has absolutely no idea chrissy is struggling and refused to believe chrissy would buy drugs, because chrissy didn't want to tell him. who knows how jason would've reacted if chrissy was honest, we don't know because chrissy didn't trust him enough to tell him. that's not love at all, that's sad.

this is a point in s2 as well. murray calls nancy out for being afraid to be her true self, and she stays with steve because she doesn't have to be her true self around him. she is her true self when she's with jonathan, and that's why they worked together. that's love.

the exact same thing happens with chrissy. the first time we see her genuinely smile is when she's with eddie. she's sweet and charismatic, and had she lived she totally would've gone to eddie's show, something you never would've expected from her, something her boyfriend, the person she pretends to love, would NEVER do.

robin and steve reinforce this too

you fall in love with the person who makes you feel accepted, the person who makes you feel like you can be who you are. the person you trust with your true self.

mike and el don't trust each other enough, they don't understand each other well enough.

they would have to change their behavior towards each other by leaps and bounds, and we're already at the last season. there is no time for that. stranger things isn't a multi season show about the complexity of romantic relationships and the healthy way to resolve problems. there is no time for that in just about any movie or show, especially a sci-fi show. you know what's way easier and way more likable? pairing your character with someone they naturally click with, who bring out the best in each other and for some reason can't help but be their authentic selves when they're with each other.

did it with jancy, like i said earlier

did it with lumax. when lucas and max talked on the bus max found herself spewing about things she'd never even said out loud before, and she had to stop herself. something about lucas just made her feel comfortable, like she could be herself and tell the truth. she trusted him.

"You're nothing like your brother, okay? You're cool and different, you're super smart, and you're like, totally tubular."

jopper too! joyce constantly had to hide things from bob, she was insecure about their family not being normal.

"This is not a normal family."

"It could be."

though bob had good intentions, the message of the show is not trying to be normal when you aren't. whatever it is about you that makes you weird or different, whatever you've been through that changed you, stay true to it. dont bottle it up and try to be someone else. all of vecnas victims in s4 were doing this, and it didn't end well for them.

they even did it with dustin and suzie. dustin constantly tries to impress max with his teeth, then in season 3 he says suzie thinks kissing is better without teeth. he doesn't have to be insecure about that or try to impress her. she likes him for him.

mike isn't comfortable being his true self around el either. he's insecure about his interests, he feels like he has to act older and cooler to impress her.

you shouldn't be with the person you feel you have to impress. you should be with the person who relieves that pressure, who makes you feel like being the authentic you is enough.

jonathan and nancy, lucas and max, joyce and hopper, dustin and suzie,

cough WILL AND MIKE cough...

[prettyboykatsuki]

I can just imagine fujo neet reader practicing different sex position with rin to make sure she gets the proportions right.

✮ tags ; fem!reader, sexual tension, rin's pov, RIN IS KIND OF MEAN TO HER BUT HE WANTS HER SO BAD FDKJJS, reader is a fujoshi and bl mangaka, pre-relationship, they work together, part of a ficverse i haven't written yet Sorry, ONE JOKE ABOUT RIN WANTING TO OFF HIMSELF, SUPER SUGGESTIVE LOL 18+

✮ wc ; 3.5k (WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!)

✮ a/n ; i had to do this for my sanity. i promise i will write them a proper fic with them i promise.

You never text Rin.

Not really. Not first at least. It's a new... friendship. Kind of. Sort of. Most of your communication thus far has been through meetings and random in-person chance encounters. Outside of that, Rin will call you since it's faster. If you do "text", it's mostly through twitter DM's.

There's a discord server your fans run, and you pop in there often enough. He's had the invitation extended but declined unilaterally, since he'd rather not see himself fucking Isagi anymore than he already has in his short, miserable career.

It surprised him this morning, seeing your message flash across the top of his screen. Asking, specifically, for him to come over and help you with something related to the new manga you were writing. He had it in his right mind to decline, but after learning it wasn't a doujin for him, he semi-reluctantly agreed.

Rin doesn't know when exactly your relationship to him grew this...comfortable. Inviting him over to your house, begging him for favors, not wincing every time he talks to you. Rin isn't an extrovert but compared to you he's a social butterfly. And your aversion to people in general, Rin thought, would prevent you from doing anything more than squeak at him forever just like you did when he met you.

(Though nothing in his life has been normal since your arrival in it. He's not sure why you would remain unchanged when he certainly hasn't.)

He doesn't know what to feel when you ask him for a favor, and he doesn't know what force of nature compels him to go. If it's morbid curiosity or annoyance or something else even worse.

It was compelling enough to take the train all the way out to Machida - an hour long trip from his own place. His manager hounded him to take you something, so he has a bag of ginseng energy drinks and snacks with him as a gift. He took the bus with his mask on, and then walked all the way to your building.

Your apartment is tucked somewhere classically suburban - attached at the far end of a residential street and behind concrete support beams for a highway just overhead. Cherry blossom trees and other shades of white flowers grow around it in thick patches, making the entrance hard to find. Rin would've had trouble if you didn’t give him details on exactly where to go.

It's an older building, stone walls worn and grass-stained from age. At the gate are groups of old people talking amongst each other as they sort through recycling and trash. All visor hats and sunspots, they fawn over Rin for a long while before he goes in and interrogates him with questions. None of them know him, which is relieving. It quickly graduates to them asking who he's there to visit, if he has a girlfriend or not.

All of them ooh and aah when he mentions your name, say something about being relieved she's found a man so handsome and that Rin should marry you because even though you're a little strange you're a good girl. Rin does not have the time nor energy to correct them - only nods and bows his head and leaves.

On the elevator ride up to your floor, he can't help but think repeatedly that this isn't the kind of place he'd expect you to live. He thought it'd be out in the middle of nowhere, maybe in a damp and broken building.

But this is a nice place with nice people, vibrant and colorful. Totally opposite from what he considers your personality.

Suitable or not, Rin manages to make it to your floor without a hitch.

He finds you, then, as he'd expect. Down a long hall, behind an unassuming white door. When you open it, you're a mess. Your hair completely unkempt, face greasy, a wild look in your eyes and complete surprise in your expression as if you didn't invite him over. You do, however, manage to invite him in without stuttering or stumbling over your words foolishly like you did the first time you spoke to him.

Another surprise is how... clean your living room is. It's lived in but he was expecting more mess in there. Your bedroom is in a similar state, undoubtedly messy but not terrible. Your NEET tendencies finally end up showing when you drag Rin into your office where you draw your manga.

It's not dirty but it's cluttered. There's a pull out sofa on one wall, with a blanket and pillow littered about and pages upon pages of paper sheets with scrapped panels about the floor. One wall has a bunch of post-its with several notes in both English and Japanese, and another has tacked up pieces of art. Both yours and other peoples. He chooses to ignore the ones of him and Isagi, The walls themselves are cream colored and uninteresting and the wood floors are slippery. At the far end of the room is a spread of desks, a PC set-up and a professional looking tablet among various art supplies in stacked boxes.

It's this room you bring Rin into without explaining yourself at all, mumbling and muttering as you give him a place to sit and go back to your work for fifteen silent minutes.

When you're finally finished doing whatever the fuck you were doing, you turn yourself back towards Rin. Bluelight glasses fall down the bridge of your nose as you swivel around in your chair - your sweatpants half pulled up your leg with the other pulled down. You're wearing fuzzy socks with Naruto characters on them.

You stare at him, pulling your glasses off and rubbing your eyes - dark circles under them.

"Uhm," Your voice is clipped and thick with exhaustion. "You came."

Rin deadpans. "You asked me to come."

"I thought you'd say no."

He did too. He doesn't respond back. You chew your lips, already anxious and Rin resists the urge to say something about it.

"Okay. Uhm. Please don't get mad," You start with and then explain, looking away. Your hands pull your sleeves over your palms. "So. Like. For my new series, I'm finally getting to the sex scene but I've never drawn characters with an intense height difference like this. And I need... new reference photos.... and uhm," You rub your feet together on your chair where you sit "Well our height differences and size is the exact one my characters have. So."

Rin stares at you. "So?"

"SoIwaswonderingifyou'dtakereferenceimagesforsexpositionswithme,"

Rin feels his jaw lock. "Slower."

You frown and look away, tucking your chin with embarrassment. "I was uhm, like, wondering if you'd take... take the uhm, sex position reference photos with me, please."

"What?"

You clasp your hands together, immediately prostrating yourself by throwing yourself down the ground. He flinches back, wondering if you're gonna hold onto his leg next.

"Please, please help me. You're the exact height of my seme and you uhm have similar builds and he's doing the most of the legwork. The poses are a little bit hard but I want them to look good or Minami-san will eat me and I'm scared of her, please help me."

"Who is Minami-san?"

You sniffle, on the verge of tears just thinking about it. "My editor. She used to be my fan. She's scary. Please, Rin-kun, please."

"What the hell did you do before?"

You frown at him, big wet puppy-dog eyes.

"It was hard. Sometimes I'd pose with my big stuffed animals and make up the proportions. Oh and usually watched porn and stuff. Sometimes I'd get lucky with stockphotos. But I don’t get the angle exactly right unless I have good references."

Rin wonders if anything you have ever said has processed in your mind before saying it. He doubts it for some reason.

"So," Rin pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes the image of you humping your stuffed animals out of his head. "You're asking me to.. pose with you?"

You nod and chew your lip. "Please, I promise I'd never ask you for this if I wasn't s-scared of Minami-san! Please?"

"I should make you pay me for this," He sneers. You flinch back and close your eyes.

"I'm sorry." You whine wetly, but then open your eyes again anyway. "Please help me."

Rin doesn't know why he helps you. Maybe you're just too pathetic for him to ignore. Maybe he's a masochist. Maybe inhaling the same air as Bachira last week turned him stupid.

He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Fine."

__

If Rin didn't believe you before when you told him you make your own references, he'd definitely believe you after you take him to your bedroom.

Your bed is in the center of your room, instead of being pushed against a wall. Large stuffed animals laid in one corner. On both sides of the room, are makeshift digital camera stands and remote-controlled lighting among another remote for said cameras. There's about 4-6 angles from what you explained to Rin, and a few adjustable lights. It's an elaborate set-up and takes the kind of dedication Rin can only imagine a hardcore fujoshi freak like yourself thinking up.

All of this to mostly draw porn of him and his rival. He tries not to think about it too hard because he thinks it's going to give him an aneurysm. Rin sits at the edge of your bed as you adjust each of the cameras individually.

"What do you do if it's not on a bed?"

You flinch like you aren't expecting him to talk. "Uhm. I either simulate as best I can o-or move my things and bed around. It's why I moved my desk to my office."

Rin stares at you. "You take it seriously."

You nod meekly. "Producing high-quality doujin is what made me money, so I have to work hard. Being poor is tough."

If Rin didn't find you so unbearable he might find that awe-inspiring in his own fucked up way.

"Okay. Everything is set-up. Now for the poses," You say, suddenly sparking back to life. Rin sits and watches. "They're having sex on a public beach so the bed and the way the seme sort of sinks into the sand will be good... I think the bridge one is the one we'll do first."

"The bridge?"

You nod, talking in short sentences. But Rin can tell this is where you're comfortable, doing things for this... hobby. Your usual constant embarrassment and shame seem to disappear when it comes to it. It's fascinating like a car crash. "Uhm. You have to stand on your knees and then, I'll lay on my back and arch my back up to meet your... y'know. It'll emphasize the height difference."

Rin stares at you agape. You take the remote control for your cameras in your hands and look at him expectantly.

Rin doesn't know whats wrong with him. Why the hell did he agree to this?

"Do you want me to take my jacket off?"

You nod, surprised. He shrugs the thing off of his shoulders and tosses it onto the floor.

Rin, per your instruction, gets into the position in the middle of the bed. He stands on his knees waiting for you. You join him a minute after, squinting at your phone screen beforehand. He isn't sure what he's expecting as a result of your ask, but he sure is shocked when he finds you placing your feet flat on the bed next to his knees and pushing yourself up for your crotch to meet his.

He knows that’s what you said but your shamelessness proves to be… shocking.

He tries not to let it show. His jaw ticks. His face feels warm but his expression remains neutral all the same. You shift and adjust and don't seem concerned at all - like it doesn't occur to you that this is in any way socially unacceptable. Or it's unfathomable Rin would take advantage of this. That this is weird, or could be interpreted in less than innocent ways. Rin knows you're so out of touch that it probably isn't. That this is, to you, just considered a favor which is partially why he even agrees.

But you're mid-brushing up against his bulge. The angle of your back forms a triangle, your arms laid flat at your sides as you squirm and push. And your expression shifts, deep in thought.

"Uhm, like, would you mind p-putting your hands on my hips? Kind of squeezing tight like it's," You flush this time, but Rin harbors doubt it's about him. "Like it feels good I guess? Like hard, and stuff so you can see the indent."

He's so astonished, he does it on autopilot. Neutral and even. He lets his hands grab your hips and holds tight just as you ask. Your long, loose sweatshirt falls down revealing the soft skin of your tummy. He can see the tops of your underwear, the thin cotton kind that come in 6-packs with a single bow in the middle in a grey color.

You don't seem to care about it. Rin shouldn't either, but his body does seem to care. His brain does. Something is happening in his gut. Anger maybe. Some cheap, frustrated desire to make fun of you.

Instead the words he's been wanting to ask since you proposed this tumble out of his mouth. He stares at you.

"Is this the first time someone's done this with you?"

You jump with a start, but remain in position. You take the pictures first, six clicks in a row before answering.

"H-huh? Why-why are you asking that?"

He doesn't know. Really. And he knows how it sounds. Rin doesn't say anything and you fold under the immense pressure of his gaze.

"S-stop staring," You say, and take a few more pictures, lowering your back just a little but still staying up right. "And no. No one tall enough or with the right physique."

There is another gnawing question, another burning curiosity. He makes his voice as even and unaffected and apathetic as he can. As mean as possible.

"Have you ever even had sex?"

Your eyes blow wide, but you seem to fall for the persona of apathy, curious boredom and cruelty. Worse, you seem a little used to it. You squirm this time and Rin holds you firmly in place. Your voice is small.

"Uhm, like, once I guess. I-it was with a guy, I didn't really date him but he seemed interested in me and I didn't think I'd ever have the opportunity again s-so I did it and I didn't uhm, it wasn't very good or anything." You reply, and he can feel your toes curl in your socks next to him and his brain feels like it'll melt from out of his ears. "Sorry, I don't-don't think you care about that, just uhm, felt like I should explain."

"Yeah," Rin feels dizzy. "Do you need another pose?"

You blink and then nod. "Yeah! Another one kind of like this, but with the legs like uhm, on your chest and my feet closer to your head. With you leaned back a little. Does that make sense? The butterfly position, I think."

Rin swallows something at the back of throat.

He nods, pulling you into position so easily he can heard you gasp. Your legs straighten against his clothed chest, and your sweatshirt falls far enough to let him see your bra. A fabric sports kind, a little worn - just the logo visible. He doesn't say anything about it, your feet resting near his neck. You make a little soft noise.

"This feels a little difficult to be in. Poor uke. Sorry if this one is kind of weird, but can you put your hands, I dunno, on my ass, I guess? I know that's probably too much but I think it'll be a good detail, so please? I'll pay you"

Rin stares at you, teeth gritting so hard he feels the back of his skull throb. "Fine."

Rin, per your request, puts his hands on your ass. It's easy enough, and he doesn't hold too tight. But it's too intimate, too stupidly fucking intimate, and he can feel you. You're hardly paying attention, caught up in your own head with whatever else. Rin is paying too much attention. Like how your sweatpants aren't thick enough to cover the outline of your frumpy cotton panties and how your soft all over. He's going to kill someone. Maybe himself.

Six more clicks and a little noise of satisfaction.

"Okay!!! I think these will turn out so great, and I can use them later too. Just one more. I have a lot of refs for this position, but uhm - I want to see if I can get the proportions correct, so if you'd please lay down," You tell him with such genuine excitement he can't find it in himself to say anything horribly cruel. "I'll be doing most of the work this time. I just-just need to see how uke will compare..."

You mutter something to yourself as Rin lets you down and lays himself down on your bed. You sit next to him for a long while, squinting at your phone. Rin stares at you as you. Wonders if he's gone completely insane, and tries to ignore the doom of the impending hard-on cozying itself in his pants.

Unceremoniously, you find yourself perching over Rin's lap. Not bothering to give him any pretense, it's the one thing about today that's really getting him.

"Oh, I need my hands for this," You give him the remote and stare down at him wide-eyed, over his lap. This has to be hell. "Could you take the photos this time?"

He closes his eyes and counts to ten and wonders if a concussion has made him insane. "Hm."

You brighten and Rin feels his chest go tight. "Thanks!"

Rin just nods, his mouth drying as you start to move and pose. A picture with your hands next to his head, and anothe r where you're sat up - your hands at your sides. Rin obediently takes pictures when you ask, his entire body tensing every single time you move.

"Okay, last one," You say. This time, you put your hands on his chest. Just the one. You must have something specific in your head that you're wanting to recreate. You bend down close, looking down at him as you do - your other hand clenched.

Rin looks up at you. He should not be thinking about you in any way. He's looking at the way your lips curve and plump and at your bare skin and your dark circles and your stupid licensed anime hoodie. He just gapes at you in confusion and mystique. He's around so many weirdos. It's not like there's anything special about you. You’re just another freak who makes porn of him. Plenty of people do that.

A loser and an idiot with no sense of self-preservation. There's nothing special about this, but Rin hasn’t been able to convince himself of that.

You stare down at him.

"Take a picture?"

Rin looks at you. Studies your expression. You seem like you're thinking. It's the only oppurtunity he has to pry.

"Did you want to ask something?" He says first. “You’re not hard to read.”

You startle, then nod. Your hand is on his chest. It's warm, and smaller than his.

"Oh, I-I guess I was wondering about what you asked me earlier. And uhm, like, I don't know. If you ever did anything. Your relationships aren't in the media and fans speculate but," You fall flat on your words. "I guess I was just curious."

Rin hates this question. It's why he never answers it. Why he hates being called a hearthrob, always too shallow and too personal for his taste.

"Nothing long term or serious. It was most for physical relief." Rin says, almost on autopilot. “Not that’d you know what that’s like.”

Your eyes widen. Rin feels his hands twitch, watching your expression finally grown conscious of him. Lust spreads through you like honey and Rin can see it in how you look. You squirm in his lap. He's not usually so aggressive, not usually one to care about sex in any important way. Not one to brag about something so unbelievably inane and trivial.

But it's bothering him, just how much he's fighting the urge to pin you down and fuck you. You of all people. It's not like him. Rough sex is whatever, but it's bothering him how little any of it seems to register in your head anymore like it once did. You could barely breathe the first time you met.

He doesn't know why he cares that you don’t anymore. He doesn’t give a shit about anything related to you

But the thought nothing seems to bother you anymore bothers him.

"Oh... I see. That's uhm, interesting. I b-bet you have a lot more experience than me. Maybe it'd be a good thing to keep you around for that kind of refernce too," You joke.

Rin lets his hand slip up to your hips without asking, not bothering to hide it anymore. His head feels with nothing but stupid useless thoughts. Thoughts of fucking you in your old, worn clothes and stained shirts and comfortable cotton underwear. Thoughts of your hands clutching at his shoulder all weepy with desire and need and stupidity - your big wide eyes bleary and sensitive. It's cruel how relentlessly he thinks about taking advantage of all your differences. Of how unathletic and awkward and unused to everything you are.

It's horrible just how much he's staving off his own arousal about it. Maybe you're strange habits are infecting him, making him strange too strange. All Rin can think about uselessly is how easily he could put you in your place. Fix you in some strange way. You’d be his to fix and you’d cry and weep and want to run away. Rin wouldn’t let you, keep you pinned and caged like an animal.

His throat feels tight. What is fucking wrong with him today?

Is he that pent up? He stares at you, and gets some passing feeling that there is more to it than that. He closes his eyes.

"Whatever," He says, letting go. You don't seem to notice it again, how thick his voice is getting "Are you almost done?"

You nod and smile. "Yes. Thank you."

Rin feels his heart tug and seethes. “You're welcome."

[neil-gaiman]

Hello Neil!

Idk If you'll ever see this, but I really wanna say thank you because you and Terry made me fall in love with books.

Even if you talked to me a year ago about getting into reading, or how magical it can be, I probably would've totally shrugged you off, but after watching Good Omens season 2 and literally falling in love with the series (I watched the first series when I was 9 so didn't make the quite the same impact at that age) I ended up picking up the source material at my local bookshop. Imagine my surprise when I said to my friend what I was looking for, that two totally random strangers pointed at it immediately, and told me that as soon as they finished it they read it again straight afterwards. At the time I thought that seemed like a really weird thing to do. But anyway I picked up the book and went to buy it.

*sidenote during this whole interaction the friend I was with (who has never heard of or seen good omens) was being talked to by one of the nice people we met on who Michael Sheen was, sadly it was only when I googled him in a coffee shop afterwards she recognised him from twilight.

After reading Good Omens the book I had seen exactly why those people in the bookshop had read it twice in a row, because now I found myself doing the exact same thing!

Me from a year ago would never have believed, that for my 15th birthday last week, I asked for a graphic novel version of The discworld graphic novels because my maths teacher (surprisingly out of everyone) turned out to be a huge Fan on Terry Pratchett, and suggested it to me in class after talking about Good Omens.

This series and book have literally changed me as a person, so I just wanted to say again, thank you so much!!

That's Marvelous! Welcome to the fold.

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 4

[prompt: roleplay] male reader x kang hyewon 8k words

“I need you,” Hyewon says in the uneasy dark of a hotel room, with two urgent fistfuls of your shirt, “need you to do to me all the things my husband never will.” “Yeah, I know,” you tell her, “you said that,” and her eyebrows move in all the wrong directions, “I’m just wondering if, you know, maybe we should give him a little more credit.”

-

Here’s the truth:

Hyewon doesn’t believe in leaving evidence behind and you don't find it particularly productive to doubt her; you’ve been talking in code for years. Parts and pieces of yourselves reduced down and bottled into set phrases that, to anyone else, would be totally incomprehensible.

"i've been thinking," she texts you, which you've come to understand means she's already made up her mind, "maybe we should do that thing we were talking about. tonight."

(You're not always so fast on the uptake.)

You send two back two texts, both of which ask "which thing?" because the hallway from the breakroom to your desk has poor reception and it never lets you send just one.

Then, right after you cross the threshold between signal-drowning-concrete and the glitzy glass-walled arboretum they've built to make you feel like you're not a total cog in their corporate machine, your phone pings the receipt of Hyewon's reply: a picture - her laptop, propped up on your coffee table with its screen angled for perusal, of a booking site that's filtered to show results for their 'king bed & view' room at a midrange hotel a forty-five-minute ride from your apartment.

"not really doing much narrowing down here hyewon."

She replies to you - her text bubble appearing over another couple still images, of herself in the vanity mirror as she curls her hair around her finger and holds this little black slip of a dress over her shoulder, black lacy lingerie in tow, the whole nine - with:

"i'm feeling kinda adventurous."

-

Five o’clock rolls around but you never really do figure it out. You spend the last three hours at work deciding which kink of hers (oh, does she have a few) this is all in service to.

There's nothing overtly sexual about her pics in the first place - not more than usual anyway, more showing off her curves and cut jaw than showcasing anything for her 'adventurous' intent. So that can't be the tell - you'd seen her in a corset once (you can't unsee it) and the angle of her hips to the mirror makes you think that if she was planning on pulling on a  pair of crotchless panties then she probably would've found her thigh high stockings, too.

You try and think of what the two of you had even talked about when discussing these little scenes - how many times you'd ended up 'in the mood' during or after such a meeting of the minds, how it'd snowballed from there, a whole list of filthy what-ifs that she'd probably put more thought into than you ever have - but you draw a total blank. It could be any of a number of things.

Until,

"i left you instructions on the kitchen island," reads a text on your phone which you definitely don’t check while you’re driving -

And then it hits you.

"ah."

"yeah, 'ah'," she replies.

-

A quarter past seven at the hotel bar is way too early for any real promiscuous activity, but then again, you're here playing at pretend and half the fun of games like this is in the setup.

Meet me at the bar, your instructions read, introduce yourself, and play it by ear.

There's some couples at the other end, some friends downing shots by the round, people musing over their aperitifs, and a woman sipping alone at the bar - Hyewon, appearing to you from the back first:

The pointed edges of her shoulders narrow out over this tiny cocktail dress that somehow covers less of her than if it weren't there at all, skin tight, accentuating even her softest curves. She has her hair fixed a particular way - teased enough to flip at the ends but still a single sweep down her shoulders, pulled together softly by a ribbon in the back, tied like a fantasy, allowing a wispy strand to fall to her face - glossy and dark and glowing to this rich, deep mahogany where it's cast in the lamplight.

The line of her throat, of her chest. Where her hips meet her waist in a rounding flare. The effort and beauty she's gone to, for you - that she puts in every day just because she knows it gets your attention, can do more than turn a head or two; Hyewon's appearance is almost indifferent of you, only coincidental, but she puts on a damn good act.

(You look a lot more worn in comparison: jacket thrown over dress shirt and khakis, tie loose at the neck. Standard office attire with just a step-outside-regulation. Disheveled.)

A drink, you suppose - approaching the bar to try and catch the bartender's attention to order a single malt.

But if Hyewon's been waiting long, she doesn't complain when you pull into the stool beside her and sit for a long moment.

"Do you mind if I join you?" you say over a pair of politely folded hands - and that's generally where her 'instructions' end.

The look she fixes you with is just this unashamed smoldering, her body language this contradictory kind of lazy - cool, like her night was going exactly the way she planned but she still had places to be.

"It depends," she replies, one slender finger curled around the stem of her martini glass - which historically, is a drink she hates. "Who's asking?"

"Just me," you offer, letting the gesture and your tone leave it up to her. And then slowly, perhaps awkwardly: "ostensibly a complete and utter stranger who knows a gorgeous woman when he sees one - and who could never pass up a chance to see how the rest of her is."

"Smooth."

"I guess it is, considering you didn't immediately run for the exit."

Hyewon nearly snorts.

"Hard not to." She tilts her head back at you, assessing. Her cheeks are rosy pink. "A handsome thing like you doesn't usually buy themself a girl's time with flattery -"

"Buy your time or your drinks?" you tease, and you can tell she wants to roll her eyes - but she keeps them carefully lowered. Eyelashes dipping down like blackened fans.

Hyewon shifts slightly, resting her chin onto the heel of her wrist like she's leaning against an imaginary windowpane and tipping her face a little sideways. It makes you smile. "One gets the other, if you catch my meaning."

Maybe it takes you a little too long to lift your gaze off her lips to find her eyes, or off the sweeping curve of the hemline sitting high across her long legs, but she watches you for just a breath. It's a more telling moment that she pretends she doesn't know you.

"You can look at me if you like," and then without further preamble, she introduces herself with a slight tilt of the head and an expectant expression: "call me Hyewon."

You figure that if you've gotta say one word to get the ball rolling you want to say her name, and as a little revenge for forcing you to think on this scene and think on what to say, what your character would say, how exactly she wanted you to go about 'meeting' her in a hotel bar, how her fucking scenario's been building up in her head for god-knows-how-long (even though, in the scheme of the two of you and your relationship, it’s nowhere close to being the most demanding sex you've had), you reply simply with:

"Pretty."

It's satisfying, how she hesitates - pausing a little longer on your face to gauge exactly what you meant. Studying. But the next beat of your heart - or hers - is effortless, easy.

"I know. That's what my husband calls me."

"Husband?" You keep yourself from raising an eyebrow. "And I don't suppose I'm also... married?"

"Different day, different you."

"Meaning I have a wife or a mistress of my own," and you flick your wrist at the barkeep for a top-up of what's in front of Hyewon. "You're telling me I'm the kind of man who'd only settle for two."

It doesn't sound quite right, though Hyewon picks up on it. Doesn't let on. "Aren't men like you always? Charming to a fault, but always voracious - insatiable, especially with women like me."

"Women like you."

"Married women. Unavailable," she simpers, and in a practiced little motion, draws her hand out to where you can see it properly, this sparkle on her fourth finger that catches the lowlight of the bar. The diamond looks real - not that you'd actually know - and your stomach flexes up mid-somersault thinking about the financial impropriety for what amounts to a gag. A practical joke. Hyewon the comedian.

Still, you go with it and take her hand in yours, admiring. "What a pity." The glint off its faceted surface - Hyewon's watchful as she allows it.

"Isn't it," she agrees.

The more unnerving thing - besides how composed Hyewon can make herself be - is how the narrative quickly becomes a whole hell of a lot clearer with the context of marriage in play. She's mentioned it before: the infidelity thing, the way it leads to the raunchiest, filthiest bits she'll dare to explore. In some ways, her desire for the untouchable makes a lot more sense -

And maybe that's what had been nagging at your mind since she brought up the idea of playing the part: you always end up kissing in that stupid 'caught up' sort of way. With an intensity that's hard to beat. Even though you wouldn't ever cheat on her. Not in a million years. You'd watch her leave before doing anything like that.

But it's thrilling, almost, and even more thrilling that this isn't entirely improvisation: how well the two of you might actually play this off, as two total strangers to this illusory little roleplay that you'd normally say was your very last interest.

"But you know there's something I've come to appreciate about married men," Hyewon continues, her voice in this conspiratorial sort of hushed.

You blink, drawing her out.

"They know how to tie a knot."

There's the flirty wink, an upward flick of the chin that draws your eye to the span of her chest. To her body in that skin-hugging dress and your fingers entangled in hers - the gentle bump and shift of the bodies behind her, moving between the tables - Hyewon a queen of circumstance, playing to the moment as it bends; as her lips part in a pleased smile, red and smooth, almost innocent, and you can't help but imagine tasting her on your tongue, the force that'd take for her to yield when you finally got your hands in her hair.

(What a character, honestly.)

"Tell me something," you say, "why would a married woman, this pretty little thing like you, be all alone in a place like this - without her charming husband."

Hyewon's smile curls at the edges like smoke. "I never said he was charming."

You raise an eyebrow. "Good-looking, then."

"Never said as much either."

“Why are you with someone you find neither attractive nor charming?”

Hyewon makes a face, slightly pitied. “If that Isn’t what I’m asking myself everyday.”

"Hm." You narrow your eyes into something more quizzical than suggestive. It works on her anyway. "That doesn't feel too much like it's in character, Hyewon."

She shrugs, but it's that coy kind of shrug. She thinks you'll let her off easy - you usually do. All considered, she's the type who thrives off the chase and, as of today, so do you.

"But he is cute." Her expression is just this side of sweet, as she takes a dainty sip of her drink. Like the taste doesn’t bother her, like she isn't pretending she doesn't hate it with every fiber of her being. Like this is easy. "And maybe -" she quirks an eyebrow at you, withholding a smirk. "-you're right. Maybe, I was looking for someone cuter to fill the bill. And luck would have it, here he is."

So - apparently - her character doesn’t mind a little light infidelity.

Hyewon takes in the vague sense that the message wasn’t as clear as she might have liked, her forehead scrunching as she tries to convey - in a way that would communicate even to an airhead - some realization to play your part.

"Maybe it's the wrong question,” you start over, taking it from somewhere near the top, “what are you doing here, with me?"

That's when Hyewon graces you with one of the soft, slow kind of smiles: the kind that manages both an air of 'you dimwit' and 'good question'. Her fingertips barely graze yours but it's noticeably electric. Just enough to feel your pulse fluttering.

(You don't care that none of it’s real - Hyewon looks to you through thick eyelashes like a goddess of temptation and sin - and it makes something wicked coil up warm at the pit of your gut. A curious thrill and a recklessness that you have to admit feels a little nice - being the man trying to talk this woman into bed. The challenge and the buildup, the want to work for it. It's new. It's fresh. Lo-and-behold, it's kinda hot.)

When you catch her stare, she fidgets. So slightly, so briefly, your chest is on fire and you're barely into the pages of her plans, of this night ahead.

"Wish fulfillment, let's say," and that is no less true. "See it’s my husband."

"Mhmm."

"He respects me too much to do the things I'm going to ask you to do."

"Like?" you continue to prod.

Hyewon lets out the tiniest shiver of a sigh, like a trickle of cold water down the length of her spine. "Take a good guess."

You finish the rest of Hyewon's martini, slow. Savoring the warmth and bitterness sliding down the back of your throat. The night's young, sure - and if you're supposed to be spending it all wrapped around Hyewon's finger. This means you can take your time.

"Show me your room?" you propose, gesturing to the empty glass.

"I thought you'd never ask."

At your offering, she stands up and throws on her coat - long, double-breasted, chic - but only really just off her shoulders to have the hem hit her legs mid-thigh. One of her many personal quirks. Hyewon knows how to move like there aren't two eyes staring at her wherever she goes: not the awkward side-to-side of a girl who wasn't made to wear heels - a loping gait - nor the assured click, click of the taller kind that totter like it's all they've got going for them.

Something totally different: a little careless and a little haughty and an assurance of the highest confidence.

She winds an arm round yours like they do in movies, this parody of a leading lady - Hyewon not a seductress as much as she is someone who'll look the part just to convince you otherwise. There is a pretty big discrepancy, you find, between her bravado and her smile, her figure and her artistry - you couldn't act if you wanted to; meanwhile, she does whatever she damn well pleases. And somehow that doesn't even begin to cover the things that turn her on.

The two of you make for the stairs, winding up floor after floor until it's perfectly quiet, perfectly out of sight - hidden away from prying eyes and ears.

The silence of an empty hotel stairwell is thick - Hyewon's hand comes off the railing, as she takes to the wall and turns to face you. It's a gentle tug at the tie loose around your neck, barely any give before you're already there, holding her by the hips.

"Might've gotten us lost there," you whisper, as her finger plays at your chest and finds its way round the collar of your shirt. Your top button is already undone by the time you notice she's not fond of it. "The elevators would've gotten us where we're headed faster."

"Don't worry." She hums, leaning in close - like a magnet, like gravity. "You're getting the scenic route."

"Anything to stall the inevitable," you tease, but it isn't a thread she seems interested in developing.

"Something like that."

Hyewon shifts her weight back onto her right foot, her skirt riding up just barely. The dip between her inner thighs and the smooth curve of her leg is open and bare to your sight, her dark stockings like an unspoken challenge: the panties, lacy, loose, no crotch.

And it gets... indecent, the way your lips connect, how you realize half-way into that kiss, she's still smiling. It isn't any one way that does it; maybe it's the clever use of her tongue, or that particular position you've coaxed her up against the stairwell wall that makes it seem like Hyewon can't be any more in danger - it's too much to handle and your mouth goes slack on the reflex of an apology; her hand has a hold on you by the jaw and it won't budge.

"My husband," she murmurs into you, the trace of the words ghosting into the breath between the both of you. "Never lets me."

"What," you rasp, barely recognizing your own voice, your hand heavy on her side - the very real fear that you might tip over a banister because Hyewon's got her heel half-way into the back of your calf and any less bracing would bring you down. Your thoughts are a fog, with her cheek in one hand and your knee already up between her thighs.

"His wife," she almost swallows down, kisses turning chaste because maybe it's just easier to gently peck out her intentions, how she looks to you with dark eyes, heavy-lidded and wanting, a thumb trailing down the plane of your cheek. It'd feel like pity if you weren't thinking exactly the same.

You try to finish it for her:

"She likes it rough."

"No." Her nose traces yours before she connects you again - gentle and slow, and a shudder rolls all down the expanse of her shoulders; you think you have it about right. Until she makes the slightest adjustment and her grip in your hair turns agonizing, perfect and burning on the edge of too tight - too much. You are straining against the wall of a hotel hallway and she's saying, "not rough."

She kisses you. Hard. Until you gasp for the stolen air in her lungs.

"Filthy," she manages against the heat and sting at the side of her cheek.

(Damn.)

Your voice has gone and lodged itself firmly somewhere between her lungs - but there's something that says she knows. That you've got it in you, the brimming potential that might just say everything you ever wanted but couldn't figure the right way to put it.

It's the tone of her voice or the spark in her eyes, but one moment into the next - you're caught in this pull - like gravity's increasing tenfold at her will; her heartbeat's so strong you swear you feel it against your ribs as she's demanding:

"Messy. Dirty. A little uninhibited," and the obvious thrill of that must flare up like lightning under her skin - the way it makes her moan, soft and breathless: "fuck me like my husband doesn't."

She’s not even waiting for the comfort of the room yet, which in hindsight is probably checking more of Hyewon's many boxes - it's the sex in public thing, the fear of discovery thing, the desire to have you ravish her out where anyone can come upon you sort of thing - the thought of which has your jaw go a little slack too. Her leg up is coiled up around your hip, your fingers tangled in her hair and sliding up the length of her thigh, until you're fucking kneading up her ass and drawing out that desperate whine in her.

"Fuck," she exhales into your shoulder - a hand on the metal bannister to brace against those little circles you start to rub inside her, pushing - slowly - one, two, three knuckles deep, testing - before drawing back, and plunging forward again. This ache, slow and purposeful, pressing just enough into her until there's a wet sort of friction that has your hand slick all down your wrist.

It never takes long, with your fingers on her clit, fingers inside her, a palm covering the moans out of her mouth -

She cums just like that.

Whining and broken and bent under you, and with an elbow hard against her ribcage to make the breaths come shallow.

"Stay quiet for me, sweetheart," you find yourself murmuring, as your teeth graze the shell of her ear - the short burst of hair and silky strands across the back of her neck; you're undoing the neat ribbon tied round the length of her hair and letting her waves settle on her shoulder in time for you to swallow down the sound of her sighs, the tension in her lips, and the frantic jolt when your fingers push through the wet, heat of her pussy again, merciless and quick. You have to be careful; she nearly bites your fucking tongue out.

"Can't." Her jaw's tight on it, the slight staccato to her breathing, murmuring and slightly dazed: "if we get caught, someone will see. Someone will notice."

Her next exhale is more shaky. "Anyone could see us like this," with just her toes curling and her stomach tensing on every second beat. Your grip leaves a bruise. "Please-"

"We're not supposed to be doing this at all, are we? If you've got a husband waiting somewhere?"

You hear yourself, and it sounds sorta degenerate, though in all the right ways, you figure, like something straight out of one of Hyewon's romance novels, the dirty, smutty ones that she swears up and down she simply reads for the plot, but the dazed, hazy kind of mood they get her worked up into suggest otherwise.

You trace the rough pad of your thumb over her pussy, this delicate, ghost of a touch. One you'd have to strain to even tell if it was there or not until she whines - eyes screwed shut like she doesn't mean to, just does. The sound of it bouncing around the stairwell.

And then, all this wet: her skirt's ridden all the way up to her stomach, damp and near-transparent with slick, and you can just imagine the puffy pink between her legs - between her stockings in the afterglow of an orgasm, spent and sensitive and sore and wanting for more. Your eyes linger a little too long -

"I shouldn't let you," she manages, half a moan on it - one of her heels comes up the stair you're standing on and the way Hyewon clings onto you for balance says enough, but still, she demands, with all the strength her throat allows: "make it fast. You're lucky I let you see me like this at all -"

And she cuts off abruptly, looking at you.

(She'll play coy for a while longer. Which, Hyewon being Hyewon, will look like as much an effort as her sprawl out on the bed for you is.)

"The room," you say to her, harshly, "where is it."

"Four more floors."

-

Room 1014 as it turns out is like every other room you've ever been in, each one perhaps a little more identical than the last - except this one has Hyewon sitting in your lap while you get comfortable on the bed, and there's also the way she looks in the mirror above the headboard, the desperation in her stare, right back into the reflection.

"What all," she says, "do you want to do to me?"

This time - no explicit instructions - just an implication. You have to figure it out.

See, the image of her is like every fantasy rolled into one, wearing this thin black bra that has her breasts just about spilling over. They're amazing - the color and shape of her skin. Soft. Cradled between the cups like a godsend, and maybe that's why it drives her a little crazy how good you look biting down the ridge of her breast and flicking your eyes back up to catch her expression.

It has you feeling, if nothing else, a little ‘adventurous,’ too.

Her belly tenses on a heavy sigh and it's one hell of a thing to have Hyewon staring you down, like you're an animal or an idiot, with her eyes flashing and a thinly veiled anger in the purse of her lips. There's a thousand things she'd like to do to you - for you to do to her - but it's about the predicament: the silk necktie she'd pulled off you as you both stumbled through the door has ended up around her wrists, pinning her arms behind her back in a way that suggests a loss of control. Just the mere suggestion of a little playacting, but she's almost keening.

You feel the touch of her right calf keep rising - curving down your waist, hooked behind the small of your back - her thighs smooth, and a hot line along your sides.

"I should fuck that pretty mouth of yours," you say against the shell of her ear, because you know better than anyone, the very concept gets her wet. Uncomfortably so.

And she leans her head against your temple like she'd love it. You could be imagining the little whimper as she clenches up round nothing - until a growl escapes the back of her throat and she's saying -

"Is that how you're going to cum? With me on my knees and nothing else? Cover my pretty face? How you’ll completely ruin me?. You’re more creative than that."

“I don’t know that I am.”

Her hips move to find some friction where there isn't any until you give her some, pulling your cock out through your pants and feeling it brush, once, twice against the seam of her. Hot, and hard. Ready. And if she only tried a little, the angle was made perfectly to slot your head in, but neither of you move. She doesn't yield.

"Let me fuck myself on you," she suggests, strained, almost pleading. "Then perhaps I will."

You could take her like she is. Any which way. But this is about getting a particular reaction - one that'll leave her spent and trembling - and nothing like that will happen without a little bit of preparation and prelude. You want to watch her writhe for hours. Until she forgets she's playing a character at all, until she's panting your name and whimpering for release, her cheeks burning.

But at least it gets her writhing on you, the heat and press of her body as she leans in close, your eyes locking:

"Get your cock inside me-" the urgency in her voice. "-fuck me right now, this second-"

"Say it again."

"Fill me with your perfect cock." The words land right on your lips, frayed at the edges as the tether to her control slips another notch. "Push my thighs apart until you break me," Hyewon tells you - and then with her legs twisted up in the comforter, the creaking mattress and the sweat on the sheets: she rolls her hips like they're pleading for it.

"Pushy."

"Gentle's got no appeal for us."

"Apparently not," you reply - but then it's suddenly a lot easier, to slide one hand in Hyewon's hair, and grip at the knotted silk wrapped tight 'round her wrists to hold her. There's no hiding the subtle arching of her spine, how the pressure off her arms pulls her chest in or makes it all the more comfortable, she doesn't let on, she'll probably keep pretending she doesn't like this, that she hasn't always wanted -

You run your tongue over her collarbone and thrust up inside her, once - a warning that you're not giving in to her quite yet.

The smile that runs her lips is brittle. Like her patience isn't what it used to be - she makes a quiet little noise, pained. A flash of discomfort. But there's a moan and a curse out of her:

"Like that. Harder."

"What does harder mean?" you ask, with a deliberate repetition in motion, thrusting upward, forcing her hips to shift a few degrees further back - her knees clenching around the sheets as you're met with no give - Hyewon's resistance through a dark smile, and her grip slackened in her hands, despite you keeping a fist wound tight in the hair on the back of her head, tightening the other around her restraint.

Her throat flinches: this shudder.

She takes a couple heaving, open-mouthed breaths, before she has it in her to glare at you again.

"Harder-" The way her mouth shapes around the word gets the better of you - cute little cupid's bow in pink, full and swollen and pursed up as if in pain. Or desire. Or both, the way her head is tipped back, hair half undone - an idea is already coiling at the back of your mind. "-until I can't stand."

"Or talk?"

And when your hand loosens on her wrists, her posture slumps like it's relief, that you're finally going to move along in a direction she's getting some satisfaction from -

Hyewon shakes her head in a moment that's almost blissed.

"You," her voice breaks on the tail end, "fucking wish you could shut me up that easily -"

In a motion almost gentle, you twist the length of hair down around her, from her scalp to her jaw, and wrap it around a hand. "Let's see if you'll change your mind, shall we."

There's a sharp draw of air in past her lips, just one sound, not a word. No proper rebuttal. She bites down, teeth clicking.

So you pull.

And this isn't some revelation, that Hyewon's cunt is heaven. Slick and tight, the fit around your cock and the gasp escaping the base of her throat - that isn't new. You've been here countless times, fucked her past her breaking point, beyond what should reasonably satisfy her or satisfy you, but that still doesn't take away from this incredible, heady rush that pulses through your entire body. It never stops getting better, not inch-after-fucking-inch the way you're bottoming out inside Hyewon's body and feel how hard the rest of her muscles tense up in the contact, how her pussy tightens and quivers, and grips around the entirety of your cock, the briefest taste of pleasure and release before it's pulled back just out of her reach - overstimulated, until Hyewon cries out.

You expect, predict the fight, the whimpers that spill out of her mouth with every slap of your skin and the breathless way she begs, pleads, like she'd rather her pride take it from her than have your fingers tug her hair up, right out of her scalp, with your arm locked around her lower waist. With your cock pumping faster, faster and a pressure, hot and inescapable, right there - the friction building - the slippery-wet heat sliding along your shaft with every stroke until you bottom out and her next exhale is a sob.

A goddamn fucking sob and the warm gush of liquid down her thighs - all on you. You fingers are pressed into her ass, pulling onto you, steading her bounce - and Hyewon finds her breathing uneven, as you smear wet across the curve of her backside, rubbing circles into her lower back as you catch up on the rhythm she'd lost.

"This tight little cunt, huh," you tease, and she nods so desperately it seems like she might snap. Like she might cry again and this time for real, a drop of her eye color past the blush, streaking down her cheek. You have the wherewithal to remember your character, your blocking, your lines: "this is what your husband won't do? Won't fuck you on every piece of furniture until you're a ruined fucked-out mess? Doesn't have the decency to work over his little slutty-wife until she's passed out, dripping with cum?"

Hyewon's fingers curl up into two balls of white knuckles and she chokes on her reply. "He won't."

"Tell him. He has a hot and dirty little piece of ass right under his own roof-"

"You think," and the string of words trails off when you manage to grind in, at this angle that has her reeling, trembling at every shift and jerk in momentum. Your knuckles drag against her soft and giving curves, almost gripping at her in the attempt to hold her down on you. "-my husband isn't enough."

"Well you wanted me to fuck the domestic housewife out of you," you murmur, taking two greedy handfuls of the ass bouncing in your lap, rubbing your palms along her hips, up and around the shape of her abdomen and her ribcage like you'd map it, memorize it. She wants this, you know this: your palms come around and over and brush your thumbs against her rising gooseflesh - she's putty in your hands. "No strings attached, remember, a one night kind of thing-"

"My husband loves me."

"Then it seems-"

"He makes me cum with his hands alone."

Your jaw works tight - Hyewon's cunt feels as good wrapped around you as she says your cock feels making a mess of it.

"Tells me he'd die happy hearing me moan his name."

"Oh, because no matter where he goes," you say, fingers wrapping under and around the back of her neck, forcing her to look you in the eye, "no matter what, your sweet cunt's the only one his mouth is ever watering for, isn't that right-"

A blink, lashes thick and feathering down and over the pools of her pupils as you have a hold of her tight. 

You're having a hard time with this, and you want to give it to her, the toe-curling-crescendo that would see her cumming at your will, or worse, losing the plot completely and your entire setup falling away from the charade of characters you'd both conjured. But she looks at you like she's never loved anyone like she loves you, the naked, barefaced devotion, the tenderness - a quick breath, a second - and the game is suddenly something far more personal, a truth. It isn't exactly fair: how your heart stutters. How much her heartbeat makes your pulse flutter, the electrifying rush you get when you fuck roughly up into her tight, wet cunt and make her bite down on nothing in the throes another orgasm.

You barely have a second to think of something coherent, let alone an out before she kisses you. If that isn’t totally disarming. So you move her into the next, flipping her onto her stomach, and she does nothing to fight back: Hyewon just lies there - the side of her face plastered to the comforter - exhausted, and gives a willing, malleable moan at the contact where your hand digs into the shape of her upper thighs, spreading them out as her elbows struggle behind her back.

"Here, baby," you say, finally unwinding the silk knot between her wrists, "I'll have you like the little desperate fucktoy you really are."

There's the bite to her bottom lip, the whole five seconds it takes for her hands to spread out and twist her fingers tight in the bedspread, before she whines - full-throated - and rocks back onto her toes to arch her back.

(See, the thing: Hyewon likes being fucked within an inch of her life. On all fours and pleading for more.)

With your free hand, you reach around her to run over her inner thighs.

Hyewon brings her grip to the bottom of the bed frame, for purchase, or leverage, you don't know, and in one simple motion, you slip your cock back deep inside her pussy.

You curse under your breath.

Hyewon fucking collapses.

It's a dangerous combination, having her begging and you nearly fully clothed while she's wearing barely more than this thin strip of black silk around her waist and a stocking on one leg, but you can't help it - she looks good this way.

"Fuck," she spits out, voice lost when your hips find hers in this wet, sloppy crash of skin that gets louder, faster and more punishing on each beat. "Like that, oh my God-"

Her whimpering only gets worse - when you start only pulling out halfway, until she's gasping like she can't breathe. You think there isn't a more wonderful, more obscene, more gorgeous thing than Hyewon spread out in front of you - the curve of her spine defining each and every one of the lines, dips, and rises of her body - and you would thank God or some higher deity right about now.

It’s fuck and please and every other little pliant utterance of “fuck my brains out, use me, make me beg, I'm so turned on right now I'll let you fuck me anyway you want - harder, faster, I can do whatever, just show me how, make me, push and fuck me hard until I'm raw and aching - god - like this, let me cum, please, let me - keep fucking going, oh my god, please, like this, fuck, just like this-"

You do thank God, actually - there's mirrors everywhere in this room, and you can catch the circular swing of her tits every time you force a curse and a sigh out of her: the bared teeth and the effort to push herself back on her arms, bracing for every thrust, fighting and fumbling to keep her balance and to make sure you have to pound her into the mattress until her cries reach a pitch.

Then, the thing you'd learned she'd never ask for but oh-so-dearly-wanted - you open your palm and bring it down hard on her backside. The impact of your flesh to hers, a crack, a moan and her whole body flexes - and it's then you do it again: matching the hit to the visible red outline of your handprint. The third time, she hisses, biting into the bed sheets so as not to cry out.

"Right? This is what you want? To be fucked and used?"

She doesn't reply with words, because she may in fact be biting her teeth into the cotton threadcount at the end of the bed, but she lifts her ass higher, angles her hips like she's waiting for more. Her brow is creased in a smile, even though a frustrated groan escapes her lips - so you give her that again, and again, until the back of her thighs are turning red and she's clawing one hand back along the length of your legs - pushing and pulling.

"You want me to fuck you senseless, sweetheart?"

And then, so needy and desperate she's just saying the first word that come to mind:

"More-"

"-when I've been railing into you so hard and your husband probably knows already, has to have seen, maybe he's listening at the door- oh," and your whole train of thought comes to a sudden halt upon seeing Hyewon's hand land on the perfect round of her ass, fingers pulling her soft, reddening skin taut, up and away from where your cock is disappearing between her cheeks - to allow more of your shaft into her hot, wet cunt - allow you to fuck her and fuck her up - allow the length of your shaft to slide deeper and hit all the spots that will send her reeling into this orgasm and the next.

Your gaze is stuck however, not to her curves rippling in excess, the damage of your thrusts pounding her body to ruin, or the look of flawless pleasure twisting up the pretty features of Hyewon's reflection, but instead it's the fucking flash and catch of the diamond that adorns her fourth finger. Even when you have her completely helpless, bent on your mercy, she's still wearing that promise, that intention to have and to hold, and you think, for at least a second, this whole roleplay thing isn't the worst idea: being a surrogate to fulfill someone's wildest fantasies. It might even be enough to make you hard all over again - the thrill and the debasement of your girl, lines quickly blurring between the Hyewon you'll take home and put back together and the Hyewon you're fucking pouding into a mattress - the here and now.

"Fuck, Hyewon," you find yourself swearing - steadying the hips rolling back in your palms, bending down until the flat of your chest meets her back, until your nose is in her hair, the long strands sticking to her lips and the back of her ears. Until you feel her shaking as you suckle against her skin, at her neck, hot kisses between the shoulder blades, finding a grip in her hands. Her grip in yours - as she's muffling these exquisite, needy sounds; she is perfect. Hyewon is perfect.

The first time you cum, it's this hot splatter of white: smeared across her ass and the crease of her lower back. It feels almost dirty to think that's just how you feel about it; your heart is stuttering in its erratic pace, but your eyes are drawn and enraptured, the sight of it all.

Then second, maybe your favorite: when she slips her hand to your aching shaft and simply takes you back inside her. This soft, wet, inviting heat that pulls you back to her.

"God- please," her head tips back, you feel the arch of her back through her ribs and stomach, the way her breath catches as you slide your cock through her creamed-out-cunt so much harder and smoother. "It feels so fucking good, baby," and there are tears now, welling in the corner of her eyes, "don't stop, God don't ever stop-"

She can barely finish her sentence before she's cut off, a moan ripped from the bottom of her lungs and a gasp straight from the pain-pleasure that has your balls slapping against her pussy every other stroke. And suddenly she's sitting, or rather, squirming into your arms, her face buried in your shoulders as she starts riding you, and not-quite crying and saying again - again, the whole filthy lot of things: about her wanting you to fill her, to plug her up with your cock. Every thrust she whines in your ears, clutching onto the fabric of your shirt and making a mess of herself in you.

It's this wild and reckless thing that makes its way around the room, on every surface and bit of furniture. You fuck her over the counter, let her ride you on the sofa, the chair, the two of you managing to find some sort of assistance in the wall even, the door frame, her legs up your sides and the slippery-sticky-heat of your mouths connecting and everything that isn't exactly meant to support that kind of strain buckling and nearly giving way - once when the wooden joints in the door-frame shift, once when she begs for release in that frantic voice that doesn't sound a thing like her. And the way she comes apart under you after, on top of you - is even sweeter; you imagine there's this endless possibility for love, for pleasure, a whole world in bundled in the notion that you could do it for her again, that it was always a question of Hyewon letting you have her that way, and the rest was mere foreplay - a stretch.

Only, on the bed again, Hyewon shivers beneath you, this full-body response, and you've got her stretched as she opens up - that the slightest of movements has her already whimpering out "fuck," and "please," and "right there," and "fuck you're going to make me come like this. You're so good, just fucking," and "more, harder, please, you feel so fucking good-"

The desperation for release is so palpable in her that it's curling into your stomach as your press Hyewon's knees into the points and edges of her shoulders and fold in her half - this perfect angle of leverage. Fucking her like she's yours and no one else's - the absolute delight of her cunt, wet, hot, and desperate to milk you empty - her body quaking at the force of each thrust, and the hungry grind of your hips into hers. Her fingers digging and knotting in the sheets around you until her knuckles pale, and your own grasp on her skin threatens to bruise.

"Inside me," she gasps out, because she can feel that edge just as well as you, "I want you to fill me, just cum inside, God, you always feel so amazing, fuck, like that, cum inside me, cum in me-"

"How could I say no, especially when you ask so sweetly," you tell her, kissing into her smile, "can you take another? Baby, look at me, look into my eyes, yeah? Look right back at me."

Her eyes blink and roll back a bit, almost losing focus and her eyelashes flutter - the creases in her brow, the elegant lines of her face locking up in the overwhelming tension, then, a peak.

And a demand, meekly asking you to fill her up. Until there's nothing left. "Cum," Hyewon moans, "for the love of fuck-"

You push her past her climax until she's practically weeping, sobbing through a litany of nonsense and slurred, unfinished sentences and almost howls, struggling beneath your weight and coaxing her fingers over the surge at the base of your spine. Before a hot liquid mess bursts out of you, into the deepest reach of Hyewon's throbbing cunt - cumming inside her, while you hold her down, not allowing her to move as your hips lock and you're both left groaning in utter agony.

(This was the thing you'd told her once - cumming inside her was almost always worth the effort it took to clean it all back out. You like the possessive aspect of it, maybe the slight humiliation, and more than anything, she'll just melt: once she's gone past the immediate discomfort. If anyone could really learn to get off on feeling a little filthy, it's the two of you. And she knows that too, Hyewon's eager little pout intimates, as she blinks down to watch where the two of you connect.)

You don't say much for the next while. If there's a line where this particular escapade blends back into your normal life, where the Hyewon curled up in the sheets is your own girl and not some half-conceived entity that didn't fit the reality of the rest of the evening, or how you see Hyewon everyday, even then, it’s not clear.

She's utterly boneless - this fragile, dazed thing that runs her palms all the way around her breasts and pulls up her stockings a little further up the line of her hips, as if you weren't going to peel them back and slip them all the way off when you had the wherewithal to handle it. But the strength in her isn't entirely lost either, she looks ready to burst: this air of pride and smugness - victory, right in her grin, which isn't totally surprising. Hyewon usually gets an odd satisfaction out of your participation in whatever hedonistic or obscene thing it is she wants to try.

This was her fantasy - maybe not a deeply rooted or unattainable one, but she'd worked out some kinks of hers and has walked away a far better woman for it, knowing what a sight she is to you. Like this.

"That was... fun," Hyewon eventually says, collecting articles of clothing strewn about the room.

Her shoes are one of two sets in the shoe-rack, but she'll have to look around and under the bed to find her dress. It would probably be some strange level of easy to play dumb and wait until she comes to the conclusion on her own that she should bend down and check down there, but she looks a little too worn out to really be interested in her clothes, more like, ready for the next part.

"We should do it again," her gaze lands, intent, and serious, back to you.

"Which part?" you have to ask, because you're probably still, a little slow on the uptake.

A small laugh, the sly smirk to herself; she knows she has you wrapped so perfectly around her finger, ready to bend to whatever game she can come up with: "whichever part you like."

[i-cant-sing]

Jason with baby reader whose very affectionate with him but a total menace with everyone else?

Platonic Yandere Batfam x reader

Yesss obviously 💖💖💖 okay but like imagine something with me:

Reader being the youngest addition to the batfam, could be Bruce's bio kid or not, doesn't really matter. The only reason she even ended up at the Wayne Manor was because perhaps Gordon kinda begged Bruce to take you in because he doesn't want you to end in the horrible foster system of Gotham, just asking Bruce to look after you for a couple of months until Gordon can find a good home and adopt you himself.

Anyways, that doesn't happen because Gordon dies. So what was supposed to be a few months, ended up being an indefinite stay.

Okay usually this would be the point when their yandere tendencies start to show but let's say this time- it don't happen.

Look Bruce and the batfam are like super busy with that crime fighting life, believe it or not, vigilant-y life takes a lot of their time. When their not busy saving Gotham, they're either at home resting and recovering, or at work/school. They simply do not have time for family bonding.

Or so you thought.

You've seen the boys going to the "secret" batcave (u found out soon about their hero identities, cause you're smart like that.) and they spend a lot of time training, so they're definitely bonding. While you don't reveal that you already know about their identities and continue to play the fool, it still kinda... hurts to be surrounded by so many people who are supposed to be "family" yet don't treat you as such. Damian snaps at you anytime you ask if you could join him and the others on anything theire doing- even something as simple as just playing video games.

(And then i found out about Damian and Dick being each others fav siblings) Dick tries to be amicable but even he'd turn down hanging with you in favour of taking Damian out to the carnival, saying something along the lines of "Oh Y/n, its just- I haven't seen Damian in a looong time, and it'd be unfair to him if I brought you along because he's just been lookin forward to this outing for so long. Maybe we can do something next time?" But next time doesn't come around, with Dick always prioritising Damian over you.

You thought that Tim would be easier to spend time with, since he's home a lot more than others, but he's a workaholic to the core, and even of you did swing by with a coffee, just to check up on him, he'd plain out tell you to leave, to bother someone else because he just doesn't have the time. And yet there he was, talking for hours on the phone with Conner.

Jason was nice to you even though you initially thought he'd hate you like he hated Damian and well... his other brothers and Bruce as well. But surprisingly, you got along with him. Probably because he thought of you as this sweet kid who didn't know any better about the world, who just needs to be shielded by Gotham and more importantly- Bruce. Maybe that's why Jason talked to you- you're the only one in the house who's not a hero. Maybe that's what he needed: a healthy relationship with someone normal. And it would've been great if he actually hung around more than an hour. No, he was far too busy with ending criminals, or as he liked to tell you "my job doesn't allow me any holidays. Also, I hate Bruce and would swallow a cactus than stay in his home." But at least he brought you souvenirs from the around the world! His "job" had him travelling the world.

Perhaps the boys are just too busy, or don't like spending time with girls, so you decided to go to Bruce. But he's always busy, either with work or with Gotham, or with one of his sons. He is aware of your presence, he just doesn't exactly know what to do about it. With you not being a vigilante or exhibiting any qualities that he would deem extraordinary or impressive, he doesn't know what to do with you. Sure, he's set you an account where he's given you more than enough money to cover all your expenses and everything else, but that's all he gives. Just financing you until you're independent. He doesn't check in with you, not really interested in your average life, and he won't say it out loud but sometimes, he may have even forgotten about you. A few times, he may have taken you along with him to some galas with his sons, and when you're alone with him, you can sense that he's not... pleased? Content? Happy? Sure, he puts an arm around your shoulder and smiles for the cameras, but you can see the way his eyes wander around the room to find something more interesting, more worthy of his attention. The way he taps his fingers with unease, giving you curt replies and dismissive smiles when you tried to talk about schoo or anything, it all made you realise that you are not a child in his eyes.

You are a burden.

No. No, that couldn't possibly be the case. I mean, he took you in. Bruce wouldn't do that if he didn't care about you, right?

Still, to test that theory, you left the gala, alone and without informing anyone. Surely, he or one of the boys would notice your absence. Surely.

They didn't, even as the gala ended, they all left in their own cars, no one even thought to stop and wonder if you were riding with any of them. Hurt and depressed, you made the stupid decision of walking home in your fancy gown. Of course you'd be pulled in the alleyway and be mugged. The low lives decided that they wanted more than just your money, and when you realised their vile intentions, you began thrashing in their arms to break free, resulting in one of them punching your face repeatedly. Just when you thought all was lost, suddenly those pervs were thrown off you and were shot dead. You looked up and were surprised to find out who was your saviour-

Red Hood.

"Jason?"

"Y/n? I mean, who?" Jason was shocked to see you here, more so when you recognised it was him under the mask.

You rolled your eyes. "You can drop the act, Jay. I've known for a while." You groaned in pain as he helped you up. "Shit, you okay?" He asked, helping you walk towards a nearby bench. "Yeah. I mean I got mugged, but yeah..."

"Wait, what are you even doing out here this late?" You told him about the gala. "Soooo... why didn't you go home with them?"

You shrugged. "Just needed to confirm something."

"Yeah? And what's that?"

You remained silent, not wanting to discuss the topic further. Jason sighed before pulling out his phone. "I'm gonna call, Alfred. Have him send a car so pick you up." You grabbed his hand before he could dial.

"I cant- I don't want to go home." He raised a brow. "Why? What's wrong? Did Bruce do something? I swear to god I'll beat-" you shook your head. "No, Jay- look, I just need a break. If it's not too much to ask, can I spend the night with you? Or you can lend me some money and I'll stay at a hotel or something. Promise I'll go back home tomorrow."

Jason stared at you, trying to figure what's bothering you, but he also didn't want to push you by asking. So he nodded. "Of course, you can stay with me tonight. But only if you promise to make me your delicious chocolate chip cookies tomorrow." You smiled, nodding.

Jason took you to his apartment, cleaned up your wounds, cooked you dinner, cracked some jokes and then tucked you in bed. He actually tucked you in bed. He'd never know, but that simple gesture had you crying until you finally fell asleep.

When you returned home the next day, you weren't really surprised that no one had noticed you didn't return home last night.

No one in that house even knew how you were almost rap-

"Miss Y/n?" Alfred called from the kitchen, eyes wide as he took in your bruised face. "What happened? Are you alright?"

You nodded. "Yeah. I fell on the concrete pavement, someone pushed me accidentally-"

"Alfred?!" Bruce called from the dining room.

"You better go. And Alfred-" He stopped. "-don't mention this to him. I don't want him to worry over nothing."

Alfred nodded, leaving to serve Bruce and the boys breakfast. You don't think he'd tell Bruce and even if he did, you don't think he'd actually worry-

"Y/n?" Bruce was standing at your door, eyes narrowing at your face. "Alfred told me you fell?" He walked upto you, inspecting your face. Wait, did he actually came to check up on-

"How many times did you fell? Face first? Because that's a lot of bruises."

"It was a concrete pavement."

"We don't have concrete pavements in the house."

"I was out leaving from a cafe when I fell. Just wanted to eat some bagels." You continued to lie.

Bruce narrowed his eye at you before sighing. "Look, I don't have time for this. If you're in trouble, just tell me."

"I'm not."

"Then do you really expect me to believe that you fell? Is this a desperate cry for attention?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you really did fall in public, "multiple times" as you claim, did you at least get a cab? I don't want anyone taking pictures of you like this and make headlines tomorrow about one of the Wayne kids being abused. I won't have you tarnish the family name."

What? Did he just- did he really say that?

"No. Its not-" you were interrupted by his phone ringing, and Bruce left you to take the call.

You sat there on your bed, dumbfounded and even more heartbroken than before, mind replaying the words over and over again, trying to make sense, make EXCUSES for him, that perhaps you misunderstood him.

But you didn't.

That day, you had finally given up on the batfam. You refused to make a fool of yourself any longer by hoping that one day they'd accept you. You were and always will be an outsider to them. You won't depend on him any longer, even for your finances.

Years went by and you worked hard on yourself to get admission in a highly prestigious college with a fully funded scholarship, all while you worked to handle your expenses. When you got your admission letter, you didn't even bother telling anyone at home about it. Instead, you went out for lunch with Jason to celebrate (who had been dropping by more regularly ever since that night you were mugged), who was more than overjoyed, ruffling your hair and telling you how proud he was of "the only sibling smart enough to bust him out of jail and retirement homes." Jason truly did want this for you- to be normal and go to college like other normal people.

You moved out of the Wayne Manor quietly and moved into your college dorms in a different city, where you found an even better job on the side. The job that now helped you save up enough money to start paying Bruce back for all the years he had to spend housing, clothing and feeding you.

After a couple of months, you were able to wrote your first cheque to Bruce. And if it weren't for the large sum of money and your name attached to it, Bruce wouldn't have realised that he hadn't talked or even seen you for a while. He didn't allow himself to feel guilty for thinking that he may have forgotten about your existence for quite some time.

Picking up the phone, he called you and asked you about the cheque.

"I'm paying you back." Bruce was a little surprised to hear the monotonous tone.

"For?"

"The money you spent on me all these years?"

"Why? And how are you even paying?"

"I've got a job." What? When did this happen? "Look, I gotta go. I have class." You cut the call, and what class? As far as he remembers, Alfred had said something about attending your high-school graduation earlier this year.

Were you in college?

No, no. If you were attending college, he would know. Surely, you'd tell him. And even if you didn't or he forgot, he would remember paying for your tuition. Or maybe he already was, from the account in your name where he sent monthly payments.

Curious, he called the bank, only to be informed that you haven't used the account in years! They did inform him that you opened a separate account, and since Bruce owned the bank, they let him see the account and what you've using it for.

That's how he found out about your college.

You were just leaving your class to go home when you spotted him leaving the Dean's office. Apparently you were not the only one who spotted him, as your classmates all started talking about the famous Bruce Wayne. As Bruce's eyes met yours, you immediately turned and walked the opposite way until you had left the campus, and you went home.

You weren't surprised to see his car outside your apartment. But you were a little surprised to see him in sitting inside your apartment, sitting on the couch with an unamused expression.

"What do you want?" You asked, dropping your bag.

Bruce raised a brow at you. "What? No, hello?" He sighed. "Why did you leave the campus after seeing me?"

"I don't want to be associated with you."

His gaze turned stern. "Why? Are you embarrassed?"

No, I hate you. "No one will take me seriously if they knew I was related to you. I just want to be-"

"-independent? Is that why you sent me this cheque?" Bruce pulled out the piece of paper and dropped it on your coffee table. "Why are you doing this?"

"I told you, I just wanted to pay you off."

"You don't need to. You're family."

Only on paper. You thought.

You shrugged. "Doesnt matter. I'm paying you back every cent."

Bruce stood up, walking right in front of you and it was just then that he realised how much you'd grown up. You looked nothing like the scared little kid who was always peeking from around corners. You had matured, far too much for your age. He could see the little bags under your eyes, the wrinkles on your forehead, the disdain in your eyes.

"Why are you trying to cut me out of your life?" Before you could argue, he put a hand up. "I saw the documents. You didn't list "Wayne" as a surname on your college documents. You're trying to distance yourself from the Wayne name? Are you in trouble? Have you done something... dishonourable?"

You scoffed. All these years and all he cares about is his public image.

"Dont worry, I haven't done anything to bring down your family name." You spat. "Look, just take the cheque and leave. You'll never hear from me again, either in the media or otherwise."

Bruce glared at you, clearly slighted. "You're being difficult for no reason." You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from going off on him.

He turned around to leave, not bothering to pick up the cheque.

"How'd you get inside?" You asked when he opened the door. You wanted to know, especially since you took all the right measures Jason taught you to stop anyone from breaking in.

He looked over his shoulder and smiled.

"I bought the building."

-

You moved to a new place the next day, after you found out that the landlord refused to accept payments from you, since "your father owns the building. You don't need to pay rent." You wish it was easier to change schools though because apparently the everyone now knows you're Bruce Wayne's kid, which everyone figured out when someone called "Y/n WAYNE, please report to the Dean's office", who showed you that he had the college administration fix the little mess up of "forgetting to add Wayne to your name in all the documents" and then told you that he's very grateful to your father for his very generous donation to the college.

Bruce didn't bother you much after that interaction, except for monthly cheques and cash he'd send you, but you're never using cashing them. He also sends you regular invites to galas and social gatherings or even family dinner at home. You don't go to Wayne Manor anymore, not unless absolutely necessary.

Like today, when Bruce called you to come home for a "family portrait" for a magazine or something because the article is covering about all the Wayne kids.

You could already feel your throat closing up as the Manor came into view. You were greeted at the door by Alfred, the man saying he missed your presence at the manor. You just smiled and nodded.

"No luggage?" He inquired, noting that you only brought backpack.

"No. I won't be staying long."

You started making your way towards your room when you passed Damian's room.

"Y/n?" Dick called out, surprised to see you after so long. Or at all? You'd wonder.

"Hey." You said, eyes darting from him to the room where Tim and Damian were, both just as stunned to see you there.

"So, um... how are you?" Dick asked, unsure how to proceed this conversation.

"Great." You replied before turning around and walking to your room, leaving the boys befuddled.

Luckily, the photographer came soon and started with the shoot, and if it weren't for the photographer continuing to tell you to scoot closer to your brothers until Dick just pulled you and you ended up being squished in between them. Had Jason been here, things would be way more comfortable. But since he's been declared dead to the world, he can't be a part of the family portrait.

And later on, its time for dinner and reader is leaving but Bruce calls her back, telling her to at least stay for dinner if not for the night, and you tell him "I can't, exams are coming up." And he replies "really? The schedule your Dean sent me doesn't show any exams coming up." And after some back and forth, you finally sit down at the dinner table, chewing your food silently while the others talked. You were almost finished and this miserable reunion was coming to an end when one of them started to talk about something that triggered you.

It could be anything, from badmouthing Jason to even telling you to get off your high horse and stop thinking that you're better than them just because you've been living on your own and shit.

That's when you just couldn't hold back your anger and went off on them. Everything you'd experienced, all the emotional abuse and neglect you'd been subjected to from them, you told it all.

With tears in your eyes, you left the manor, only to be kidnapped by the Joker. Bruce and his sons didnt say anything to each other that night, except for replaying your words over and over again, simmering in their own guilt silently. Well, that was until-

"She wouldn't know the sacrifices we had to make to keep her blissfully unaware and ignorant of all the crime outside!" Damian yelled. "Just to keep her wrapped up in this bubble, outside of which is a world where she wouldn't ever truly survive if it wasn't for us!"

"Damian-" Dick sighed frustratedly. "-she never asked us to do this all. We chose this life, long before she came along. It's unfair."

"Unfair??? Then how could she claim she didn't feel "protected" when all we've done is slave over making this hellhole safe! How can she say that from the comfort of this home? She's nothing but ungrateful to us and to father! I'm telling you Grayson, if the tables were turned, she wouldn't ever make the sacrifices to save us!" Damian yelled before slamming the door on his way out.

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as he asked Tim. "Do you... think we've failed her?"

Tim was staring at the ceiling, keeping his thoughts to himself. He definitely felt guilty, he remembers the way he would dismiss you.

Tim's silence was enough answer for Dick, though the two didn't know what to do next.

Thankfully, Alfred did.

"Miss Y/n forgot her phone here last night. Should I parcel it-"

Tim was already out of his seat, grabbing it. "No, I'll take it to her." Turning around, he saw Dick also standing.

"We'll take it to her. Thanks Alfred."

-

10 hours later, the two brothers stood outside your apartment. They knocked, but you didn't answer.

"Maybe she's at college?" Dick wondered. "Wanna wait here or go- Tim, wait for me!" His younger brother was already down the stairs when they saw Jason outside.

"What are you two dimwits doing here?" Jason asked, actually surprised to see them there.

"Y/n forgot her phone." Tim said, pulling out your phone. "She's not home. We're going to her college."

Jason's brows furrowed. "Why? She doesn't have classes today. We were supposed to meet for breakfast."

Dick couldn't help but feel slightly jealous of your relationship with Jason. Were you always this close to him? And why Jason, he was home far less than any of them.

Jason moved past them to your apartment, a spare key in his hand. "Maybe she just doesn't want to see you two."

Again, Dick couldn't help the envy that creeped up on him at the sight of Jason using a spare key to let himself in, the feeling only intensifying when he spotted many frames with pictures of you and Jason together.

After checking the whole place, you weren't there. Now, it was time for Jason to start panicking, as he asked them what happened at the manor, and he blew up at them as well for pissing you off like that.

When they had confirmed that you weren't in college or had ever returned to the city yesterday, they all went into panic mode as they informed Bruce about you going missing.

They all rushed back to Gotham, where Bruce had already pulled up CCTV footage of the place where you were last seen, hearts dropping when they saw someone come up from behind and knock you out, before kidnapping you. But no matter how much they searched for you, how many goons they beat up, they couldn't find you.

It is during this time that their yandere tendencies start to develop.

And it wasn't until a week later when they received a hint about your whereabouts, and they finally found you, in a warehouse, chained to the ceiling, a shock collar around your neck, all bruised and beaten because come on, Joker ain't gonna go easy on you.

The torture he subjected you to, it was almost comparable to the one Jason had to suffer. You were unnervingly still, and they couldn't help but wonder whether you were... dead.

That was until the shock collar went off and you screamed as your body jolted, Joker's manically laughing in the shadows.

"She's a tough one, much better than the wannabe Robin! I've been shocking her, waterboarding her, whipping her all week but she refused to tell me your real identities! I was starting to believe her when she said she didn't know, but it's just fun seeing her writhe in pain-!"

They beat Joker up, while one of them takes the collar and chains off you. You'd passed out from pain and exhaustion, and when you woke up, you were back in your room at the manor. While you were unconscious, Jason did end up revealing about how you actually did know about them being vigilantes, further intensifying their guilt and increasing their yandere tendencies, after all they do realise how they've failed to protect you.

So the story from here progresses on to when reader is actually forced by the family to stay in the manor to heal, all while their need to protect you increases the more you refuse their help.

When your injuries have healed and you're ready to leave, but they don't let you. Bruce tries to approach you, gently telling you that you need to be at home with your family, where you're safe. He wants one more chance at righting all his wrongs, he won't shy away- he admits he's made mistakes in the past with you. You back away when he tries to come closer to you.

"You don't get to choose to make up for your mistakes when you feel guilty, not when I had to spend all those years learning to live with your horrible parenting."

Tim spoke up next, telling you to just listen to what he has to say, but you cut him off with a dismissive hand.

"This is how you used to brush me away whenever I came to you, like I was some sort of fly, always too busy, too much of a hassle to even reply to a simple hello. So, why should I give you my time of the day now?"

Dick tries the comforting approach too, surely you don't hate him as much since he wasn't even around that much in the first place to cause you any hurt, promising you that he will do better this time. But you shut him down quickly too.

"I was never a priority for you then. I used to sit on these stairs, waiting for you day and night to finally be able to spend time with you. I know better by now than to trust your false promises."

Damian had a melt down next because you insulted his favourite brother. He went off on you that you never had to suffer through the same trauma as he or any of them did. How it's unfair that you don't give them another chance, how you don't understand that the Wayne's aren't a perfect family because of all the horrible things they've had to and still do go through on a daily basis.

You stared at him for a few moments before replying.

"I was almost r*ped."

The room went deadly silent, Bruce's mouth agape, Damian's eyes widening, while Dick and Tim turned pale.

"The night we went to that gala, you guys all left without me. I was pulled in an alley, mugged and almost r*ped if it weren't for Jason." You chuckled dryly. "What's worse is that none of you even bothered to call me, or even noticed that I hadn't returned home that night. I could've been dead in a ditch and none of you would've noticed for months, if not years." You wiped the tear that escaped your eye. "None of you attended my graduation, none of you noticed I had left for college, not until I sent a cheque to Bruce. I've buried you all in my past, and if it helps you sleep at night, I have forgiven you as well but I will never forget."

You looked at Damian. "And just because you've gone through some shit Damian, doesn't mean I'm undeserving of love and respect. I've experienced traumatising incidents too but the difference between you and me is that I don't use them an excuse to be a fucking dickhead."

You heard a car honk from outside. "Jason's here to drive me home- my home."

But before you could take another step, Tim had injected you with something. You jumped back, holding the puncture wound on your neck.

"W-what did you do?!" You yelled at him, and Tim only shrugged. "What's necessary."

You heard another honk, and this time, you opened your mouth to yell for Jason, only to have a hand slap over your mouth, muffling your screams for help. It was Dick, as he quickly wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to his chest, dragging you away from the door as Bruce ordered Tim to put the whole house on lock down mode (essentially an impenetrable fortress), while Damian went outside to release his anger on Jason, both for failing as a brother to you (not that he'd ever admit it) and for Jason being clearly your favourite.

And from here on, you're being constantly coddled by the batfam (except for Jason since he does actually want to save u from the batfam). Bruce is always the first one to greet you every morning, and if you're still asleep when he comes, he might get away with patting your hair without you flinching away. He'd greet you, tell you he's expecting you to join him downstairs for breakfast. You simply turn your back to him, pulling the covers over your head, not bothering to reply to him, hoping to catch a break in this goddamn house.

You're only able to spare yourself for a few moments before the covers are yanked off you and you're greeted by the cheery voice of Dick. "Good morning, baby bird!" He'd yell before pulling you up and of the bed by your arms, and then to his chest, spinning you around as you try to escape his crushing grip. He's not fazed at all, mostly because he views you as a tiny little feral kitten who just needs a lot of love and snuggles. He drags you down for breakfast, everyone else already seated. You're seated between Dick and Bruce so that you can't run away, and also because Bruce makes it a habit of talking to you on various topics, usually about the book he'd leave on your bed. You would talk to him at first, but after a few weeks, you got bored with the silent treatment.

If its Dick's day with you, he spends most of the time trying to do anything and everything. No activity is off the table. Baking? Hell yes, but he's the only one who laughs after he intentionally throws flour at your face and fails at starting a food fight when you just leave. You wanna play board games? He's pulled out every board game in history and he very obviously let's you win. Movie night? He's build a fort (that he claims you two built together. You didn't, you just stood there while he built it.) And has all the classic films, pulls you close so that he can nuzzle his cheek with yours (again, not fazed by you trying to scratch his face off). Sometimes, he'd even bring you to the gymnasium (because Bruce can afford to build one in his house), where he lowkey forces you to learn about gymnastics, but at least he's a good spotter, cause you never get hurt.

If its Tim's day with you, he makes you spend the whole day just... with him. Look he's sleep deprived, he's lanky, he doesn't have a lot of energy like Dick or Damian, but what he does have is... perseverance. Tim will literally handcuff you to him if it means making sure you stay by his side. If he's getting coffee, youre getting coffee with him (he makes you a cup). If he's sleeping, you're right there, either get comfy and sleep next to him, or stay up and be bored because he's dead asleep. If he's in the batcave reviewing CCTV footage, you're there with him all day and even nights. He just wants to the remorse of dismissing you before to go, almost like he's trying to make up for all the time he wasn't there when you needed him, to now being in your business every second of the day.

If its Damian's turn with you, he's... weird. He doesn't actively make you do anything with him, it's more like having you observe him. He'd have you sit on the side and watch him train for hours on the end, rudely refusing to let you go do something else, or even train with him. He's playing with Titus? You're supposed to be watching him teach Titus tricks. He's going for a walk? No, you're the one who's walking while he's running laps past you. It's like he's trying to impress you to make up for his shitty words and behaviour.

As for Bruce, he likes to spend his time with you on a schedule. Have breakfast with him, then go on a jog around the estate, then accompany him to his home office where he works while you do college work (because obv, he shifted you to online education), and he definitely annoys you by standing over you while you study, not helping you until you ask for it but also not leaving so you feel intimidated under his stare and continue to make mistakes. Then have lunch at noon, followed by him giving you a puzzle or one of those fake crime files to solve, he likes to stimulate your brain and see how it works. This activity takes time so by the time you're done, Alfred has prepared supper. You both have dinner and then you both go to the library to read, because he wants to something less stimulating to the mind as your bedtime nears. Then he tucks you in bed, sits by your side and gives you a lot of positive affirmations (which he picked up from the parenting books in his library), before kissing the top of your head and leaving.

As for Jason, since he still insists on "saving" you, he's not allowed to see you. He can try breaking in all he want, he can't outsmart the Batman.

Or can he?

I had to type this on mobile with henna on my hands.

Yall better be grateful.

[widowlyy]

im such a sucker for mob boss!nat because like, badass woman who can kill someone quickly, but i've been thinking of serialkiller!nat with innocent!bestfriend!reader. Like hear me out real quick? You're completely oblivious to who the woman beside you is, she works alone, and word has spread that there's a killer on the loose and whats more odd? Its people you all know that went missing to be found dead in the city. Your poor neighbor is gone; you found out she was killed when the police came by to interview you and you were shaken and in tears because not only was your neighbor the sweetest, she brought treats like cookies and pie over because you struggled to cook sweet treats. After the police were gone Natasha shows up afterwards everytime to soothe you. Imagine Natasha asking you frequently weird questions like, "What would you feel if I slaughtered you right now?" And you do nothing but try to laugh it off, anxious enough to go "Funny joke," and you don't even know she's joking. But she always affirms at the end, "Don't worry princess, I'd never kill you," And you totally believe her because Natasha has grown to be the woman in your circle, the first person to go to when a situation rises at work, the person to go to when your friends ghost you (after they get terrifying messages from a blocked number with threats about interacting with you) and its always her that you end up cuddling with at the end of movie nights and refuse to let her go because this? This is all she wants. Just you. It also isn't the fact that she is always there when you aren't in the right mindset, you feel shitty and wanna end it all? Natasha randomly shows up and does stupid activities with you. And she shows up with your favorite snacks And the only time you find out is when she takes advantage of your drunk mind, and shes lazily thrusting her fingers up into your cunt and all you hear is, "Mmm, I wonder how your friends would've felt if they were in my position right now. But it's too bad they can't, I had to forcibly get rid of those who was in my way, blood in my hands or not," and you're too even cumdrunk to even recognize what she said, too focused on the pleasure that she openly admitted to killing all of those close to you. ugh, i might write this, might not.

[dixons-sunshine]

js read your shopping spree and dying for your haircut fics and omg

can u pretty please, with a bow on top, write another part to that series or like an au where they get separated at the fall of the world and a few season later (preferably that prison era of daryl he was so fawking sexy there like omg) they found each other again and i want some build up to their reunion yk like someone else finds r and brings them in and some ppl kinda chatting abt the new girl or wtv and dars not rlly gaf cuz he kinda getting tired of trying to find r (realistically i don’t think he’d give up easily but let’s js pretend yk) but then they see each other and they’re like omfg the love of my life’s here and safe and like i need that glenn and maggie type reunion but like tenfold bc r and dar alr loved and knew each other before the fall yk and like yeah😣

idky but i’m a sucker for “r and daryl had a relationship beforehand, got separated, and reunited” trope (?) fic, blurb shit and you’d literally be godsent if u wrote this oml

I Found You | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: When the dead started to rise and the world went to hell, Daryl got seperated from you, the love of his life. After over a year of searching for you and finding no evidence of your survival, Daryl was beginning to give up and count his losses. One day, Carol stumbled upon a wounded woman while out on a run with Glenn, and the two of them decide to accept you into the prison. Little did they know, that would end up being one of the best decisions they could've ever made.

Genre: Angst to fluff.

Era: Prison, pre season 4, post season 3.

Warnings: Swearing, blood, death, mentions of attempted sexual assault (not descriptive)

Word count: 4.3k

A/n: Thank you so much for the request! I've decided to write the au since there's already a part three for the SSHD (Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams) universe in the works, but this request was way too good to not write. I hope you like it! And I absolutely agree with you. There's something about prison era Daryl that just hits different. He was on another level completely.

As always, my requests are open for any TWD requests.

(Just thought I'd say that both third- and second person is used. I referred to the reader in third  person when Glenn and Carol first met her, but it soon shifts to second person when she introduced herself. Just thought I'd let y'all know the shift is intentional.)

—

“Okay, so I can't guess what you did before all of this correctly, but I bet there is something that I will be right about.”

Daryl looked at Zach skeptically as they trudged through the abandoned store, looking for supplies to bring back to the prison. “Yeah? Wha's tha'?”

“You're brooding, quiet, you like to keep to yourself,” Zach started, leaning nonchalantly against one of the shelves while he watched the archer place multiple different packs and boxes into his bag. “The way you act most of the time would suggest you've never been in a relationship before, but there are clear signs that you were with someone before all of this.”

Daryl stiffened for a moment, his hand lingering above a pack, before regaining his composure and continuing his task. “Wha' signs?”

“Well, for one, you know exactly what kind of tampons and pads to get for the ladies at the prison. I would've just dumped everything in and have them sort through it, but you are only taking specific brands,” Zach pointed out, motioning to the box of tampons Daryl had just put back onto the shelf.

When Daryl didn't reply, Zach took that as his cue to continue. “And while we're on the topic of periods, you seem to know exactly what to get the girls for the pain and what to do to curve their bad tempers. What guy would know that if he didn't have a girlfriend before all of this? And to top it all off, and this is totally unrelated to everything I just said, I've seen that locket necklace you keep in your pocket. It's pretty worn out and faded, but you can definitely tell it's something from this generation, so it can't be something that was passed down from a relative, so that brings me to my conclusion. You, Daryl Dixon, had a girl before all of this.”

Daryl sighed, shutting his eyes tightly as he willed the onslaught of memories away. Memories that were too painful to think of, memories that did nothing but remind the archer of his failure. His failure at finding you, the love of his life, after the dead started walking. A failure he had to live with for as long as he remained alive.

Daryl opened his eyes and turned abruptly, leaving the young man behind him as he stalked towards the exit, his bag slung over his shoulder. Zach hurriedly caught up to him, struggling to keep at a steady pace beside him as Daryl strode quickly, wanting to put some distance between him and Zach.

“Woah, man! Slow down!” Zach complained, jogging to keep up with him. “Was it because I brought up the girl thing? I didn't realise it was a touchy subject.”

“It ain't none of yer damn business,” Daryl grumbled under his breath, stalking over to the truck him and Zach were using that day.

“Daryl! Come on, man. It's not that deep.”

Daryl gritted his teeth as he opened up the driver's side door of the truck, throwing his bag into the back before climbing inside. He started up the truck and revved the engine, a warning sign to Zach that he was about to leave, with or without him.

Zach hurriedly scurried into the passenger seat, barely having time to close the door before Daryl started speeding off. He gripped the edge of his seat, sending Daryl an exasperated look.

“Daryl, what the hell? Calm down!” he exclaimed, unnerved by the archer's sudden burst of fury. He'd seen Daryl angry before, but it was never directed towards him. It was downright scary.

“'M calm,” Daryl replied through gritted teeth, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“That's what you call calm?!” Zach exclaimed, motioning out towards the road. “You're driving like a maniac! Slow down!”

Daryl simply ignored the man, keeping his eyes trained on the road. Memories of you unwillingly flooded his mind. Memories of your smile, your laugh and your beautiful eyes. Memories of the calm mornings you'd spend with the archer in your shared sad excuse for an apartment where the hot water was a joke. Memories where you'd both stand under the cold water of the shower, Daryl embracing you from behind in an attempt to make the cold water bearable for you. Memories of your loving touch on his skin, your fingers lightly tracing over the scars on his back as you whispered reassuring things into his ear, assuring him that his father's abuse had nothing to do with him, that it wasn't his fault that any of that happened to him.

The more Daryl's mind wandered, the more he remembered some of the bad memories. All those arguments you had with him over some of his escapades with Merle, telling him that it would only get him into trouble, flooded his mind. One of those arguments ended up being the reason he got seperated from you in the first place.

Merle had wanted to go do some drug deal and had barged into your apartment, practically dragging Daryl from your bed. You had begged him not to go, arguing with him that it was a bad idea and that something would go wrong this time. He remembered being so angry at you for insisting during that argument that Merle wasn't good for him, that he needed to cut back on seeing him or set some boundaries with him. He had stormed out of the apartment without so much as a goodbye, and now he regretted it more than he's regretted anything before in his life.

Daryl blamed himself daily for not having listened to you that day. If he had, he never would've been seperated from you and you would've been safe by his side. He longed to have you by his side again, to tell you that he was sorry and that he loved you. However, even after all this time of searching, going out for extended periods of time to look for signs of you, it was to no avail. You were gone, and it was all his fault.

“Daryl? Are... you okay?”

Daryl snapped back to reality at the sound of Zach's concerned voice. He felt a droplet of water roll down his cheek and he hurriedly wiped it away, realising that he was crying. He hadn't even realised that tears had started to well up in his eyes, so immersed was he in his own thoughts.

“'M fine,” Daryl insisted, wiping his eyes hurriedly as he willed the tears away.

Zach furrowed his eyebrows, before realisation dawned on him. “You did have a girl before all of this. You lost her, didn't you?” he asked sympathetically.

Daryl hesitantly nodded, swallowing in an attempt to get rid of the lump in his throat. “I didn't lose her,” he began, bringing the truck to a halt in front of the prison gates as he waited for someone to open them.

“I don't know if she's even dead at all. She's just... Gone.”

—

“What are we looking for, exactly?” Glenn asked Carol as they scanned over the shelving of an abandoned pharmacy, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Carol sighed as she looked upon yet another empty shelf, its medical contents a thing of the past. “Anything medical. With all the new people we've been taking in, the supplies we have aren't going to be enough.”

“Okay,” Glenn drawled hesitantly. “But it doesn't look like there's anything worth scavenging here.”

“Let's just do a once over before we check the back. If there's nothing, we head on back. It's getting late,” Carol instructed. Glenn nodded, and the two of them dispersed to sweep through the small store once more.

“So,” Glenn started. “Is it just me, or has Daryl been more grumpy than usual?”

Carol hummed in agreement. “He has. He gets angry at the smallest of things lately.”

“Do you know why?”

“No,” Carol said, shaking her head. “I've asked him, but he won't say anything. Just tells me to mind my own business. It's really odd. He's more like he was back at the quarry. More closed off and snappy and I don't know why.”

“It's ever since he came back from that run with Zach a week ago,” Glenn replied, meeting up with the Carol again to go into the back room. “I've asked Zach if he knows why, but he refused to say anything. Says it's not his place to say.”

Carol frowned, opening the door that lead into the back room. “That's odd. So that means something—”

“Stay right there. Don't move another inch or I swear to god I'll shoot.”

Both Carol and Glenn froze in their tracks. They looked up and locked eyes with a woman, who's eyes were fiery as they darted between them.

“Names. Now. And weapons on the ground.”

“Okay, alright,” Carol responded, trying to diffuse the situation. She slowly lowered her gun and knife to the ground, urging Glenn to do the same. “I'm Carol, and this is Glenn. Now before we answer anymore questions, what's your name?”

The woman hesitated for a moment. “Y/n. What are you doing here?”

“We were looking for some supplies,” Carol spoke truthfully, eyeing the gun aimed at her carefully. “We're running low on medical things.”

After a couple of long, tense moments, with you scanning them from head to toe, you nodded to yourself after spotting something. Deciding to trust them for now, you slowly lowered the gun. However, you quietly hissed in pain, quickly clutching your side as you stumbled to regain your balance. After you steadied yourself, you limped over to your bag and grabbed a few things before handing them over to Carol and Glenn.

“Here. Hope these help. The place was ransacked when I got here. Wasn't a lot left to clear out.”

“Thank you, but we need more than this. This isn't going to last us long,” Carol responded, placing the items into her bag.

“No offence, lady, but I think I need the supplies more than you do at the moment. And I gave you more than half already. I can't spare more,” you said, clutching your side tightly.

“What happened?” Glenn asked, pointing to the your side, unable to stop his curiosity from seeping through.

“Flesh eaters,” you replied nonchalantly, shrugging your shoulders. “I was fighting a bunch of them when one lunged at me from the side. It toppled me through a broken window, and a shard sliced me.”

“Don't you have a group? Couldn't they help you?” Glenn questioned.

“Nope. I've been on my own since this whole thing started. I guess I should probably find a group, though. Things like this wouldn't happen if I had backup.”

You gingerly lifted your shirt, and both Carol and Glenn grimaced at the painful sight. The wound was deep and oozing blood. It would definitely need stitches, as well as someone to remove the remaining fragments of glass that still painfully stuck out of the wound. It was terrible. You wouldn't be able to get it all out without a professional.

Suddenly, an idea struck Carol. “You gave us some of the supplies you scavenged without even knowing us. Why?”

“Well, you didn't try to kill me, even after I held you at gunpoint. And by the looks of it, you guys have a group and are set up somewhere. Figured I should do the honourable thing and offer up some medical things if there's kids involved.”

“How do you know there's kids?” Glenn asked, confused.

“I can see the toys in your bag,” you pointed out, motioning to the toy truck that stuck out of the top of his bag. “Figured that adults wouldn't be playing with toy trucks while the world was ending.”

“Still, why would you? You don't owe us anything,” Carol questioned, though her mind was already set on one thing.

“Some might call me naive, but I hope that by doing some good in this fucked up world, karma will decide to do something good for me. That probably makes me stupid as shit, huh?” you replied, laughing before wincing at the pain that shot through your side at the small action.

Carol smiled at you. “We have a group set up not too far from here, at the prison. You can join if you want, but you have to answer three questions first.”

You raised your eyebrows at her. “Three questions? That's it?”

“Yeah.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Alright, shoot.”

“How many walkers have you killed?” Carol began, watching you closely.

“A lot. Too many to keep track of at this point.”

“How many people have you killed?”

You hesitated for a moment, guilt creeping up on you. “Three.”

“Why?”

“Two of them were bit. They asked me to kill them. The other one... That bastard tried to rape me. I wouldn't let him.”

“I'm sorry,” Glenn said sympathetically.

“It's fine. I'm fine,” you waved him off, before turning your attention back to Carol. “How'd I do? Satisfactory enough?”

Carol nodded. “For me, yes. You'll still need to meet the leader and have him evaluate you, but I think you'll be alright. You'll fit in just fine.”

“Hopefully,” you laughed nervously, instantly paying the price for it with a sharp pain shooting up your side, making you visibly wince.

“Come on, let's get going. We have a doctor who can get that checked out for you,” Glenn prompted. He walked over to you and grabbed your bag, stopping your protest instantly. “It's fine, I've got it. One extra bag won't kill me.”

Together, all of you made your way out of the pharmacy and over to their car. You got settled in the back while Carol and Glenn got into the front, and before long you were setting off to the prison. Your eyes were beginning to droop, but Glenn seemed eager to get to know the new recruit better.

“What were you doing out there on your own anyway?”

“I was looking for my boyfriend. I was hoping that he might still be alive.”

“No luck?” he asked.

“No,” you shook your head, pursing your lips. “I'm beginning to think I might never find him, if he's even still alive.”

“Never say never,” Glenn encouraged you. “You'll find him someday, I know it.”

“I really hope so.”

—

“Have you seen that new chick Glenn and Carol brought back? She's a real looker.”

“I know, right? You think she's into blondes?”

“Even if she was, I doubt she'd go for your scrawny ass.”

“Easy, boys. She might not even be into guys. I could have a shot with her for all you know.”

Daryl groaned inwardly as he entered the cellblock. The new girl that Glenn and Carol brought in the day before was seemingly the hottest topic of discussion amongst everyone and he couldn't escape it, no matter where he tried to run to. Nobody, apart from Glenn, Carol, Rick and Hershel have officially met her, yet everybody had seemingly already formed an opinion about her. Although there were a lot of different opinions, everyone seemingly agreed on one thing; the new girl was hotter than hell.

Daryl was the only guy in the entire prison that hadn't seen her yet. He was out hunting when Carol and Glenn brought her back and he hasn't bothered to go out of his way to introduce himself to her ever since he got back. He'd meet her soon enough and he wasn't hoping to make friends with her. The more people he managed to keep at arm's length, the better.

“Yo, Daryl. What do you think about the new chick?” a guy called Mitchell asked him, snapping him from his thoughts.

Daryl shrugged. “Ain't met her yet,” he replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Okay, but have you seen her?” another guy called Ronnie asked. “I'm telling you, man, hotter than the sun on a summer day. I'm hoping she'll let me hit at least once.”

“How 'bout ya leave the poor girl alone?” Daryl snapped, turning to face the group that was walking with him. “She ain't even been here two days and y'all are already ogling her like she's some prize to be won. Have some more respect.”

“Jeez,” Mitchell whistled. “What's got your panties up in a bunch?”

“Nothin',” Daryl muttered angrily, turning around to walk further into the cellblock. “Jus' wanna get this fuckin' job done and all y'all can do is yap 'bout some girl ya dun' even know properly. I dun' give two flyin' shits 'bout who or wha' ya talk 'bout, but do it after the job's done. Y'all ain't free loadin' here. Do yer job, earn yer keep.”

“Sorry,” a girl called Ariana muttered, sending him an apologetic look. “What do you need us to do?”

“Take those planks over there and take em to the guard tower. Rick wants to fortify it and wants it done by the end of the week.”

“What are you gonna do?” Ronnie asked, crossing his arms as he sized Daryl up.

Daryl glared at him and squared his shoulders, looking down on his shorter, scrawny frame. “Hershel needs help with somethin'. I believe ya can understand tha' if the doctor needs somethin' done, it's considered top priority?”

Ronnie shrunk under Daryl's intense glare, nodding quickly. “Yeah, of course.”

“Great.”

With that, Daryl turned on his heel and set off to find Hershel. He didn't have to search far, however, because Hershel halted him before he could go outside.

“Daryl, over here,” the old man called after him, halting him in his tracks.

Daryl turned and walked over to Hershel, nodding at him respectfully. “Wha' ya need, Doc?”

“I'm sure you've heard of the girl Carol and Glenn brought back yesterday by now?” Hershel questioned, chuckling at the slight groan Daryl emitted.

“Who hasn't? Apparently she's really good lookin'. Her looks has been all people has to say 'bout her.”

Hershel nodded. “Unfortunately, that is true. Only Rick, Glenn, Carol and myself has had the pleasure of meeting her personally up until this point. She's a lovely woman. Had no problem that there wasn't anything to ease the pain when I had to stitch her side and she's more than willing to get up and start working to earn her keep. She won't be able to for at least another day or so since her side needs to heal up a bit first, but Carol and Glenn did good with bringing her back. She'll fit right in.”

“Good,” Daryl nodded. “She a good fighter?”

“From what I understand, she's been out on her own since the beginning. She's not dead yet, so I'd say she's alright,” Hershel replied, adjusting on his crutches.

“Alrigh', now enough 'bout her. Wha' did ya need me to do?”

Hershel gave him an encouraging pat on the back, confusing the archer. “You're going to be one of the very few people who gets to say they met the new girl for the next couple of days. I was hoping you could help her fix her bunk? One of the legs on the bunk broke and she's dead set on repairing it. She won't let me help because she keeps insisting I've done enough for her, so I told her I would send someone else to help. She'll be expecting you.”

Daryl pursed his lips but nodded, parting ways with the older man. He walked over to the cell that Hershel had pointed towards and stopped at the doorway, hesitating to make his presence known.

You had your back turned towards the door, hunched over as you inspected the leg of the bunk. You weren't aware of the archer that stood a few feet behind you, engrossed entirely in your own thoughts. That was, until he spoke up behind you.

“Hey. Hershel said ya needed help?”

You froze at the voice, willing the supposed hallucination away. You slowly rose to your feet and turned, locking eyes with the one person you've been searching for since the world went to hell—your boyfriend, Daryl Dixon.

The moment Daryl locked eyes with you, a whirlwind of emotions flooded his being. Relief, love, happiness, wonder, sadness, confusion and so much more that he couldn't decipher. Although his first instinct was to wrap you in his arms and never let go of you again, he hesitated, refusing to believe you were real. He took a step back, his eyes wide as he looked at you.

You stared back at him with equal amounts of disbelief. You took a hesitant step forward. “Daryl?” you whispered. The man in front of you looked slightly different; a little bit older and his hair was longer, but there was no mistaking it. The man in front of you was Daryl.

Daryl remained silent, his eyes locked on you as you continued to take agonizingly slow steps towards him. He watched as you stopped in front of him and hesitantly raised your hand, bringing it to rest on his cheek. Daryl instantly melted into your familiar soft touch, and that was all the confirmation he needed. Without another thought, he gently grabbed you and pulled you into his arms, tightly clinging to you as he pressed multiple kisses to the top of your head.

“Yer real,” he whispered, a laugh of amazement falling from his lips. “Yer real. Yer alive. Yer actually still alive.”

You laughed quietly against his chest as you held onto him tightly, never wanting to let go ever again. Your laughter soon turned into sobs, tears of relief and happiness falling from your eyes.

“I thought I'd never see you again,” you whispered through your tears, burying your face into his chest. “I thought you were dead, Dar.”

“'M here,” he whispered into your ear, a few tears of his own falling from his eyes. “'M alive. Yer alive. 'M never lettin' ya go ever again. 'M sorry I ever left tha' day in the first place.”

“It's okay. I'm sorry, too. I never should've asked you to cut Merle out of your life. He's your brother. It was unreasonable of me.”

“Nah, it wasn't,” he denied, placing another gentle kiss on the top of your head. “Ya were jus' lookin' out fer me. I never shoulda gotten mad at ya in the first place.”

“Let bygones be bygones?” you whispered against his chest.

Daryl chuckled before nodding. “Yeah, of course.”

The two of you held onto each other for a couple of moments longer until you pulled back. Daryl was about to voice his protest until you pressed your lips against his in an urgent kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. His arms settled on your waist, pulling you closer into him as he kissed you back. There was no lustful hunger behind the kiss—there was only love and longing, two broken parts finally reuniting and mending together as one.

Daryl pulled back and placed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. “I missed ya so much,” he whispered, willing the lump in his throat to go away.

“I missed you too. More than you even know,” you replied, cupping Daryl's cheek with one of your hands. “But I found you. I finally found you.”

Daryl leaned into your touch before turning his head to kiss the palm of your hand. However, he soon pulled away from you and strode over to your bag, slinging it over your shoulder.

“C'mon,” he said, taking your hand in his as he pulled you to walk beside him.

“Where are we going?” you questioned, falling into step beside the man you loved.

“There ain't no need fer ya to sleep in there. Yer gonna sleep with me in my cell,” Daryl said simply, pulling you along to his cell.

You giggled but said nothing, silently following him into his cell. When he placed your bags down on the floor, Daryl placed a soft kiss on your lips before stalking out of the cell.

“Where are you going?” you called after him, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion.

“'M gonna find tha' prick who objectified ya and teach him a lesson. Yer hot as fuck, yes, that much I can accept people sayin', but Ronnie implied he wanted to sleep with ya outrigh'. He's really gonna regret sayin' tha' in a few moments. Dun' even try to talk me outta it.”

“Hey, Dar?” you called after him, halting him in his tracks. “I love you.”

Daryl smiled at you. “I definitely love ya more.”

[romanoffsbish]

Y/N (Natasha’s Version)

Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Natasha x Bucky (blip / referenced)

Warnings: “Cheating” | Underage Drinking | Internalized Homophobia

Request | You heard the rumors from Darcy, unfortunately they were true—Natasha missed you, so she showed up at your party | WC: 2,799

Betty by Taylor Swift, sapphic canon not just coded and slightly aged up to the start of college (18+)

As the car rolled away, Natasha felt her throat constrict. Where there once was a sunset on the horizon, in blush waves of pink and orange, she only saw an apocalyptic sky where red slowly bled into grey.

——

The perfectly paved streets restored to their prior days as the pre-gentrified road of your shared Brooklyn suburb became her current hallucination. Tied to the tail pipe of your mother's beaten down corolla was her heart, thumping against the cracked pavement. The natural gaps in the organ were filled by pebbles. As the car disappeared she felt shattered, the string pulling her heart had broken and the organ fell into a pothole.

Is it over now? No, Natasha couldn't face that...

As your mom's Tesla turned left the redhead let the sob she had been holding in out. Her body collapsed into a shroud of darkness as her blackout curtains shut, the blankets atop of her mattress moved to suffocate her.

Good, she wanted to die; she knew she was being dramatic but in this moment it felt like her barely even an adult world had ended. Her hit list was growing steadily, first she would kill Wanda, her idiot best friend that posted the photo of her with Bucky.

They were awkwardly kissing, and the redhead deleted it from her stories in a matter of minutes, but it was too late. Darcy saw it, the mutual friend who moved to the same city as she had, and she blabbed instantly. The woman called Jane, who then confirmed that there was actual proof this time before she phoned you in.

Natasha returned to town just in time to see the one consequence she never pondered when experimenting; your face was neutral, but your eyes were crestfallen.

It was just a stupid experience she needed to have, a short summer fling, it lasted not even two weeks. It was reckless and she knows that now. You'd slapped her hand away just days ago, then in a split second she found out from Yelena that you were going to NYU.

The blonde saw you at her late orientation for those stellar high school students interested in an early start. Natasha cried that night knowing you were leaving, you wouldn't be taking the gap year with her anymore.

Your heart was attached to her line, and she never considered that she should've just talked to you. It should have occurred to her that you would be upset. Considering the two of you were together, in a sense; not exactly girlfriends, but far more than friends.

Natasha regretted the affair as soon as it started, but she just needed to know if her Russian parents, who were raised back home were ready for her truth.

James was a total gentleman, her parents would've loved him since the young boy was affluent with Russian and the culture, but he wasn't the right fit. Natasha knew that after one attempt at kissing him, his lips were gruff and his hands were just the same as they roamed her form, the touch filled her with dread.

Unlike yours, which never came without words of confirmation and were soft when granted permission. Natasha found immense comfort at the feeling of your pillowy soft lips against hers alongside your gentle roaming hands. It went beyond the physical touch too, which really only served to prove to her she was a raging lesbian. When she looked into Bucky's ice blue eyes she felt nothing, not even a tether of friendship, but with you she felt that obnoxious fluttering in her stomach, and the world she saw were more vibrant.

Every time you were near her body and mind felt serene, like she could rest around you without the unease she felt around most. Everything was different now and she felt it deep within. You're gone, and with you left the comfort and love she needed to breathe.

That night, as sleep inevitably consumed her tortured mind Natasha found herself determined to fix this. It was a misunderstanding—you'd understand, right?

——

A week had gone by, Yelena had mentioned how she ran into you at the cafe where you treated her to a hot cocoa. Not allowing the turmoil with Natasha to affect the way you approached her little sister. It had warmed her heart and even made her smile, then the blonde sarcastically mentioned that you looked sad, her harsh delivery sought to remind her sister it was her fault.

Though she didn't leave her with only the reminder of her shortcomings, but also of an opportunity to amend.

"There's a frat party this weekend, Y/N's going."

Which is why Natasha was racing down the stairs at 8pm on a Saturday. Normally you two would be cuddled up in her bed, watching your favorite show while surrounded by every snack known to man. The party lifestyle never appealed to either of you and a part of her ached as she wondered why you're going.

How deeply did her betrayal change your outlook on life? Did her foolish decision make you think you needed to change? Were you afraid you weren't lively enough? Fuck, did you intend to move on tonight?

Natasha shook her head when she heard a honk, the depressing thoughts having consumed her into a state where she was mindlessly driving. Fortunately, she didn't hit anyone and was able to focus her mind long enough to make it to the college where she saw chaos.

Bodies of various students bustled across the campus quad, some in the direction of the main buildings but majority of them headed to a road far off to the side of the grand lecture halls. On the left side were rather large houses painted in varied shades of pastel, they were clearly well maintained. On the right stood a parallel set of houses, but the paint job was dull and there were pieces missing from many of the fixtures.

What stood out most though, was the black house in the center of them all, currently surrounded by idiots with red solo cups in their hands. The bulk of them laughing at the joke another drunken fool had made.

Natasha cringed when a body collided into hers, and as if things couldn't be worse she recognized the woman, Darcy. The raven haired woman stood in shock for a split second before offering the familiar face a smile. It was lopsided and it was clear the woman was faded.

Natasha was annoyed initially, but quickly saw the woman as a means to an end. "Where's Y/N?"

The woman pursed her lips and shrugged. "Inside?"

As she should've expected, the blabbing stoner only offered information to others when it wasn't helpful. Natasha passive aggressively pushed by her and took the risk of entering the house full of underage bodies.

Loads of upperclassmen foolishly tried to stop her on her determined journey to you, but most were met with bruised nuts alongside their cowering egos. In a matter of thirty minutes she had checked the entirety of the cloudy building and a part of her beamed at that.

You were nowhere to be found, her heart hoped that you'd returned to the dorm she finessed out of Yelena.

There was a nervous flutter in her chest that brought her frantic searching to a pause and made her mouth run dry. A pang of fear that paralyzed her body in place as she now considered the endless possible outcomes.

Would you even open the door if you knew it was her?

The redhead was sure you didn't have peepholes but there's the likely chance of you slamming the door shut in her face, that felt worse. Not nearly as bad as her next thought, what if you were exploring too, just like she had with Bucky? Her hands became shaky at the hypocritical unease she felt about you moving on.

In her nervous state she took a sip of the punch before she promptly spit it back out into the red solo cup. If she wasn't nauseated before she sure as hell was now. A water bottle was just in her reach, properly cold and a perfect cure to wash away the disgust on her tongue. Just as she began to unscrew the lid though she found herself frozen again as she heard a familiar giggle.

Natasha's head spun to the left side then the right. A blur of pointless people filled her vision before she found the source of the laughter—her happiness.

Stood directly across the room, in a gorgeous red dress with a familiar leather jacket hanging loosely over your likely bare shoulders. Her cheeks tinted pink, a sense of relief nearly washed over her at the notion of you potentially not hating her like she feared. Then she frowned, you wore a bright smile as you sipped on a juice box. It warmed the heart of your once secret lover to see you looking so carefree, a stark contrast to the last time, just like she always remembered you to be.

This time though, you were enraptured by a stupid jock, they bore an uncanny resemblance to herself that made her stomach swoop with a fragile sense of hope.

If you looked for her in another, she stood a chance, even if it was microscopic and not guaranteed. Right?

Yes or no, it didn't matter. Natasha would not go down without a fight, she once beat off an entire group of boys for taunting you, she'd gladly do it again for you.

Fortunately for the redhead she wouldn't have to. It was like something out of a movie the way your eyes locked with hers, the sounds became muted and you felt a dull flutter in your stomach where it used to be a roaring surge of butterflies to symbolize a deep love. A swarm of tears hung at the edge of your lashes and the massive room suddenly became too claustrophobic.

Natasha didn't question it as you took off, nor did she hesitate to dart after you as you aimlessly ran out the back door and stumbled upon an unexpected garden.

Who knew the dude bros also bore green thumbs?

Natasha found you sobbing over their patch of carrots and couldn't refrain from softly chuckling. Even in your grief you were finding a way to be useful and it filled her with nostalgia, it was just so inherently you.

Once your eyes shot up to hers, narrowed and enraged she realized she wasn't as quiet as she thought. "Fuck off Natasha." The joy on her face neutralized as she fell to her knees in front of you, her instinct was to reach out—to pull you in, but with words left unsaid and your clear disdain verbalized she knew it was best not to.

Every other time she'd seen you cry she held you close, but in this moment all she could do was grab the loose, fraying threads of your light brown cardigan and wrap it around her tiny, chiseled frame as if hugging herself.

A part of you softened when your eyes caught the self-soothing move, and the urge for answers won over your decision to never speak to the heartbreaker again.

"Why?" Natasha's frown worsened, the crack in your voice mirrored the ones in both of your naive souls.

"I missed you," she instantly answers one of the questions attached to the simple word, "and I needed the chance to explain myself before you give us up."

"Us?" You scoffed and didn't even care that she flinched. "You moved on first Natasha, without even a heads up—I found out through the local pothead."

"No," she denied with a shaky voice, "I didn't mean."

"Oh please," you cut her off, "I don't do cliches Natasha and you very well know that. I just don't understand."

"Let me speak," she croaked desperately, "I don't know why I didn't come to you with this query det—Y/N."

A shiver of delight betrayed you as it ran down your spine when you heard the delicate beginnings of the pet name Natasha assigned to you in middle school. The notion alone should have been enough for the redhead to know, but feelings were never definite enough for her, much like her mom she leaned into empirical evidence and just this once it has failed her.

"I needed to know," she continued. "Know what?"

You saw the way her nail beds were raw and red, much like her eyes as she attempted to refrain from crying more as she whispered, "when I came out to Mama and Papa, I had to know if you were my one and only, or if the urge to kiss girls since pre-k was truly genuine."

"So you kissed some random guy? I wasn't enough?"

"I couldn't just trust my heart here," she replied with frustration clear in her tone, but she quickly softened as she saw your hurt expression, she reminded herself that this uncomfortable, targeted feeling was her fault.

"Why him?" Natasha saw an insecurity in your eyes that infuriated her at her core, as if he ever compared to you. "He was their type," she answered truthfully.

You hummed and turned away from her, staring out into the black abyss that was the forestry behind the college. It intrigued you, nearly enough to run into it but you saw the danger there, but as you peered over at Natasha again you found the resentment melted away; the butterflies found a gust of wind to flutter against.

You shakily found the nerve to ask her, "so, was I?"

A few seconds of silence followed as the redhead worked to understand your question, Natasha's lip trembled as your intentional verbiage left her feeling hopeless, but she spoke her truth, "You always will be."

A mix between a groan and humorless laugh left you, "I said no cliches Natty, if you want to win me over..." Instead of saying another word you stood up and left.

Natasha's eyes widened and she stumbled to her feet, intent on following you as you slowly walked back towards the party she had no particular interest in joining. To her satisfaction you merely smiled at a friend as you grabbed your bag from by the couch.

Wordlessly you continued out the front door, and a giggle left you once Natasha grabbed you by your hip from the side, her body twisted around you and her other hand landed on your other hip. The beauty wore a hesitant smile on her face as she peered up at you.

Natasha breathlessly pled, "Can I kiss you, please?"

"A kiss on the steps of a college frat party," you teased, a smirk on your ruby tinted lips, "is grossly overdone."

The redhead moved her arms around your waist and yanked you forward anyways, "cliches are romantic." Her anxiety bitten lips pressed into yours, of course you felt the way her body relaxed due to your touch and the last bit of doubt left your body as she spun you around until your legs wrapped around her waist.

In a moment of excitable weakness you sighed, "I only will accept kisses like this going forward." Natasha chuckled at the change up, and you glared instantly, "I refuse to be a spectacle though, so take me to the car!"

Natasha refused to take any chances with your bubbling forgiveness so she rushed forward, gentle as can be as she settled you into the raised truck. It was automatic as you reached for her aux, "let's go to our spot—you can continue to win me over with food..."

A soft kiss was placed on your cheek in thanks, you knew this because Natasha always did this after a fight. Usually it was over something silly, like who was the masked killer or where you two should get dinner, but it was always true, the action was a promise of peace.

The redhead put the car in drive, pulling onto the quiet roads of a rural New York mountainside, windows rolled down allowing you to enjoy the crisp air as she went slightly above the 50mph speed limit. Whenever she could she'd cast a glance your way, and even in the dark she could catch your radiant smile as you quietly sang along to, "begin again," by Taylor Swift.

After a few moments of quiet driving on the redheads part you felt the presence of a hand, crippled by hesitation hovering over your thigh. With a gentle finger you pressed it down and looked to her with a gaze that held both hesitation and a willingness to understand, to forgive and hopefully, to start anew.

[purplecoffee13]

Nemesis with Benefits - Part 6

Summary: “Three weeks have passed, and the inevitable truth leads to some harsh conversations…”

Wc: 3.3k

Tropes: enemies-to-lovers

Warnings: ANGST big time, fighting, crying (my heart hurts)

A/N: hello… I finally finished the newest chapter and I immediately wanted to get it out so you can all read it. I am incredibly sorry that it took so long, and I am also sorry for the amount of sadness in this chapter… but it had to happen🥲

General Masterlist

Series Masterlist

It's been three weeks since you last saw Harry, and you feel terrible.

About what exactly? You're not sure. Dylan's sudden appearance. Harry just— walking out. What Harry and Dylan did to you. What you have been doing with Harry...

It seems that, just as the dust had started to settle, this tornado entirely threw you for a loop again. Finally getting to terms with your feelings and accepting the idea of a friendship with Harry, it all came crashing down the moment you spotted Dylan at that pool table.

You'd spent hours furiously scribbling in your notebook to understand the depths of this tricky situation you'd managed to work yourself into, but you haven't found a logical solution or explanation for any of it.

Only that Dylan is a total dick, that is.

You had to admit that you needed some time to come down from the shock and bottled up feelings that had exploded right in front of your face. But by the end of the week, you were ready to find Harry and talk about this. What that conversation would lead to, you had no idea, but speaking to him was vital.

And apparently impossible.

He wouldn’t respond to your texts, nor your calls when you eventually decided to give calling him a try. When you'd finally mustered up the courage to sneakily ask Benjamin about Harry's whereabouts, you were smacked in the face with the news that Harry had left.

He'd gone home to England to visit his family, Benjamin said. When you'd asked whether it had to do anything with the Dylan fiasco, Benjamin had shrugged and said that Harry did visit his family every single year. But he also mentioned he went a bit earlier than planned, so he thought the other night might have had a little bit to do with it.

Planned or not planned, it left you with a lot of confusion and doubt for the next two weeks, one of which you spent in your own hometown, trying to enjoy spring break as much as you could with a broken heart and an occupied mind.

You hadn't returned to your college town yet when Harry finally did, and you were bummed about not being able to talk to him. Rebecca and Benjamin were going to a party Harry was throwing so you guessed you'd hear about his state when you got back.

It would've be a bit embarrassing to admit, but it's one of the reasons you caught an earlier train this morning. You texted Rebecca, telling her you’d back sooner than planned. but you hadn't heard from her so far. While you'd thought it was a little weird, you figured you'd see her this evening anyway.

You didn't expect her to be at your front door.

A smile creeps onto your face as you neared her, leaving your luggage to the side as you open your arms for a hug, but Rebecca just stands there, arms crossed. Quirking up a brow, you ask:

"Hey, are you okay?"

A few seconds pass before she responds.

"We need to talk."

Absolute, utter dread fills your entire body as you nod, grabbing your suitcase. "What is it about? Do you want to go upstairs?"

Rebecca doesn't answer your question, she only nods in response to your second. You are quick to unlock my door and walk towards my apartment with her. The elevator ride is silent and excruciating, and when you've finally entered your living room, you're quick to ask away.

"Okay, what's going on?" Your question sounds almost irritated, which in hindsight doesn't seem very smart because it only seems to tick Rebecca off. What is going on with her?

"Harry threw a little get together yesterday," Your friend sighs, crossing her arms. "and I couldn't help but notice the familiarity of his home address when he sent it to us."

Your face pales. Oh my god, you are going to throw up. This cannot possibly be happening right now. Rebecca notices your instant change in the demeanor, her own growing angry. You take a few steps back and sit down on the couch.

"You slept with him, after what he did to you?! How could you do that?!"

You are at a loss of words, despite having thought about how you were going to break this news to her one day. "I— I don't know, I don't know..."

"What do you mean you don't know? You slept with the guy your boyfriend cheated on you with! God, have you no self-respect?!"

Her words hit you like a slap in the face, and as the tears roll down your cheeks, you begin to shake your head.

"Rebecca— I..."

"No, listen, Y/N. For months, Benjamin and I have been walking on eggshells, trying so hard to make sure you're comfortable. Benjamin even punched Harry, for Christ's sake. Do you even know that?"

You nod slowly, the guilt that has been tightening around your throat settling in your stomach as well.

"I'm sorry..." You peep, looking down at the floor. Meeting Rebecca's eyes is too terrifying at the moment. You can't handle that right now.

"God... why him? You don't even like him." Rebecca goes on, and the tears prickling in your eyes turn into full blown sobs as soon as the words have left her mouth. With your hands buried in your face, you don't see your friend sitting next to you, but you feel her rubbing your back.

"Shit... you like him, don't you?" She concludes, and your crying only increases at hearing that confession fall from another person's lips. This is the most complicated thing you have ever experienced. It takes a minute or so to finally manage to control your tears, and have calmed down enough to respond.

"I don't know how this happened." You confess between your sobs. "I didn't— I wasn't supposed to!"

"Hey, calm down." Rebecca pulls you closer to her, and you continue crying in her lap. "Everyone has at least one person they weren't— supposed to sleep with."

You pull yourself up, wiping away your tears as you shake your head. "I meant, I wasn't supposed to care about him. Sleeping with him was a choice I made, and I don't regret it because it was a distraction, and it worked. But it only worked because I hated him. I wasn't supposed to start... caring."

"Sweets, being that intimate with someone will leave you with no other option than to care for them, at least at some point." Rebecca reminds you. Your gaze is fixated on the ground, all these truths flying through your scrambled mind. You let out a heavy sigh.

"I'm sorry." You finally say, and another tear slips down your cheek as Rebecca strokes your hair.

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made that comment about self worth, that was uncalled for, and mean. I was just angry, but that's no excuse."

You look at your friend, whose eyes also seem to be blurry, and conjure a faint smile. "You're forgiven."

Rebecca pulls you into a tight hug, and it takes her a full minute before you finally get her to agree to let go. When she does, she immediately stands up and grabs a glass of water for the both of you while you wipe your smudged mascara away with a tissue.

"So, what are you going to do about it?" She asks when she sits down, handing you the glass. You shrug before taking a large gulp of the water before setting it back on the table.

"I have no idea."

Rebecca leans back into the couch, eyeing you for a couple of seconds before speaking up. "Can I be really honest here?"

You're careful to look your friend in the eyes, her bluntness scaring you sometimes, but you nod anyway.

"I think you two are a pretty good match— you know, if you wouldn't count all the shit that happened of course. I was actually surprised when you went out with Dylan instead of Harry in the beginning. I thought Harry was a much better fit for you.” She tells you, and your brow quirks up at her words. You didn't expect her to go down this route. “You're just... compatible, you know? Plus, I was convinced he liked you."

"Rebecca, he hated me from the start." You scoff, but she shakes her head intently.

"No I know, but I swear, he asked about you before that party where you met him and Dylan. I thought he was interested in you."

By now, you have your hands buried in your hair as you listen to all this new information that you are being fed by your friend. This is way too confusing and it's making your headache even worse.

"But then you told me he was being rude, so I just brushed it off as a lapse of judgment from my side. Of course now we know he was acting like an asshole to you because of Dylan—which I still think is a dick move, by the way." Rebecca rants on. The weight on your chest that had seemed to have subsided for a minute has grown in size again.

"My point is, your relationship with Harry has been a wreck from the start, and the main cause for that is Dylan. So if you can't get over the Dylan situation, it's probably going to be impossible to ever build a lasting relationship with Harry."

Rebecca's words ring in your ears. It's a revelation that has been looming in your mind for a bit now. There was a part of you that knew this was an extremely complicated situation and therefore didn't want to tackle it, as a possible solution seemed to be non-existent. You've hit a wall in your relationship—if it even can be called that—with Harry, and if you really want to move forward, you'll have to climb over that wall and hope Harry will take your hand and come along.

You sigh, your tired eyes meeting Rebecca's. "You're right."

************************************************

It's been about an hour since Rebecca left and you've been pacing your living room ever since, devising a plan on how to talk to Harry. What to say to him, how to say it, and with what outcome in mind.

A knock on the door relieves your from your taunting thoughts for a moment, but opening your door throws you for an entirely different loop as you find Harry standing across from you.

He looks worn out. The dark circles under his eyes aren't extremely prominent but the sole fact that they're there tells you enough. He also appears to be in gym clothes, which makes you wonder whether this trip to your apartment was planned or not.

"Hey." He croaks out, his eyes flicking up and down your face and body, calculating any reaction that might come from you.

"Hi." You respond breathlessly. Neither of you say another word—you spend most of the silent minute staring at him—until Harry finally clears his throat.

"Can I— uh..." his finger points towards your living room, and before you know it, you step aside. He enters your apartment, following you as you head for your couch.

Another dreadful silence follows as the both of you sit next to each other, waiting for the other one to break first. It's excruciating and it feels like it goes on forever. You don't realize you're picking at your nail beds until Harry's voice takes you out of your dissociative trance.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" You scan his face, squinting your eyes a bit. There is something unsettling about his demeanor. It's so passive, at least it seems.

"For just leaving like that." He meets your eyes, and you notice the guilt displayed in them. Not knowing what to say, you refrain from answering as you think of everything that has happened. When you finally do open your mouth, Harry's focus on you is so intense that it makes you a bit nervous, the weight of your words becoming much heavier now that you know Harry will be hanging onto your every single one.

"You really hated me, you know. And it wasn't just because of Dylan. You despised me, always did, and I never understood why."

You watch as his eyes turn glassy and he shakes his head, softly whispering 'no' over and over again. Your brows crease at his attempt at—what seems to you—denial. He can't oppose that he hated you. He has literally said it multiple times.

"Don't pretend that you didn't Harry, I know you did."

"No, that's not—" he protests.

"Then what is it?” The questions falls off your tongue in a hurry, the frustration that has been bottled up inside of you slowly beginning to unleash. "The other night, right before spring break, I really thought we were on our way to becoming friends. I felt like it was actually possible. And then you just— left. One glimpse of him and you were gone.”

You take a deep breath before continuing. “It's been eating at me for the past three weeks that you just walked out and began ignoring me. So please, Harry, clarify it for me because I don’t understand any of this.”

Harry hangs his head and sighs. “It's complicated. And stupid... and probably doesn't make any sense."

"Then make sense of it." You command, leaning forward so he is forced to meet your eyes. He holds your gaze for a few seconds, then nods, a small frown on his face as he figures out what he wants to say. You try not to hold your breath as you wait for him to start, but you find yourself doing it anyway as soon as he starts speaking.

"I, uh— I'd liked Dylan for quite some time, and he knew that. He led me on for a long time, and I was trying to get over him, but it just felt like it was impossible, you know?" He explains, picking at the skin on his fingers out of nervous habit. You hum, telling him you understand without actually interrupting him. He continues.

"So, one day I was walking out of class and I ran into Rebecca. She was with you and some other girls, and you were all waiting for her while she was talking to me. I remember seeing you, and I thought you were very pretty, which was special to me because I hadn't felt so intrigued by someone in a long time."

Your heartbeat becomes more prominent, and suddenly you can feel it beating loudly as he speaks. You fiddle with your sweaty hands. He was intrigued by you? The nerves swerve through your stomach, not being able to make sense of what Harry is saying just yet. It’s contradicting everything you’ve known about Harry’s feelings towards you since you met him. But Rebecca’s words hang in the back of your head, and there is a wave of anticipation that almost overwhelms you: the anticipation that Rebecca might be right. Harry clears his throat.

“So anyways, I asked Rebecca about you and she told me you'd come to the party. Later, I was kind of— stalking you on Instagram, and Dylan saw. He teased me about it. Suddenly he started to give me loads of attention again. And I thought maybe he was jealous, and he had realized that he liked me, and this was finally the moment that it would all work out.” He says with a certain bitterness, not necessarily aimed at anyone but himself. As if he is mad at himself for those past rose-tinted thoughts he had regarding Dylan. “But then he got together with you at the party a couple days late, and I was just... so angry."

Harry’s eyes become glassy, and you feel your heart crack. After your break-up with Dylan it became clear how much effect he had on Harry. Now knowing the history, the constant push and pull, you don’t find it weird. Harry had allowed him inside his heart time and time again, all the while Dylan would just figure out how to play at his heartstrings. Just enough to keep him coming back everything single time, hoping something had changed.

“It felt like he wasn't allowing me to get over him. I had finally met someone who made me realize that maybe the first stages of like— love and dating shouldn't feel like your heart is constantly being ripped from your chest. That it could be innocent and fun. And it felt as if he was mocking me for it, by going after that hope and taking it away.”

He looks at you, and you give him a weak, sympathetic smile, swallowing away the physical pain you get from hearing about Harry’s emotional pain. Caring so deeply can be the most euphoric thing, but it’ll come back to bite you in the ass when the person you care about is hurting. You realize then, in that moment, how thin the line between a blessing and a curse is.

But when your hand finds his and you intertwine your fingers, you figure it’s more of a blessing anyway.

“And I just— I don't want to spin it as if you were a piece of meat, because Dylan cared about you. I saw that, and I hated it because I used to wish it was me. It made me be a dick to you, and I’m really fucking sorry about that, because you didn’t deserve that at all. If I could take all of that back then I would.”

He sighs as soon as all the ramblings of words have left his mouth, and you feel the weight of that sigh. His body tells you it as well: he’s relieved. Initially, you find yourself at a loss of words, and the only thing that your mind can generate as a response escapes before you can stop yourself.

“Well, if you take it all back then we bever would’ve have had such mind-blowing sex, right?” You blurt out, and Harry chuckles at your stupid joke. You laugh along as you try to scramble together a real answer, stroking his hand with your thumb.

“I’m sorry Dylan used you like that, I can only imagine how frustrating that is. And while I agree you should’ve never been so grumpy to me, I can’t say that I haven’t acted rude out of jealousy before.” You say earnestly, the thought of that night at the bar popping inside your head. You weren’t exactly nice to that girl Harry was talking to either. In fact, you didn’t acknowledge her at all.

“Rebecca said we need to get over the Dylan situation if we ever want to build any sort of relationship whatsoever. We need to forgive each other and move past it, otherwise we can never be— friends.” Your cheeks heat up at your quick save. It’s quiet between the two of you, but his grip on your hand doesn’t loosen the slightest bit. Harry is staring at his lap, making it difficult for you to read what he’s thinking. He raises his head to meet your eyes, and when you are met with the sight of a tear rolling down his cheek, your own vision blurs instantly.

"How can I forgive you for something you never did?"

The hopelessness of his question smashes your heart into a thousand pieces. You are quite sure you physically hear it crack. The broken pieces pierce into every part of your body, including your throat, that feels too heavy as you gather strength to answer him. Your breath hitches the first time you try to get some words out and fail, so your voice wavers when you manage to speak.

“I don’t know...”

Taglist: @hisparentsgaleryy @love-letters-to-uranus @moonwitttch19 @notmeherelol173 @fairytale07 @valuunit

[harunovella]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ love language (verse v); s.g.

synopsis: it's utahime's birthday and you play spin the bottle... bonus, you're tipsy! content: canon divergence (teen!gojo era), fem!reader, hopeless romantic gojo, underage drinking, seven minutes in heaven (probs done wrong? idk), semi-first kisses, not beta read (sorry for any errors!) note: here's another one shot for my gojo anthology series! I found out it's utahime's birthday (2/18) so I managed to pull something together for this lil series (happy birthday utahime)! wanna be tagged? lmk in the replies!

"Happy birthday, Utahime!" Shoko exclaimed, wrapping an arm around the dark haired girl, clinking her beer with hers as the two chugged. There was an obvious buzz in the air, not only them, but everyone else. Mei Mei managed to get a private room where no one would question what was going on inside, seeing as some of the attendees were underage—yourself included. Your interest had always been piqued by it, this not being the first time your friends had beer around you. However, this was your first time having it... And you weren't the only one.

"Who would've thought you were a lightweight," Mei Mei piped as she nudged Gojo with her shoulder. "You never bothered to drink with us before, what's changed your mind?" Smirking at him, already knowing the answer, the older woman gazed at the white haired boy as his cheeks burned a bright pink. His eyes shifted in your direction—where you had been huddled up with the birthday girl and Ieiri. "Oh, trying to impress someone, huh?"

"Shut up," Gojo mumbled, rubbing his cheeks as his body slightly swayed. "I didn't want to be a party pooper..." Eyeing you as you laughed, Satoru felt his heart race faster than it ever had in his life. He blamed it on the alcohol. "It tastes like shit."

"Then why do you keep drinking it?" Geto asked, now settled beside his best friend. "You hate beer, the first time you tried it at Shoko's birthday was enough to stop you."

"It's because he's trying to impress little miss sweetheart over there," Mei Mei nudged her head in your direction. Suguru looked over, not surprised that he was doing this just to look cool in front of you. 

"She's not gonna care if you hate it, Satoru," Suguru nudged him. "This is her first time, too."

"That's exactly... why," Gojo hiccuped. "If she can do it, so can... I!" He nodded, lifting his bottle to take another swig. Instantly hissing at the taste, squeezing his eyes shut as he shook his head, Geto laughed beside him before patting his back. "I'm trying to find a way to enjoy this but, god it's aw—"

"Satoru!" You exclaimed, waving at him before stumbling over. Falling to your knees in front of him and smiling wide, waving your own bottle before him. "This is really good, right?" You asked, realizing he had chosen the same beer as you. 

"Y—" choking on his words, Suguru smacked his back. "Yeah! To— Totally!"

Giggling, you made your way beside him as Mei Mei crawled away to sit with the other girls. "This is so much fun... what a great party," you beamed, leaning your head on his shoulder. Gojo grew stiff, grip on the bottle tightening as his free hand clutched onto his knee. Geto sat there with a smug grin, an idea coming to mind as his focus shifted towards the empty bottles. 

"Hey, I've got an idea," he spoke up, moving onto his knees to grab an empty bottle. "Let's play spin the bottle, hmm?"

"Yes!" Utahime nodded, tugging on Shoko's sleeve and waving for Mei Mei to move over so they could form a circle. 

"That'll be fun!" You nodded after lifting your head from Gojo's shoulder, grabbing his wrist so he could join you. 

He wasn't sure if it was the liquid courage, or maybe he was hyper aware, but you were being more touchy with him. Normally, you kept things cordial, constantly smiling or laughing with him as he was the one finding ways to touch you... Now with the tables turn? His heart was basically at the pit of his stomach, slightly trembling as you sat practically thigh to thigh with him. 

"Okay, let's do truth or dare," Suguru said as he settled the bottle, "whoever it lands on has to answer. Got it?" Seeing everyone nodded, the dark haired man grinned as he eyed his best friend, who basically looked like he was disassociating from the world. 

"Let's go!" Utahime exclaimed before clapping. 

"Birthday girl has the honor," Suguru nodded as Utahime beamed before reaching over to spin the bottle. 

Everyone watched with curious eyes, and like that, one by one everyone took a turn to spin the bottle. Most answered with truth, only to earn an annoyed groan from Mei Mei saying how things need to change up. 

Spinning the bottle, Mei Mei smirked as it landed on Gojo, "truth or dare, blue eyes."

Gulping, he eyed everyone as they eagerly watched him. Sucking in a sharp breath, he sat up, "dare."

"Finally," Shoko mumbled as Utahime stifled her laughter. 

"Perfect, I dare you to play seven minutes in heaven with cutie over there," Mei Mei nudged her head in your direction. "No take me backs, get in there," she pointed at the tiny supply closet behind the two of you. Gojo looked over with hesitation as you blushed. 

"Okay!" You nodded, standing up and grabbing his hand to join you. 

He felt like he had no control over his body, following you along the way and nearly tripping over his own feet as you practically shoved him inside once opening the door. Watching as you followed inside, shutting the door behind you as you were pressed against one another, Satoru held his breath. Looking down at you with wide eyes as your own looked up at him, hooded, he felt his heart thudding against his ribcage. 

Pressing your hands against his chest, you smiled up at him. "We've got seven minutes in here..." you said. 

"You— you think they'll make us... stay that long in here?" He stuttered as you shrugged, only to shyly look away. 

"I hope so..." you admitted, nibbling on your bottom lip. 

Eyeing you and wanting nothing more than to touch you, Gojo clenched his fists at his sides before throwing his head back. His mind was racing, thoughts rushing around as he felt not only your hands on him, but your whole body. It took his entire being—and willpower—to fight the blood rushing towards a place it shouldn't be. Not in a moment like this. Even if it was meant for that. "You... Uh..."

"Hm?" You looked up at him as he lowered his focus to meet yours. 

"N— Nothing, heh..." he awkwardly looked away, lifting his hand to rub the back of his neck. 

"Satoru..." you spoke up. 

"Yeah?" He mumbled. 

"Please look at me..." you begged but he stubbornly kept his eyes on the wall beside him. "Toru..." you quietly spoke as the man shivered at the sound of his nickname. "Please..."

Feeling your hands snake their way up to his face, you gently turned his head to look at you. "I— I—"

"At a loss for words?" You tilted your head, teasing him as he blinked. "Can I kiss you?"

Feeling his heart sink as you gazed up at him with lazy eyes, Gojo took in deep breaths, "you— you want to... kiss me?" He asked, gulping. 

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to..." you nearly whispered, causing Satoru to shiver yet again. The feeling of your nails gently caressing his skin as you didn't bother to look away, Gojo squeezed his eyes shut. How were you being the bold one? How did you have the power to always turn him into mush? Sure, you had liquid courage, but even when you weren't tipsy you had him so easily wrapped around his finger! "Toru?"

"Yes," he nodded. 

"Yes... I can?" You asked as he nodded again. 

"Please..." he whispered, begging. He knew this wasn't the right time to get his first kiss from you (or ever) but he was so desperate and so needy. He should've said no, should've said another time. However, he was a teenage boy. He didn't entirely use common sense...

Tiptoeing as you tugged him down gently, hands moving to the back of his neck, your lips pressed against his. Feeling his heart in his throat as he gazed at your closed eyes, Gojo's shaky hands settled on your hips as he kissed you back, indulging in this (what felt like) once in a lifetime opportunity. Surely neither of you would never forget. 

"So, how was it?" Shoko asked as she sat beside you on a bench, enjoying a pair of strawberry milk boxes during your break from training. 

"How was what?" You tilted your head. 

"Your seven minutes in heaven with Satoru," she chuckled, only to earn a confused look from you. "Y'know, last night?"

"Seven minutes in heaven with Satoru?" You asked as she nodded. "I don't remember that..."

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