#and then they end up completely out of control

[mixingandmelting]

Cute Aggression

Summary: when he's jealous but gets the cute aggression because you're suddenly being cute

Dick:

He blankly stares at the wall across from him.

The plan was for him to full out sulk. Mope and stay grumpy in bed to make a point that your very attention-needy boyfriend was deprived of your attention because you were giving it to someone else. Typically, you would get exasperated, probe what’s wrong, and then he would have it his way in getting completely spoiled by you to make it up to him.

This time, though, you crawled under the blankets, poked your head from underneath and in front of his face, and pecked his cheek.

“…Are you still mad at me?” You shyly looked up at him with fusty cheeks. He simply blinks.

“So. Damn. Cute.” He grits out under his breath, ignoring your muffled outraged cries as he squeezes your blanket covered form. 

Just remembering what had happened and led to him rolling you up head to toe in the blanket makes him want to squish you for the rest of night. Yell to the world you’re the cutest being in the universe. 

“I can’t breathe , Dick!” Or that’s what he thinks you say when you start patting him on his chest (more like your feeble attempts to smack him if not for your arms restricted by fabric).. 

“No.” Throwing a leg over yours, he decides holding you like this will be how he gets back at you for making him jealous while making him have cute aggression. 

Jason:

There’s not a single drop of shame in him, waddling out the bar with you literally inside his jacket as he glared at anyone who gave you both an odd look.

You were his and he was yours. Nothing hard or complicated, right? Wrong. It seems like there are some people who can’t get a hint. And as much as he loves you, there are times you don’t realize you’re getting hit on. This time, right in front of him.

At first, he was outright brooding. Slouching in his seat next to you and close to shattering the glass in his hand with his grip. 

“Jason… You okay?” Head slightly tilted, eyes wide probably from worry and confusion about his sudden bad mood. Both of your hands on his arm and gently squeezing it.

It’s the alcohol talking when the urge to break a table or punch the wall next to him returns. You were so adorable. Absolutely adorable. 

There was nowhere to hide you in case someone decided to snatch you for your cuteness other than the space between the bar and his legs and he wasn’t about to have you sit on the floor. So in his jacket you go, doing the job of giving the sign you’re quite literally taken. 

“Jason, I’m too warm…” 

“Too bad.” He zips up his jacket. 

He’s not taking any chances of letting anyone else notice you’re too cute for your own good. 

Tim: 

Everyone says out of the two of you, you’re the clingy one. Not once suspecting it was him as he clings on you from behind like a koala.

Him being grouchy had nothing to do with the statement you made coming back from a gala. So what if he’s smaller than the average male? He’s always been a brains-over-brawn guy anyways. that’s why he wasn’t bothered by your passing comment about some tall guy’s height from the gala the two of you had attended whatsoever. 

It was also NOT the reason for his lips and cheeks to puff out as he cleared another level in his Freakazoid game on the couch, ignoring the shuffling next to him or acknowledging you sitting next to him. 

“Tim…? I love you…” A few minutes into the level you said that, Your voice soft and gentle as you leaned forward to try and make eye contact with him.  

He nearly broke the controller in his hands and, instead, ended up covering his face with them out of self restraint. The very self restraint that breaks when you repeat it thinking he didn’t hear you which led him to pull you into his lap and start hugging the life out of you.

“Why are you so cute?” He grumbles into your shoulder, his grip around your waist tightening.

“What?” 

“Nothing.” 

Nope, you don’t get to know. He doesn’t need you thinking he’s moody over something petty and teasing him for it. 

Duke: 

He sits next to you on the bench quietly, face completely flushed for one to many reasons. 

It started with him being in a mood, kicking a pebble that happened to be near his foot while keeping his head low. He knows that the person you won’t stop talking about is just a friend but still, a part of him wonders if you talk about him as much as you talk about your friend with others. 

And really, he’s aware he’s not good at hiding his emotions. Legit, he’s frank about pretty much anything and never thought much about needing to keep his thoughts to himself. Meaning, he knew and felt guilty that you’d pick up on it. Just not in the way you decided to approach. 

“But Duke, you’re still my number one.” In the midst of you talking about the other, you suddenly wrapped your arms around one of his with a smile brighter than the sun. 

On the spot, he lit up. Literally, like a light bulb, your words being the switch for his powers to turn on. Embarrassment doesn’t even cover how he felt, all of a sudden glowing in the middle of sidewalk from being caught off guard how cute you were being. 

“…Well, that’s one way of saying you lightened up.” He gives you a half-hearted glare, not at all amused by your pun but unable to make fuss as your eyes twinkle so prettily. 

Damian:

One hand gripping yours, anyone who glances at you he hisses and glares at. 

The last thing he needs is for anyone else to get the wrong idea that he and you are “just friends” like that one guy earlier, who wouldn’t stop talking to you. And this was despite you pushing the word BOYfriend without a space in between while other twists it as “BOY friend”.

Since then, he’s been extra snarky, snipping, and laying the sarcasm thick. Clicking his tongue nonstop whenever he remembers the whole thing. 

He even decided to get back at the other, give a surprise visit tonight (all behind your back of course; he doesn’t need another session of nagging by you or his family) while continue being, what you consider as, “annoying” as his way of telling you to give all your attention to him for one whole week. Well, almost. 

“Can’t believe he won’t accept it when you’re my boyfriend. Right, Damian?” Fingers tangling with his, you flopped your head onto his shoulder  while looking up at him with a pout. 

It was at that moment he realized what “cute aggression” meant, his face burning and clenching his fists to stop himself from punching the tree next to the two of you. 

“Damian, you can let go now-” He ends up stopping you by giving your hand an extra squeeze, the temperature in his cheeks now a degree higher as he’s unable to find it in himself to vocalize he didn’t want to.

[whatsverstappeningnow]

better together

lando norris x oscar piastri x reader

You wanted them both. At once. You weren’t sure they’d say yes. Turns out, they’ve been waiting for you to ask.

-> cw: smut, DP, slightly subby Oscar, no reference to birth control but its there (wrap before you tap people), 18+ content (you are incharge of your own content consumption, not me)

“Feels so good, love,” Oscar whispers into the crook of your neck, voice hoarse and whinny against your skin. “So good.”

“You hear that, baby? You’re taking him so well he can barely speak,” Lando says from behind you, a lilt of mocking in his voice overshadowed by the soft touch of his hands over your bare waist.

You’re held up between the two of them, Lando behind and Oscar in front holding you up with a strong grip on your thighs—already settled deep inside you. Your arms are wrapped around Oscar‘s neck, head leaning back against Lando’s shoulder. All clothes have been discarded long ago.

The older boy laughs lightly at the glazed-over look in your eyes, mind dazed already simply from having Oscar deep inside you and both of them so close.

“You want to tell him how good he feels too?” Lando whispers to you before he dips down to press soft kisses to your neck. 

“’S Good. So deep, Osc,” is all you can manage to get out. Though Oscar can only moan in response, so you suppose you win. 

“You still wanna try, baby? Think you can take us both?” Lando asks, thumbs rubbing calming circles on your hips. "You want us to make you feel good together?”

You’ve already talked about it at length. The awkwardness you felt when summoning the courage to ask them to try taking both of them at once was quickly forgotten when you saw the dark look in their eyes at the request.

Oscar, terrified of hurting you, had been slightly hesitant. But he was reassured by the both of you: you’d go slow, you could always stop. There was no pressure.

A hand on the inside of his thigh and a soft don’t you want me? from you was enough to convince him completely. 

They wanted it. You wanted it. 

“Yes,” you mumbled softly, melting into their brace and feeling soft kisses against your neck and collarbone from the both of them.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Lando said again, pretending not to hear.

“Please. Yes, please.” 

It's Oscar who breaks first, one of his hands slipping from your thigh to grab Lando’s bicep, “Please Lan, no more teasing. Need you both.”

Somehow, impossible, the two press closer into you, the pressure between you three keeping you up in the air while Lando lines up at your entrance. You tense slightly, feeling him, a sudden unexpected pit of nerves settling in your stomach.

Lando is quick to calm you. “Breathe, love. You’ve got us. We’re right here.”

“Tell us if it’s too much. We’ll stop. Just say the word. Yeah?” Oscar adds, his voice soft and careful, but his touch hot against your skin. You can barely feel where you end and he begins. Your three bodies feel so connected and in tune, thatit’s hard to disguise one from the other. 

Then slowly, so, so slowly, Lando pushes in. Your whole world turns erupts in pleasure. Their words swirl around you, lost to the feeling of complete fullness. Complete pleasure.

“You’re being so good for us, love.”

“Look at you. So fucking pretty like this, stuffed full and still asking for more.”

“That’s it, let us hear you. Wanna hear how we make you feel. Every little sound you make…”

“You’re shaking, love. Is it too much? Or just that good?” Lando says it right into your ear, unmistakable as he finally fully settles inside of you. 

“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop. I need you. Both of you.”

“You have us,” Oscar replies, kissing your shoulder once and shifting slightly inside you, causing you to moan low and long.

You stay like that for a while, holding each other, breathing deeply, whispering sweet things. Until eventually���

“Move,” you beg. And they do. 

It's all too much, and just right all at once. Quickly, they settle into a pace, a rhythm. The smell of sweat and love fills the air, hanging over the room. Hands roam and hold you tightly, gripping your waist, your thighs, your ass, your hands, pushing back your hair and caressing your jawline. 

Each time you think it's too much, their sweet words pull you back to yourself. Each touch feels perfect.

"Harder," you beg, lost to the feeling of them both spliting you open. It's better than you could have ever imagined.

Their speed picks up, ramming into you in unison and causing your breath to get stuck in your throat. You swear you can see stars. You're body twitches and squirms with each thrust, sentive to every little sensation.

“You're clenching so hard," Oscar groans out, his rhythm stuttering slightly, "I'm not, god, I'm not gonna last."

"Fuck, same," Lando admits, some of his earlier cockiness slipping away from him as you whine again at the feeling of both of their cocks bottoming out inside you at once.

"I can take it. Want to. Want both of you." You reassure them with breathy words, grabbing onto any part of them you can until.

"Fuck."

Their climax hits so suddenly that their groans are the only thing you can hear. The whole world seems to come to a stop as they hold you tightly, breathing deeply through their high. Time feels stuck in this moment. It's perfect.

"You still with us, love?" Lando asks, voice hoarse and tired. All you can do is hum lightly and lean into Oscar's touch as he cradles your cheek with his hand.

"Gonna pull out? Ok?" And once you nod slightly, you feel the emptiness fill you up soon after. You groan at the sudden loss.

Soon, you're moving. Strong arms cradle and place you softly down on the bed. One of them, Lando, you think, settles behind you, resting up against the headboard. He pulls you back till your back hits his chest. Hands glide across your body, tracking down your neck and chest and landing on the inside of your thighs, pushing them apart slightly. 

"You haven't come yet darling, can we help with that?" he whispers to you as Oscar settles in front of you, eyes shining and lips glossy with spit. You can only nod. 

After a sweet kiss to your lips, gentle and kind, Oscar goes down. 

You're still so sensitive from having both of them inside of you, it barely takes any time for your climax to hit. Your legs shake with pleasure, your muscles tighten and then suddenly, all at once, relax completely. You let out a breath of peace. 

Oscar collapses on top of you, his head on your chest and his hand interlocking with yours. The pressure feels like safety. You all lie there for a moment, breathing and tracing each other's skin with gentle hands. Soft kisses are pressed to your temple, and you can't help but smile at the feeling.

"I think I could stay right here forever," Oscar whispers, lips ticklish against your neck. 

“You okay? You with us?” Lando asks again, a hand running through Oscar's hair and then intertwining with your free hand.

“I don’t think I can walk," you joke, voice coming back to you as you feel the tiredness settle in you."

Oscar answers before Lando can. "We’ll carry you. Wherever you need.”

You laugh lightly at the words. You should have a bath, clean up, but you can't find it in you to care. Your limbs are too tired and your mind is completely at ease.

You let your eyes slip closed, your hand still wrapped in Oscar’s, your back pressed to Lando’s chest. They’re so close, so constant. It feels like they’re holding you together even as you start to drift off.

Sleep takes you slowly. It comes easily, wrapped in warmth, steady breaths, and the quiet thrum of being wanted completely, without question, without end. 

please be kind, this is my first ever attempt at smut! - ree

[sugary-strawberry-shortcake]

Blossom Reverse (Yandere Batfamily x Neglected! Poison Ivy's Daughter! Reader)

Chapter 6

A/N: so the next chapter will be crazy guys lol. I feel like there is always more happening. And there are only two more chapter I have finished writing and still need to edit. Then I will need to move my ass and write more. Hope you like this one!! Btw the taglist is closed for now, my phone can‘t handle the length of the list 😓 I will edit this later, and i‘m writing a new Drabble for this verse right now. Any suggestions or ideas are welcomed. :)

It started with a single sentence.

“Join us for dinner tonight.”

He’d said it so simply.

Calm. Final. Like a man who hadn’t ignored her existence for the better part of a decade.

Bruce Wayne. Standing in her doorway.

Looking down at her with the same expression he gave the board of directors at Wayne Enterprises—measured, controlled, unreadable.

And now he was inviting her to dinner.

She’d wanted to say no.

She almost did.

But something in his tone—low, grounded, irreversible—told her this wasn’t optional.

And part of her—some small, childish, weak part—didn’t want to say no either.

Not to his face.

Not when he was finally speaking to her.

So she nodded.

And smiled.

Just a little.

And said, “Okay.”

⸻

The table was longer than it needed to be.

Gothic carved edges. Candles flickering against the dim chandelier. The food was laid out perfectly by Alfred, as always—elegant dishes, polished silverware, cloth napkins she didn’t dare wrinkle.

She took her seat like she always had.

At the end. Near the wall.

The place she thought they preferred her to be.

Only this time—

They were all there. Almost all.

Bruce at the head.

Tim just two seats down from her, casting intense glances every so often.

Dick on the other side, trying too hard to smile naturally.

Damian across from her, arms crossed, eyes occasionally narrowing when she looked away too quickly.

And Alfred standing nearby, silent as ever, though his gaze lingered at her side longer than anyone else’s.

Y/N sat stiffly, fork light in her hand, barely picking at the soft roasted vegetables on her plate.

No one was talking.

At least, not much.

Dick was the first to try.

“So… how’s school?” he offered, smiling her way.

Tim echoed it, “Yeah. Classes good?”

“Fine,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

No one followed up.

The silence dripped in again.

She felt like the spotlight was burning.

Because for the first time in her life—

They were all looking at her.

Watching.

Studying.

Not maliciously.

Not mockingly.

Just… intensely.

Like she was something rare.

Or fragile.

Or worse—like she was someone they suddenly remembered was breakable.

She cut a piece of the food and pushed it around on her plate.

Her heart beat quietly in her chest.

She tried to breathe through her nose, smile when anyone looked her way. But her skin was too tight. Her hands cold.

And all she could think about was how she used to sit at this table, four chairs away from anyone, completely invisible.

And somehow… she preferred that.

Because now they were here.

And now they were seeing her.

And she didn’t know why. And she knew it couldn't be because of anything like love towards her.

No, she was sure. None of them would or even could ever love her.

It happened halfway through the silence, just as her fork hovered again above untouched vegetables.

Dick leaned forward, resting one arm casually on the table. His tone was warm—too warm. Like someone handling delicate porcelain he’d once dropped and only just remembered existed.

“So,” he said, “what’ve you been up to in school, little flower? Any clubs? Anything new?”

Her hand paused.

The silverware clinked quietly against her plate.

And then—she blinked, wide-eyed, her voice quieter than it should’ve been.

“…Are you talking to me?”

The table froze.

The stillness wasn’t angry—it was shocked.

Tim’s head tilted just slightly, a furrow forming between his brows.

Dick blinked, smile faltering. “Uh—yeah. Of course.”

Even Bruce’s eyes narrowed with a strange weight.  Alfred’s brow twitched slightly where he stood, pouring water into Bruce’s glass.

Damian scoffed from across the table, arms crossed.

“Tt. Are you too self-absorbed to hear your name when it’s spoken?”

The insult wasn’t sharp—just typical. Delivered with that familiar dismissiveness, the kind he always used when he felt confused or off-balance.

But Y/N still flinched.

Because it reminded her—again—that any attention from them was foreign. Unnatural.

And hearing her name in their voices still felt like some distant echo of a life she’d never fully been a part of.

She lowered her gaze to the plate again, then mumbled,

“I’m… the school representative this year.”

A pause.

Then she added, “Student rep. I got elected.”

There was a flicker of surprise around the table.

Tim blinked. “You? Really?”

Dick leaned back, grinning. “Hey, that’s actually really cool.”

Bruce didn’t speak. But he watched her closely now. His brow slightly furrowed, his posture still.

She shifted uncomfortably, voice quieter.

“I’m also in the gardening group. I help take care of the greenhouse.”

Her fingers tightened slightly against her lap.

“It’s stupid.”

Dick frowned. “No it’s not.”

She didn’t look at him. Damian muttered, “Figures.”

Not cruelly. Not coldly.

Just… like it was expected.

Like of course she would gravitate toward flowers.

And that—somehow—still hurt. It reminded her of her heritage, one of the reasons people will forever despise her.

Her fingers curled tighter around the hem of her skirt.

She could still feel it.

The glances.

The weight of their eyes. Not cruel. Not mocking. But pressing.

Watching her like she was something foreign, something that might wilt or crumble if they said the wrong thing.

She didn’t belong here.

She’d known that for years.

But this—this silence—was different.

Before, they’d ignored her.

Now, they looked at her like they didn’t know her at all.

Because they didn’t.

She remembered how dinner used to sound without her.

Voices. Conversations. Occasional arguments. Dick teasing Damian. Tim venting about casework. Even Bruce occasionally commenting about missions, news, politics.

Tonight?

Nothing.

The silence was because of her.

They hadn’t stopped talking for her.

They’d stopped because she was there.

And that made something in her chest coil with shame.

Alfred poured her water.

She hadn’t touched her plate.

Not one bite.

He said nothing.

But she saw it in the way his eyes lingered on her too long.

He noticed.

⸻

She swallowed.

Then gave a soft, breathy smile and said, “I need to help Maya with something. We have to call about our project. She’s not doing well with the script.”

She stood before anyone could respond.

Didn’t wait for permission.

Didn’t look anyone in the eye.

Just turned.

And walked—too fast.

Her footsteps light. The way she’d learned to move when she didn’t want to bother anyone.

She didn’t run.

Not until she was past the hallway.

She locked her door.

Slid down against it, breath shivering.

She wasn’t angry.

She wasn’t even crying.

She just felt… cold.

Because even now, when they finally remembered she existed—

It still didn’t feel like love.

The silence hung like smoke in the air.

Dick was still watching the doorway she’d disappeared through.

Tim’s fingers had gone still on his fork.

Even Damian looked mildly tense now—his shoulders sharper, jaw tighter.

Bruce didn’t move.

He just looked down at YN’s untouched plate.

Steam rising.

Completely full.

As if she’d never even tried to be part of the meal.

“She didn’t eat,” Alfred said quietly.

They all knew it already.

No one spoke.

Not even Damian.

Bruce stayed silent.

His hands folded neatly in front of him.

But his eyes didn’t leave that full, untouched plate.

___

Her plan was almost finished.

The envelope was sealed.

The fake signature was in place.

The burner phone was pre-loaded.

She’d picked out the back gate she’d use—the one where the cameras never worked right.

She’d even mapped the bus route to the far end of Gotham, where names blurred and no one asked questions.

Next Monday night.

She’d be gone.

⸻

In the last three days, she’d perfected the lies.

She told Bruce she had a student council report due.

Told Tim she had extra lab hours.

Told Dick she had sleepovers planned.

Even managed to slip past Alfred twice when he offered to drive her to school.

And she made sure to smile—like she used to.

To keep them calm.

Distracted.

Because the more they noticed her, the more they hovered.

And she didn’t know why.

⸻

They didn’t know what they were missing. But they knew they were losing something.

Bruce didn’t say it aloud.

But he noticed her shoes by the back door weren’t the same polished ones she wore to school.

He noticed the bus card tucked into her notebook.

He noticed the new shadows under her eyes when she returned late—even when she claimed it was “just Maya.”

And when she smiled too fast, too sweet, too easy…

He saw Martha’s softness in it.

And something hollow beneath.

⸻

Tim was the first to try casual contact—offering help with homework. Chess. Even suggesting he walk her to the bus once.

She dodged all of it.

At first, he thought it was shyness.

But now—he couldn’t help but check the cameras.

Track her phone once.

Then again.

But he never found her.

Because it wasn’t with her.

⸻

Dick visited more often. Every time he entered the manor, he asked Alfred if she was in. If she’d eaten. If she’d left anything in the kitchen.

He tried knocking once.

She said she was on a call.

Another time, she said she was baking cookies for her class.

He knew she was lying.

But all he could do was smile and say, “Tell Maya I said hi.”

⸻

And every day, she slipped out quietly.

Tended the garden behind the crumbling apartment building.

Talked politely with the landlord, who now left her old tools and gloves.

And smiled like she wasn’t holding her life together with shaking fingers.

Because when she left… she’d lose everything.

Her friends. Her name. Her school.

Her self.

But it was safer than dying again. Than knowing that the people you wished to care for you would never do.

⸻

That Night

She woke up gasping.

Sheets tangled. Skin cold. Eyes stinging.

It was the same dream again.

The memory.

Of the last few hours.

Before she died.

⸻

She remembered the smell of smoke.

Her own voice screaming.

A cold metal chair.

Wires digging into her skin.

A hand around her throat.

And a voice in the dark.

“Too soft. Too sweet. Should’ve never been a Wayne.”

⸻

Her body jolted upright.

She pressed her hand over her mouth.

And choked down the sob before it could wake the house.

When she was little, she used to go to Bruce’s door.

Tiny fists knocking in the night. Waiting. Hoping.

He was never there.

Alfred would find her sometimes. Scoop her up. Rub her back. Hum lullabies no one else remembered.

But eventually even he stopped hearing the cries.

Because she stopped making them audible.

And started enduring.

Alone.

She wiped her face with the back of her sleeve.

⸻

Alfred

He wasn’t surprised to hear footsteps.

Soft. Bare. Careful not to creak the floorboards.

But no one was more practiced at silence than Alfred Pennyworth.

And no one knew the rhythms of this house better than he did.

So when he heard her—

Miss YN, tiptoeing down into the kitchen at an hour where no child should be awake—

He didn’t call out.

He simply watched.

She moved like a ghost.

Shoulders curled in. Sleeves long over her hands. The glow of the stove light casting pale shadows across her cheeks.

She was thinner than he liked.

Too pale. Too quiet.

And far too distant.

Even now, her small fingers reached for the kettle like she was trying not to disturb the air.

Something had changed in her.

Something deep and quiet and frightening.

He’d noticed it for weeks. Longer, even.

But tonight—

Tonight he knew.

She was slipping away.

“Miss Y/N,” he said softly, just above a whisper.

She startled—just slightly. Her hand pulling back from the kettle, eyes wide, pupils dilated from the nightmare that still lingered behind them.

“Alfred,” she breathed. “Sorry. I just couldn’t sleep. I’ll go back up soon.”

He stepped into the light.

No scolding. No sternness.

Just that familiar, unbearable softness in his gaze.

“You’ve always come here after bad dreams, sweetheart.”

Her eyes dropped.

She gave a nervous little smile.

“I’m fine. Really.”

But her voice trembled on the last syllable.

⸻

The night had been thick with tension.

Ivy’s operation was falling apart.

The GCPD didn’t find her first.

Bruce did.

He returned that night to the cave bloodied and furious—but with something else in his arms.

A file. A name. A girl he had to find.

And later—when the cleanup team was sent to sweep Ivy’s hideout—

Alfred was with them.

He remembered the dark walls covered in vines. The broken glass. The abandoned chemicals and rotting moss.

And then—

In the corner of a cracked nursery, under a heat lamp and a pile of vines—

A toddler.

She looked up at him.

Eyes wide. Wet cheeks. Trembling lip.

And the expression.

So small. So lost.

But in that little face, he saw Bruce.

Saw the same tightly clenched jaw. The same furrow of the brow. The same eyes that had once looked at him from the crib in the east wing of the old estate.

She didn’t cry when he approached.

She blinked.

Then toddled forward. Shakily. Holding out her tiny hand.

And when he crouched down—when he extended his arms—

She fell into them like she’d always belonged there.

He’d whispered to her then, as she nuzzled into his coat:

“There now, my little bloom. You’re safe. You’re home now.”

She’d asked about her mother.

And he’d lied, gently.

“You’ll see your father soon.”

Because even then, he knew.

Even if Bruce didn’t.

She was his.

And Alfred—who had served generals and kings, fought wars and buried brothers—had only ever had one secret favorite.

One child in that cursed manor whose laughter made the halls feel alive again.

And he’d sworn, silently, holding her close:

“No one will ever take you from me.”

Not Gotham.

Not God.

Not even Bruce Wayne.

⸻

He set the kettle to boil.

Y/N sat on the stool like a child who had shrunk back into her bones.

He handed her a warm cup with honey and lemon—just the way she liked it as a toddler.

She wrapped her hands around it slowly.

Didn’t drink.

Didn’t speak.

“You’re planning something,” he said gently, after a moment. “Aren’t you?”

Her eyes lifted in a flash of panic.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t accuse.

Just smiled softly.

As if to say: Don’t lie to me, darling. I’ve raised you since your first breath in this house.

“You’ve always been my little bloom,” he said, voice low. “I know when you’re wilting.”

She didn’t answer.

But her eyes shimmered.

And Alfred Pennyworth, ever the gentleman, ever the shadow—

Decided then and there:

If she tried to run,

If she tried to vanish,

He would bring her back.

_____

Damian

She was lying again.

He watched from across the courtyard, arms crossed, jaw tight as his eyes tracked her movement. A soft laugh. A toss of her hair. That smile.

That damn smile.

He’d seen it before.

A long time ago.

Back when she used to run up to him after training. When she used to leave him little flowers on his practice mat. When she’d beam at him for a single glance in her direction.

Back when her world revolved around them.

Now?

Now she smiled like that for everyone but them.

He’d noticed the change before anyone else.

Of course he had.

He was raised to observe—to dissect.

And she was easy to read. Always had been. No poker face. No ability to lie worth anything. Her tells were childish, obvious.

Fidgeting. Blinking too much. Looking away when she spoke.

Only now, she was doing it constantly.

Her excuses were thin. Transparent.

“I’m helping Maya with something.”

“I’m organizing for student council.”

“I have a meeting after school.”

Maya didn’t exist.

He had checked.

Twice.

And still she kept slipping through their fingers.

Avoiding them.

Avoiding him.

And it infuriated him.

Because even if she was just a kid—even if she was soft, and fragile, and meant to be protected—she was still his.

And her behavior made no sense.

She was supposed to be the one who clung.

The one who lit up when he entered the room, even if he only sneered or turned his head. The one who offered him cookies, or asked him to walk her down the hall, or tried to braid his hair when she thought he was asleep on the couch.

She used to follow him like a kitten.

Now?

Now she walked ahead of him.

Away from him.

And smiled for strangers.

It made something in his chest twist.

And it made his mind sharpen.

He didn’t want to admit it aloud—not even to himself.

But she looked…

Like she was getting ready to leave.

And for the first time in a long time—

Damian Wayne felt something he didn’t like.

Not anger.

Not superiority.

But something sharp.

Tight.

Fear.

He clenched his fists inside his blazer pockets.

His eyes locked on her where she stood with her friends, laughing at something someone whispered to her.

And he felt it again—

That low, gnawing hatred.

Not for her. Never for her.

But for them.

The ones who got her smile now.

The ones who got her attention.

The ones who didn’t even know what she was.

⸻

She belongs to us.

To me.

And if she thinks she can just disappear…

He turned on his heel.

Cold.

Focused.

Determined to find out exactly what she was hiding.

And to stop it.

Whatever it was.

____-

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.

But the second he heard it—the name, floating lazily off someone’s tongue—

“Wayne.”

His shoulders tensed.

His boots stopped cold.

He turned. Quiet. Dangerous.

The boys behind him hadn’t even noticed the way his gaze had sharpened.

He used to beat them for this.

All of them.

Any fool who threw his name around like it was cheap.

Until Father pulled him aside and told him it wasn’t honor—not like this.

And for once, he listened.

He backed off. (At least most of the times)

He tried.

But then he heard the rest.

“Yeah, she went up to Silas like last week. Alone. Just walked up to him and paid him off or something—like, what the hell?”

“Didn’t think someone like her would be talking to him.”

“Bet he was trying to pull her into his little side business—”

He didn’t even remember moving.

In a blink, he had one of the boys pressed hard against the locker wall, forearm across his throat.

The others stumbled back, shouting.

“What did you say?!”

His voice was ice.

Sharp. Refined. Deadly.

“Damian—chill, man—it’s just gossip, we didn’t say anything—”

“What. Did. She. Want. From. Him.”

The boy’s breath hitched.

Damian’s eyes narrowed.

No one touches her.

No one speaks her name.

No one gets close to her unless I allow it.

When he dropped the boy, he didn’t even wait for an answer.

Because he was already moving.

Already storming.

The fire in his chest burned with something worse than anger.

Rage.

He found Silas near the side building, leaning against the wall like he wasn’t a roach. A dirty cockroach. Someone that wasn't even allowed to breath the same air as his sister.

Damian’s fist connected with his face before the other boy could even speak.

The second hit drove him against the bricks.

“What the hell—!” Silas shouted, clutching his face.

“You spoke to her,” Damian hissed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—!”

“Y/N Wayne,” he growled, teeth gritted. “She came to you. What did she want? What did you give her?”

Silas spat blood to the side.

“She paid me. I promised not to say.”

Another punch. Silas dropped to his knees.

“I don’t care what she paid. I will know.”

A kick into his gut.

Silas wiped his mouth. Voice tight.

“She didn’t… do anything wrong, man. She just asked for a signature. A fake one. That’s it. I don’t know what for. I swear.”

Damian’s body stilled.

Signature?

A fake one?

His brain started to whirl.

Why would she need that? What is she planning? What the hell is she hiding from me—

But Silas wasn’t going to say more.

He could see it in his eyes.

He was keeping her secret.

Just like everyone else had kept things from him his whole life.

With a last punch that send him into unconsciousness, Damian spit on the boy.

He turned on his heel.

His eyes were determined.

Storming.

Hunting.

When Damian Wayne entered a room with rage in his steps, people moved.

They turned. Whispered.

Doors shut quietly. Eyes dropped.

Because when the youngest Wayne snapped, the whole school listened.

He found her.

In the courtyard.

With her friends.

Smiling.

Laughing.

That soft, sunlit expression that used to belong to him.

His voice rang out like thunder across stone.

Loud. Sharp. Echoing.

“YN. ELOISE. WAYNE.”

Every head turned.

Even hers.

And when their eyes met—

She flinched.

Her smile shattered.

And in her chest, something sank.

Because she knew.

He found something.

She was running out of time.

And she had to run from him.

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[superbdragoncollection-stuff]

"Admiral..."

the short woman had unusual skin, from her life on Mars, I recall. She's short partly because she was a spacer, fighting aliens around other stars, and astronauts always were on the short side.

She pushes me into my house. "I found you," she growls, and shuts the door. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get around when your quantum PDA doesn't sync to the local internet?" Her hair is short, again for spacesuits. "Now you're going to explain some things to me. How the hell do I get home?"

I open one eye. I had tensed up fearing a punch. "What?"

"My fleet needs me. So write me out, get me home." She glares at me. "Well?"

"I... what? You're not gonna hit me?"

she strikes an imposing figure in her uniform. I had never considered just how cool it looked in real life. And here I am, in my slippers and pajamas. "Not if you do what I ask."

A dozen movies and scenarios run through my head. "Admiral, admiral--"

She moves past me. "Hey, you got anything to eat around here?" She walks into my apartment kitchen and looks around. She opens my pantry. "You blew up earth, its the least you could do." She grabs some chips.

I look at her, scratching my head. "Well, *I* didn't do that. I didn't start the book series, I just took it over."

The admiral looks at me, "Hm?"

"I figured you'd be here to punch me!" I breath. I walk around in disbelief. "Don't you have any questions? Anything you're worried about?"

She looks at the chips, then grabs a soda from the fridge. She pours it into a mug, then pours instant coffee crystals into it. the admiral looks at me without blinking as she immediately sips it. I recall her favorite beverage is alien coffee. Difficult to replicate here, but that looks like a start. That's how I would think at least. So it was in her head. "I'm from another reality, author. What's fiction here is reality there, and vice versa. I just know you're the man i need to see about getting home."

"How'd you get here, anyway?"

"How do you think?"

"Wait," i rub my face, "This was a web novel, how did you even find it?"

"Long story involving the guy who gave me a ride." she shrugged, "He seemed to know me."

"Wait, I have a reader around here...?" I shook my head again. "But...Admiral, I don't think its even possible!"

I trail off as she looks at me. And I understand the force of what I wrote, because I was experiencing it. "Look, this is a complete mess," she said, ever the confident officer, "But you're the author. What you say goes."

"Admiral, I'm not even employed! I don't know how to send you home! I'd need a quantum mirror or a wormhole or something! This is 21st century earth!"

She sips her mug. "I'm here, aren't I? That means I can go back. You're the author. You wrote the story so that means you have some control over it."

"Or its a startling coincidence," I groan.

She sips again. That's my favorite mug. "Or you have a subconscious connection to our reality."

"That sounds like something i would write..."

She gave me a grin. "Exactly. And judging by the shitty way my life is going? You're not one for bad endings. So I have a feeling you'll write your way out in three... two... one..."

You're a successful writer of a rather surreal series, each book putting your protagonist through weirder and wilder situations than the last. As you go to begin work on the next entry you hear a knock at your door; somehow it's your protagonist and they are not happy with you at all!

[mysterymachine67]

PAIRING -> Remmick (Sinners) x Gn!reader

SUM -> It’s been a loooong time since the last time you’ve seen each other. So when he finally shows up on your doorstep in the middle of the night, best believe you’re letting him in.

NSFW. MDNI.

This man is TEW fine idc.

It was late. Around 10 PM or so. You were sat out on the porch, sitting on a chair and watching the animals come by, and whatever else you could get your eyes on. You know you should probably be asleep, lying down in your bed and getting some rest. But you didn’t want to. Instead wanting to sit out and enjoy the peace and quiet.

But that only lasted so long when you saw a figure out in the distance. You lived by the woods, so seeing animals come by and out of the trees wasn’t a rare sight or anything. But this thing wasn’t an animal, no, it was taller and looked bigger. If anything it was a person. Which you found unsettling and absolutely terrifying, so you took your tired ass back inside. Quickly.

Maybe you were seeing things. Maybe it was actually just a tree that looked a bit off. No. That thing must’ve gotten at least ten times faster because the moment you shut the door you heard a knock. A fast, heavy knock. You froze. Heart skipping a beat because what could possibly be knocking on your door at 10 PM? And that’s when it hit you. You haven’t seen your little vampire boyfriend in a hot minute. So if it was him, maybe you were fine after all. Before opening the door, just in case, you grabbed something to defend yourself with. And when you opened it, you were in fact met with your lover.

“ya miss me?” A big smile displayed on his face, and arms out as if he was suggesting a hug.

“Where the hell have you been?” You set down whatever you were using as a weapon. You completely skipped over his question. Remmick just stood there, shrugging.

“Out.”

“What do you mean out? You’ve been ‘out’ for weeks!” The debate on whether you should let him in or not ran strong. You should leave him out there and have him think about what he’s done, as if he’s a child that had just gotten in trouble.

“Yes, but baby, I’m here now aren’t I? Just let me in and I’ll make it up to you,” he spoke, surprisingly softly. You thought about it for a moment. The need and longing for him—for his touch was winning. The more you thought about it the more sidetracked you got. So, in a moment of weakness, you allowed him in.

“Come in.”

Remmick smiled, walking with pride as he stepped through the doorway. The moment he got his hands on you, you were ready to pounce on him. Which you ended up doing.

݁ᛪ༙

His fingers dug into your hips, nails pressing crescent shaped indents to your skin. The wet feel of his tongue on your neck caused you to get goosebumps. The urge to bite you, turn you so that you could be with him forever ran through his body every time he saw you. But you had one rule, no matter what the two of you were doing.

No biting.

Which he thought was a bit unfair. You got to bite him, mark him up however you want, but he couldn’t. Even if it was a little nip.

Remmick opened his mouth, then pressed it into your neck. Not biting down or anything—just wanting to feel, hear your reaction. Your heart was racing, thumping so loudly you’re sure he heard it. You don’t blame yourself. Feeling his teeth on your skin and the only thing stopping him from biting you was his self-control and the promise he swore to you. He shut his eyes, keeping his mouth open till his jaw began to ache. Then soon pressing a light kiss to the same area he had his mouth on. “You’re lucky,” he mumbled.

“Yeah?” You licked your lips. The growing eagerness in your body to hear his response only fueled on when he let a whimper slip. He hoped to God you didn’t hear it. But you did. He decided to brush it off, for now. Letting out a nervous laugh soon after. He already knew you’d bring it up later.

“Mhm.” Remmick hummed. Moving his face out of his hiding spot.

“What exactly am I lucky for?” You pushed.

“That I like you, and that if I didn’t I would’ve already ripped your pretty little throat out.”

Well shit.

You didn’t let him get to you, no. At some point you’d say something back, let him know that you weren’t easy to fold. Or maybe you are, who knows?

It was going good, smoothly aside from what he just said. His thick cock fitting perfectly, and prodding at your sweet spot. When you focused too much on the pleasure you were receiving, you clamped down—earning a punched out groan from the vampire. His hands moved to your back. Running up and down slowly just to feel you beneath his hands.

A few minutes later, you could tell by his actions and reactions that he was getting close. He’d meet your hips whenever you went down, thrusting his cock up into you even more. He’d grasp at your body more frequently and press heated kisses to your lips. Which you returned. And you knew, just as he let out a grunt and went to move his hips up that if you didn’t stop him he’d be cumming. And you didn’t want that. At least not right now.

“Uh-uh, don’t cum, not yet,” you ordered, hips grinding down. He smiled, leaning in to press his face into your neck yet again.

“Bossy, aren’t you?”

“Only when I need to be.”

Remmick cursed under his breath. His face becoming focused and more serious when he realized he may not be able to hold out. “You’re gonna- gonna let me cum sooner or later aren’t ya?”

“Mm..maybe. Depends on how good y’are.”

God, how does he put up with you?

[lovelivision]

★‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❝ GET YOU BACK! ❞

･ ⟢ ⋮ summary. . . toji is your ex-husband and he deeply regrets ever having let the marriage fall apart, he doesn't plan on giving up after the divorce though, determined to get you back. . .

.pairing﹒ꕀ. fushiguro toji / reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎wc.⁀⊹ 3.4k

warnings.ᐟ.ᐟ 18+ only, smut, mdni, swearing, porn with some (?) plot, biting, dirty talk, cunnilingus, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex (don't be silly, wrap your willy), creampie, f!reader, toji is a little obsessed maybe

Toji is still so desperately in love with you – his ex-wife – and he’s refusing to let you forget just how much you mean to him. Always showing up whenever you need him and if he’s being honest, maybe scaring away potential future relationships. He swears he has good reasons for each of them though, that first guy was definitely taking advantage of you because you were sad from the divorce and the other guy… well, he had a creepy vibe.

Maybe he’d feel worse about it if he thought any of them deserved you, hell he thinks he barely deserves you, let alone these fucking losers. You’re far too special to him and he regrets ever letting the marriage get to the point where you left but he’ll spend every day he has left trying to get you back.

Every time you call him for something – or to tell him off for something – his heart stammers in his chest. Your voice like music to his ears, stupid smile on his face even when you’re mad at him, far too adorable for him to be annoyed.

You’re frustrated and huffing down the line at him, “Toji, are you even listening to me?”

“Of course I am,” he snickers, “I love listening to you.”

“This is exactly what I mean, Toji… you need to move on,” sigh more sad than anything else.

Countering with, “Can you honestly tell me you’ve moved on?”

There’s a heavy silence from your end of the line, pausing for slightly too long before dodging his question, “…Stop meddling in my life and find someone else.”

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“Maybe you should’ve been this communicative during our marriage then.

He imagines your lower lip pulling up like how it often did when you were at your wits end with him, his heart pulling at the thought, he misses you so damn much. “I’ve never wanted anyone else, doll. I–”

“–Could’ve fooled me,” before he can interrupt, you add, “I’m hanging up now and I don’t plan on reaching out to you again… bye, Toji.”

The line dead just as he opens his mouth to reply, soft groan leaving him, frustrated with himself for going a tad too far this time. For now, he’ll give you space, just for now, he’s hoping that you’ll cave and call him again, hoping you miss him just as much as he misses you.

He has so many regrets from the relationship, he should’ve been more attentive, he should’ve been more emotionally available for you. He’s always loved you, loved you so much that he could barely breathe, it’s his mistake that he didn’t show that to you enough while you were his. If he could go back, he would’ve never stopped doing the little things, he wouldn’t have let himself take you for granted…

A few weeks go by after that call and you haven’t reached out to him at all, he’s growing impatient, missing the sound of your voice. It’s a complete coincidence when he runs into you, you’re on the side of the street with some guy. You don’t notice Toji but he definitely notices you, how could he not?

You’re all dressed up and looking so pretty and just as he’s about to leave so he can avoid whatever is about to happen, you slap the man. The smile on Toji’s face appears suddenly and with little control on his part, though he doesn’t deny that he enjoys the way you’re clearly cursing the guy out. Only watching for a moment and then quickly moving to your side because the guy is getting angrier, his fists balling at his sides as his jaw clenches.

Toji places his hand on the small of your back, towering over the man in front of you both. Though he’s mostly ignoring him, addressing you instead, “You look real pretty tonight, doll.”

You’re clearly surprised, having tensed at his touch until you heard his voice, “Toji? What are you doing here?”

“Just passing by when I happened across an interesting scene,” he’s feeling some type of way at the fact you visibly relaxed when it was him next to you, smug maybe? Maybe just pure happiness that you’re still comfortable around him.

“Try not to look so pleased,” your eyes roll at him and he can’t help but notice how pretty the particular shade of them is under the lights tonight.

“Uhh, hello?” your presumed date makes himself known, “Who the fuck is this and can you tell me what the fuck I did to deserve being slapped?”

You snap back, not in the mood to deal with his attitude right now, “You’re a fucking creep is what you did and who this is, is none of your business.”

His tone is all matter-of-fact when he talks again, “This is a date, the third one actually and–”

“I’m telling you right now that you don’t want to finish your sentence,” you’re trying to warn him, not for your benefit but his, “just leave and block my number.”

He goes to argue with you some more but Toji finally pulls his gaze away from you to look at him and if looks could kill, this guy would be dead and no one would know where to find his body. Apparently thinking better of it, your date turns tail and leaves, stomping angrily away from the two of you.

“What’d he do to deserve a slap like that, doll?”

“I’m not in the mood to entertain you, Toji…” you rub at your temples, a habit you’ve had for as long as he can remember, “but thank you… for your help.”

“I’m always here for you,” he frowns, hurt to think you don’t know that, don’t know that he’s always, always here for you. “I don’t want you thinking–”

You raise a hand, interrupting his sentence, “Stop… stop saying the things I wish you’d said while we were married.”

“Can we go somewhere to talk?” you’re clearly hesitant at his ask but he needs to tell you how he feels, tell you so that you understand, “Please.”

Tentative expression on your face but a low sigh letting him know you’re about to cave, “Fine but after this… you need to really try to move on, we can’t keep doing this song and dance.”

He doesn’t answer, not willing to agree to something he couldn’t possibly do. Your eyes close for a moment before blinking back open, head shaking at him but you don’t push him.

Toji’s place is closer but he doesn’t want you in such a shitty neighbourhood at night so you both go back to your house, the house you once shared. While inside, he can’t help himself and he’s snooping, looking for changes to the place and aside from all the things he took with him when he left, it’s much the same.

Walking down the hall only to get caught on your wedding photo, still on the wall. The hope he has at the sight of it doesn’t feel fair, doesn’t feel fair because he doesn’t know if it’s false hope or not.

Your voice from behind him pulls him from his thoughts, “Do you want some tea or something?”

“No,” he pats the top of your head a couple times like he used to do so often, “no, I’m alright.”

“…Then let’s go to the living room,” head nodding in the direction.

It’s quiet for a few moments, neither of you knowing where to start or who should speak first. Toji supposes he should since he’s the one who basically begged to be able to talk to you.

“I know I let you down during our marriage but I need you to know that I always loved you – I still love you, so much.”

Your gaze avoids his and he knows it’s because you’re emotional, eyes looking upwards as you fight to stop yourself from crying, “Is that all?”

“Not even close,” he moves closer to you on the couch, his hands reaching for you and cradling your face, forcing eye contact, “I neglected you and for that I’m so fucking sorry.” Thumb wiping away a stray tear, “I love you.”

“I don’t want to forgive you,” lower lip wobbling, “if I forgive you, you might do it again or you might actually stop loving me and then what? And then I have to go through all of this again?”

He pulls you into his arms, hugging you firmly, “I won’t stop loving you,” face pressing into the top of your head, nuzzling you, “won’t ever fuck up like that again, let me love you properly this time.”

You’re sniffling against his shirt, calming yourself first before answering him. Only doing so when you’ve collected yourself, parting from him enough to look into his eyes when you say, “Fine but I’m not marrying you again until you earn it.”

He can’t help himself, lips on yours and kissing you deeply, so elated at another chance that he couldn’t hold back. His tongue licking into your mouth and savouring the taste of you, he’d missed this so bad; the little noises you make, the way you nearly go limp in his arms, so weak for his kisses.

It’s rushed because of how desperate he is, hands moving to feel you up, groping your body needily. A huffed whine leaving you makes him groan, lips trailing down to your neck, nipping and sucking at your skin.

“Doll, I need you,” he’s basically pleading, he’s missed you so much though, borderline touch starved.

“Okay–” gasping when he bites at your shoulder, “the room, Toji–”

He grunts back at you, annoyed that he has to stop but picking you up and walking down the hall to your room all the same, you’ve got him wrapped around your pretty little fingers right now.

Dropping you unceremoniously onto the bed, causing you to bounce with the weight of it. Toji takes a moment to eye you up, trying to decide what he wants to do first, ultimately choosing to undress you.

“Toji, slow down–”

“–No,” it’s growled back, hands tugging your clothes off until you’re naked, “I’ll do you slow another time.”

So quick he drops to his knees, mouthing up the insides of your thighs. Normally he’d tease you, make you shaky and desperate for it but he’s in no position to play with you, already so desperate himself. Blowing gently onto your cunt just once before licking obscenely up the length of it, his spine shuddering at how sweet you taste, delighting in how you jolt and whine under his mouth.

You’re already so wet and leaking so insistently for him, he’s all too happy to lap at you. Chuckling darkly when your fingers tug at his hair and you whine frustratedly, wanting so much more from him.

“What do you want?”

Pouting back at him, “You know what I want”

Feigning ignorance just so he can hear you say it, so he can hear you ask for it, “Sorry, doll. It’s been a while; you have to remind me.”

“Inside,” you murmur out, all timid.

“Hmm?” he hums, like he didn’t hear you perfectly clearly. Going back to licking and sucking on your pussy, tongue flicking at your clit so cruelly.

“Toji~” you mewl, “inside– hah– I want you inside.”

His cock is aching, twitching in his pants at how pathetic you sound for him – for your ex-husbands dick. Feeling a little evil, he slides his tongue inside you, lewd slurping sounds leaving him as he fucks your hole with his tongue. Giving you what you wanted, filling you, just not with what you wanted.

Your back arching pitifully, moans tumbling from your lips so sinfully sweet that his hips jerk upwards, searching for some way to relieve himself. Hard dick rubbing against the zipper of his jeans, no doubt a wet spot forming through the material where the tip of him rests. Nuzzling into your cunt more, swallowing down the honeyed taste of you and moaning unashamed at it.

He feels insane just about now, in love with you, in love with your sweet pussy. Eyes heavy on you as he watches all of your little reactions, just knowing you’re close, your thighs fighting to close. His hands keep you spread wide, always getting a little extra joy and arousal out of your embarrassment.

Tongue leaving your tight heat only to be replaced with two of his thick fingers, opening you up so indecently. Mouth latching onto your clit, tongue flicking at it over and over, digits rubbing against your walls just how he knows you like. He wants you to cum before he fucks you, always so much wetter and hotter around him once you do. He wants it so bad, the memory enough to make him salivate, drooling onto your cunt.

Broken whines leaving you, “Hah– Toji– hnn– I’m close– I– ah!–”

Your walls flutter so delicate and enticing around his fingers, pulling him in deeper, clinging to him. Soft hum leaving him, acknowledging your words, it’s just his luck that the vibrations add to your pleasure. Legs kicking out as you come undone for him, all shaky and blissed out as your pussy tries to milk his fingers, wishing for something else entirely.

Toji’s brain feels like it’s melting, all gooey and obsessed with you when you’re like this. Helping you through your orgasm and trying his best to ignore the way his cock feels so heavy and hard in his pants.

When you whimper and push at his head lightly, he pulls back. His fingers withdrawing from your snug cunt, all coated in your cum. Without really thinking, like a man possessed, he shoves his fingers into his mouth. It’s filthy how he licks and sucks on them, cleaning them of your essence.

“Toji, stop being a pervert,” your words hold little weight when you still look so turned on and ready to be fucked by him.

He grins at you, standing to his full height, “You ready to remember the shape of me?”

You’re so gorgeous, all splayed out and blinking soft up at him, eyes dazed and twinkling from your orgasm, “Please?”

“Anything for my pretty, little wife,” he undresses for you.

Your eyes track him as he does but you also correct him, “Ex-wife.”

“Fine,” he rolls his eyes, crawling onto the bed over top of you, “Anything for my pretty, little, ex-wife.”

“I missed you a lot,” leaning up to him so your lips brush against his skin.

The words and your gentle touch send a shiver through him, precum dripping from the tip of his cock onto your skin. “I missed you too, doll, so much.”

Lips capturing yours in a heated kiss, all messy and tangled tongues. Kissing you properly, like he may never get to again, cause he almost didn’t get to. Not even parting when he positions himself at your entrance, slowly splitting you open with his cock. Damn near whining into your mouth, pushing the pathetic sound down, trying to keep control.

Eventually pulling away from the kiss just so he can watch you suck in his dick, biting his lip in what looks like a snarl as he slides inside. Appreciating how your pussy bulges around him so lewdly, barely halfway and looking so fucking stuffed.

He’s taken by surprise when your legs wrap around him and pull him in until his hips are flush to you, balls deep inside you all at once making him moan. Walls clingy and so fucking creamy soft, his cock swallowed up so greedily by your loving cunt. Brain fuzzy as he focuses on not cumming too soon.

It’s hard to keep that focus when you’re grinding up into him, pulsing hot and snug around him. Apparently just as touch starved as he’d been, a desperation in your need that he finds himself loving and understanding.

“Calm down,” his hand trails up your leg, from your hip to your knee, “I’ll fuck you good and proper.”

Gritting back at him, “Then do it.”

“Anything you say, doll.”

Hauling your legs up from under your knees, folding you in half and using his weight to hold you there. His laugh is a little cruel when you whinge up at him, brows pulled together as your mouth drops open.

His head right by yours with how he’s pressing into you, nipping the tip of your ear before he asks, “You ready for it?”

A little shaky under him but so certain when you nod back, “Give– hnn– it to me.”

“Yes ma’am,” he chuckles slightly, hips pulling back, cock dragging from your walls and then fucking back inside you so quick that the air leaves your lungs.

Toji’s head is spinning, your pussy really fucking missed him, hugging him so tight. So perfectly wet and needy that he’s going insane, having you writhing under him while he fucks you stupid.

“Are ya’ enjoying this?” he asks, angled thrusts hitting against your cervix, “You like getting fucked by your ex-husband?”

“Mhm,” nodding deliriously at him, too out of your mind with pleasure to bite back at him.

It’s cute, how you’re falling apart from just a few heavy thrusts, already fucked dumb and he’s just getting started.

“I can tell,” The sloppy wet sounds of your pussy filling the room making him so smug, “pretty cunt sounds so fucking happy to take me.”

“Don’t– ah!– don’t talk like that– hnn–”

Your protests mean absolutely nothing when your pussy betrays just how much you enjoyed his words, grin wicked on his face at how meek it sounded. “Aw I’m sorry, doll. Want me to be sweeter? Nicer maybe?”

“Yes– hng–” nails clawing into his back, the pleasure too overwhelming.

“Your pussy was made for me– hah–” he groans softly, “wrapped so warm and inviting around my cock.”

“That’s not– hnn–” moans shaky on your breath, “that’s not what I meant.”

He presses a kiss to the side of your head, “Was what I meant though.”

Opening your mouth to argue a little more only to be stopped when his thrusts get suddenly much more precise, hitting the same spot over and over and over, entirely on purpose. He knows what it does to you, he loves what it does to you. Relishing in the pitiful and broken moans leaving you, your cunt that much tighter around him, almost milking him.

Oh, you’re falling apart so perfectly under him, he’s not even sure you realise you’re cumming. Pulsing around him and whining desperately, it’s depraved and turning him on so much more. He fucks you through it, not daring to slow his pace, helping you enjoy and ride out your high.

Toji plans on playing with you for longer, have you cumming for him again, holding off on his own orgasm. At least that was his plan before you – in your cock drunk state – started muttering out, “I– hnn– missed you so so much, Toji. Love you– hng– love you, I love you, I l– ah!–”

He genuinely can’t help the effect your words have on him, cock jerking deep inside your cunt before he’s cumming. Rope after rope of his seed filling you so completely that it’s leaking out around the base of him. Deep moans vibrating his chest, eyes shut tight as he steadily rocks his hips into you.

Unable to stop himself, still grinding and rocking into you over and over. His cum making a mess out of the both of you and the bed, something you’ll chew him out for once you’ve exited your stupor.

When he does eventually stop, he keeps your legs folded up to your chest while he pulls out. A depraved and perverted desire to watch how his cock leaves your cunt, hole looking lonely while not stuffed full of him. His semen dribbling from you and down your ass, it’s turning him on again but you’re too out of it for another round right now.

Careful with how he lowers your legs back onto the mattress, moving to your side and pulling you to him. Both your chests pressed together, his fingers delicately trailing up and down your arm.

You’re drifting in and out of sleep when he promises you, “I’ll treat you so much better this time,” he doesn’t mind if you heard it or not because he’s going to prove it to you every day with his actions.

𝒂.𝒏. i was in the middle of writing a drabble and did that thing where i accidentally added too much plot and then it turned into a mini fic... I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT THOUGH❕🤍 it's a little different from my usual stuff teehee

[⚠︎] — 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈.ᐟ do not reupload / repost / translate / plagiarise my works © all works are the intellectual property of lovelivision

[headdinthewall]

POINTING FINGERS ──  g.clarke  ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : after people start to realise money might be tighter than you thought, the blame starts shifting a/n : loving reader and mandi’s friendship — i actually really liked her on the show even tho she spent loads of money, she never lied about it and i found her quite funny content : friends to lovers ,, arguments & confrontation

─────── AFTER THE CHALLENGE, everyone was cleaning and relaxing, especially those who got pied during the second to last round. You were still tense and annoyed but you kept it hidden surprisingly well, sitting silently at your mirror, taking your makeup off because it was creasing from the sweat and tears of the pressure you were put under.

Mostly everyone was hovering in the dressing room, George stood behind you, just meandering about and talking.

“I had a great time. I didn’t get pied. I didn’t do anything. I just pied a Sideman.”

“I had a good-ass time.” Jason chimed in, dapping George up. “We had a great time.”

“You had a worse time. You got shocked.” George reminded him. “I didn’t even get pied.”

“Oh. I completely forgot about that shit.” Jason realised and then hummed, looking down at you with a look to say ‘What’s wrong with her?’.

George waved it off, “She’s fine. She just doesn’t like spiders.”

“Ohhh.” Jason nodded understandingly before speaking to you, “Yo, reader you did a good job, though. That handstand was impressive.”

“Aw, thank you.” You said sincerely, smiling up at him.

“So you used to dance and shit?”

“Yeah, when I was younger.” You nodded.

Everyone finished up in the dressing rooms and made their way to the main communal area, sitting either on the sofa or around the stone table, just discussing how they feel after the hectic afternoon.

You were just wandering aimlessly around the house, not really in the mood to talk to anyone. The main reason you felt so deeply upset about the challenge was because you had faced one of your biggest fears and hadn’t even won anything in the process or gained anything.

You hummed quietly to yourself, running your fingers through your slightly tangled hair and brushing past the shop when you hear some whispering from inside.

“Mandi’s a problem, bro. She’s a problem. She’s out of control. She’s spending—“

“You know, Uncle was like, ‘She’s going next’.”

Your jaw dropped open and you nearly let out a giggle because you were eavesdropping, but then realised that you didn’t want them to hear, so you shuffled back to the living/ dining room.

Whilst you agreed that Mandi was spending a lot more than everybody else, you could appreciate the fact that she was honest about it and told everyone beforehand instead of sneaking around with food in her pockets and playing dumb.

Also, the fact that Whitney and Mya were supposed to be her friends in here and they were allowing PK to gossip about her like that didn’t sit right with you.

You skipped back up into the room, slightly prepared to tell Mandi, but then realised that everyone was in there and you didn’t want it to become a big thing and you definitely didn’t want to get on anyone’s bad side.

“DDG?” You said softly as you walked on.

“Yeah?”

“I would like to apologise—“ You giggled softly, “For slobbering all over your jumper during the challenge. It was either that or scream and lose money, so.”

“Nah, it’s cool. It’s cool.” DDG laughed, standing up to side-hug you, “Didn’t matter in the end ‘coz Whitney screamed and that, but I don’t care.”

“You pissed about that?” Mandi asked you, drinking her red bull out of the golden straw.

At least she was making use of it.

You shrugged, sliding onto the stool beside George, who slung his arm around your shoulders.

“Yeah you are, ennit? I can tell by your face.” Mandi chuckled, “It’s valid.”

“Yeah, no!” Farah nodded, “It’s very valid. You have every right to be pissed after you did all that just for it to not count.”

“I just feel like I’m overreacting.” You mumbled, toying with your nails.

“Whatever you’re feeling is not an overreaction.” George told you firmly but gently. “I can promise you that. If you want to be angry, you can be angry. If you want to be sad, you can be sad. If you want to — I dunno — be fucking, elated that you even sat through a minute of spiders, you can do that too.”

“Too fucking right.” Mandi pointed at George.

You smiled at those around you, “Thanks guys.”

“I feel like you’re gonna cry!” Farah exclaimed, “Emotional person to emotional person, I get you.”

You let out a teary sort-of laugh, looking up and blinking back your tears, “No. No, I’m okay.”

“You good?” George shook your shoulder, “Yeah?”

You nodded, sniffing, “Yeah.”

“Good. You did great earlier, even if it didn’t financially account to anything. I’m proud of you, if it matters.”

God, it did.

It really fucking did.

─────── THE ENTIRE GROUP was clearly fighting off boredom, DDG even willingly volunteered himself to get a facial from Milli and Cinna. Your face practically lit up at that, and your head snapped on George’s direction. He could’ve sworn there was actually a soft glow radiating off of your face as he sighed and nodded, letting you drag him through to the bedrooms.

“Please lie back, Mr Clarke.” You shouted over your shoulder as you grabbed your skincare stuff.

“Yes ma’am.” He put on a fake posh voice as he laid in his bed, one away from DDG, Milli and Cinna.

The two girls laughed at him, knowing that you were about the give him the same space treatment that they were giving D.

“Now, Mr Clarke, are you wanting a full shabang, or just a little here and there?” You put your serums and moisturisers on top of George’s locker.

“You can do whatever you feel like doing, reader. You are the artist and I am merely a blank canvas.”

“George, I’m doing your skin care, not your makeup.” And then you gasped, “You have to let me do that for a YouTube video!”

“No!” He exclaimed.

“Yes! Now, shh! It’s supposed to be relaxing.” You shushed him, wiping down his face with a micellar water soaked cotton pad. “Did you know that ArthurTV uses micellar water?”

“Does he?”

“Yeah, I was at his apartment for a little girls night with Flo and Liv and it was in the bathroom.” You explained before cringing at the now dirty pad, “George, that’s disgusting.”

“Wha— Well, I don’t have a skincare routine!” George blabbered.

“You should. You’ve promoted CeraVe enough times.” You mumbled, grabbing a brightening serum. “This is for your under eyes, because you stream to the point of sleep deprivation and it shows.”

He scoffed at your insult, and went to grab you by the hips to handle you around a little jokingly, before realising that it would’ve ended with you on top of him. And, although that was a sight he didn’t mind seeing, he didn’t want it to happen in a room with other people where he knew you’d freeze up and get embarrassed.

You used your ring finger to rub the serum in, before gently lathering a nice layer of moisturiser on, making sure to rub it into the skin under his beard, giving him a slight chin massage, which he hummed pleasurably at.

“Does that feel nice?” You giggled, using your nails to provide an extra feeling of scratching.

“Mhm.” He barely got out. “We should do this more often.”

You shook your head, still laughing, “This is, like, a couples activity, George. Facial treatments and massages?”

“Yeah. Your point?”

Oh.

Oh.

“We’ll see, Georgie. We’ll see.”

“Reader, my love, I’m hungry will you come with me to get something?” Mandi walked in, and you heard her before you saw her.

“No, but come here.” You beckoned her over, keeping your voice low and inaudible to anybody except Mandi and George. “You need to slow down on your spending, because, one, it’s a lot, babe. And I love you, but relax. And two, PK was talking about you in the shop to Whitney and Mya."

Mandi’s eyes widened softly, and all of a sudden, George wasn’t so tired as his eyes snapped open.

“What did he say?”

“That … um, that you’re spending too much and that you’re a problem.” You felt bad for snitching on them, not wanting to gain a reputation of being a big-mouth or a gossiper, but you couldn’t hide it from her. She was one of the only people so far that had even tried to get to know you.

“What did the girls say?”

“Nothing that I heard. Just Mya was talking about how Patrice said he wants to vote you out. I don’t know if maybe they defended you later on, but from what I heard while I was there, neither of them said anything.”

“Fucking snakes.” Mandi scoffed, and you quickly shot a hand out to grab hers, “Please don’t tell anyone, though. Or like, don’t say anything, ‘coz I don’t wanna get wrapped up in drama but I needed to—“

“I— Honestly, babe? Thank you for telling me. I won’t say nothing. That’s the saying, ennit? Keep your friends close but keep your enemies closer.” Mandi whispered and you nodded, looking down at George, who was just listening intently when Mandi spoke to him, “And I know PK is probably one of your boys, but you have to admit that it was snakey.”

“Yeah, no, I agree. I don’t think … I think if someone feels a certain way about someone it should be said … to them, rather than behind their backs.” George added his two cents, fingers stroking back and forth on your knee as he sat up.

─────── CONFRONTATIONAL CHATTER WAS not something you anticipated on the second day already. It was clear that some people’s (including your own) backs were still up about certain and things, and one person that wasn’t afraid to share his feelings was Patrice.

“I think this morning, it was wild. People wake up—“

“I’ve got a question—“ Whitney was cut off by Patrice, “No no, let me speak. I … What’s the point? Mandi: Red bull, coffee.”

“I thought we were close, really had bonded.” Mandi joked.

“No, no, then let me finish. Then you swear at the challenge. Another 20K.”

“I wasn’t the only one, though.”

“No, they laugh. You swear. And straightaway you upset the guy.” Patrice argued.

“They laugh, I swear. What’s the difference? 20K is 20K.” Mandi defended herself and you hummed in agreement.

It didn’t necessarily matter who lost money in the challenges, that was more of a case of how much. But what did matter was who was spending money outside of challenges.

“Okay, calculate how much we lost thanks to you, Mandi.”

George let out a snort and buried his face in the crook of his elbow.

“That’s a bit targeted.” Farah piped up, defending Mandi.

“It’s not targeted. I will go— No, no, no, no, we to tell name. But you take it the wrong way.” Patrice’s volume raised as he got passionate with his speech.

“That’s his opinion.” Whitney said, taking Patrice’s side.

You and Mandi shared a look, yours being more like ��I told you so’ and hers being ‘This is bullshit’.

“Yeah, but I feel like the way you come across is a bit ‘argh!’, you remember I told you yesterday.” Farah dismissed Whitney’s comment.

“It’s the way I’m talking.” Patrice shrugged.

“No but I’d be— Like, if you said that to me, I’d be upset.”

Patrice was having none of it and you huffed. It was only day two and people were arguing like this already. It was unnecessary and not needed, and some people were definitely overreacting — or butting in when they didn’t have to.

“I’d like to stand up as I say this.” Mandi said, rising from her stool. “First of all, okay, I don’t think I was the only person who fucked up by losing money on the challenge. Yeah? The laughingstock people, alright? They lost 20K. Whoever laughed—“

“Can I just say something—“ PK tried to speak and you rolled your eyes.

No, PK, no, you cannot. Because it’ll just be another lie.

“George.” Patrice listed.

“Two times.”

“Reader, Whitney—“

“But George and reader don’t spend money, though.” Jason said.

“It was two times. Because PK whined, it got deducted.” Whitney explained.

“Two times 10K was … Two times 10K was taken off.”

“That’s split across three people each time.” George argued against Mandi, trying to prove that her wasting 20K didn’t equivocate to multiple people laughing and losing 10K on two separate occasions.

“It’s still the same amount of money.” Mandi stressed.

“It’s not like one person did everything.”

“You— You— You pied the guy. That was 20K.” Mandi’s hands moved erratically, trying to argue with everyone as they all kept coming for her.

“That was— I did do that, yeah.” George held his hands up, taking accountability.

“But, Mandi, that’s like— It’s sort of different. Yours was an accident, and I understand that.” You said calmly, trying to reason with her, “But, I think what they're trying to get at overall is that you do spend a lot of money.”

“I’ve got a few things to talk about here, yeah.” PK spoke up, fiddling with the table tennis bat and Whitney and Mya laughed.

You subtly cut your eye across the table at them.

“It’s starting to get— Like we’ve been saying, the spending is ridiculous. You’re saying like, yeah, you’re sharing the meals, I’m sharing all my meals that I upgrade.”

“Well then no one’s pointing the finger at you for upgrading. But everyone points the finger at her.” Farah continued to defend Mandi.

“Golden straw, Red Bull, Chocolate.” PK listed off all the things that Mandi had bought. “Chocolate. You got chocolate.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair, tired off this constant back and forth, “I don’t think this is going to solve anything. Everyone just needs to take accountability for the stuff they bought, whether that’s in secret or with public knowledge—“

“Reader, I love you, but just one second.” Mandi cut you off with a hand on yours, “PK, I’m not listening to you try and spit about being honest and morally correct, when you’re out here talking bad about me.”

“What?! When did I do that?!” He exclaimed.

You widened your eyes and puffed your cheeks out, looking down at your lap, but just catching a glance of Mya and Whitney whispering to each other.

“Earlier today. Don’t ask how I know, just know that I do.” Mandi kissed her teeth.

George nudged your elbow, smirking at you slightly and you tried to suppress your smile by pressing your lips together.

“Ah, it was you ennit?” PK pointed at you. “You’re all laughing, giggling with George.”

“What?” You frowned, “You’re gonna pin the blame on me just for smiling at my friend?”

“Did you or did you not say something to her?”

“Did you or did you not chat about Mandi behind her back to Whitney and Mya?” You quipped back and everyone’s mouths made little ‘O’ shapes.

“But he wasn’t talking bad about her.” Whitney said, shaking her head, “He was just saying the truth, that she spends too much.”

"I never said it was bad. I just asked him if he did or didn't." You shrugged, adding to your blunt reply.

Mandi stepped in, taking the attention away from you, “But also, you’re supposed to be my friend, so tell me that to my face if you think that.”

“The chocolate!” PK exclaimed again and Mandi pulled a face, “What chocolate?”

“Ar, don’t do that.”

“When did you get chocolate?” Milli asked, confused because she’d never seen Mandi with anything she wasn’t already aware of her buying.

“She bought chocolate. Just earlier.” PK insisted.

“When was this?”

“What chocolate?” Mandi frowned.

“Oh my Lord. Don’t do that.” PK stood up, laughing.

“I bought one chocolate the first day, and I split it — four bars — I split it with everyone.”

“Yeah, that was yesterday.” Cinna agreed with Mandi.

“Wait, wait, wait, I saw you put chocolate in your thing.” PK tutted.

“Ah, now you wanna play this game?” Mandi caught on to what was going on.

“Oh, I wanna play this game. Let’s play this game.” George enthusiastically drummed on the table, only adding fuel to the fire and causing a loud ruckus in the room as PK beckoned for people to follow him out so he could prove himself.

You rolled your eyes, “Mandi, you were literally with me.”

“Yeah, I was gonna say we were all in the bedrooms doing DDG and George’s facials.” Milli put in.

You were glad that some people in here still had some common sense and didn’t fall for every little lie that came out of PK’s mouth, because it was getting ridiculous now.

“Do you have an issue?” Whitney asked, and you hummed, not realising she was talking to you.

“What, sorry?” You lifted your head from your lap where you were toying with George’s fingers.

“You. You’ve been off and weird, like acting like I’m personally coming for you.”

It went silent and you didn’t say anything, just blinking at her. God, you really hated confrontation.

“What? When has she acted like that?” Milli mumbled, and you were filled with some relief that other’s were talking for you.

“It’s just, like, seemed very passive aggressive, and so I was just wondering what’s your problem?” Whitney aimed her comment at you.

This felt very secondary school, ‘I’m pressuring this person outside of school, come watch and film it’ to you, so you didn’t entertain it, just shrugging and looking down. Despite being loud-mouthed and an obnoxious bitch in secondary school, your confidence dwindled when being confronted by more than one person at a time, and so this only worsened over the years, and now you hated any form of argument, whether you were in the right or not.

“Tell them how you feel.” George hummed, squeezing your hand supportively.

“No.”

He sighed and looked at them, “She’s just annoyed because she did her challenge and she really hates spiders. And she felt like her … participation meant nothing because you ended up losing money.”

You finally found your voice, glancing up at them to talk, “It’s mainly ‘coz you weren’t even the one with the spiders on you, but you were screaming and — I don’t care about the money — it’s more that … that was my participation and my way of showing that I can help with the group stuff, and it just went down the drain.”

“Okay, and I’m sorry that I made noise and lost money on your round, but my fear of spiders is so genuine and like—“

“Yeah, and no one’s dismissing that.” Farah spoke up for you as well, “But what we’re talking about right now is readers feelings.”

“You asked her, so let her explain.” Mandi chipped in.

“No, I already said what I wanted to. It doesn’t matter, it’s not that deep.” You shook your head, biting your nails.

“I’m sorry, yeah? For losing money on your round and making you feel like your participation was worthless.” Whitney apologised and you nodded, thanking her.

Dylan also had something to say, “No one else thinks that your participation was pointless. It was sick, like you were upside down with spiders on you. That’s not nothing, y’know?”

You nodded, tucking your hair behind your ear and you could feel George’s eyes burning holes into your head, as if he could read your thoughts. As if every little word and image you conjured up in your brain was telepathically communicated to him.

“I’m not really mad, anymore. I don’t think so anyway. I just … I think all the arguing is pointless when people aren’t willing to listen and acknowledge everyone’s viewpoints, so it’s whatever. I’m just glad that I do have people who have got my back, like George, Mandi, Farah, Milli. It’s nice to have people like that when you don’t really know who you can and can’t trust.”

─────── JUST BEFORE DINNER, a lot happened. DDG was offered a temptation of wagyu steak, ice cream and his favourite movie, which he declined very chivalrously, and George was spouting something about a new shop item labelled ‘horny beast’.

You whole-heartedly didn’t believe him until you, Milli and Mandi actually went down there and saw it for your very own eyes, priced at £6,500.

"Reader, it's you." Mandi joked, a subtle jab at the conversation you'd shared on the first day.

You mockingly glared at her and she burst out laughing, as did you.

“Aw, look, the disposable camera.” You awed, pointing to it on the menu.

“I’ll buy you one when we get out.” George said, squeezing your shoulder as he pulled you back into his chest, “And it’s not gonna be worth seven and a half grand, I’ll tell you that much.”

You laughed with him, shaking your head at the extortionate prices of the shop list.

You left, not too bothered with the items and satisfied with you confirmed purchase once you left the show. You and George sat on the couch, getting cozy with each other. You were tucked under his arm and into his side, playing with the strings on his hoodie.

“You alright? Earlier was crazy, hm?” His voice vibrated down your ear.

“It was unnecessary and chaotic.” You snorted, finding humour in the situation now it had passed.

Cinna and PK were playing darts in front of you as you casually conversed with meaningless conversation about what you wanted to do when you got out and stuff along those lines.

The rest of the Insiders congregated back into the room after making their purchase.

George asked, “Did you guys order the horny beast? Was it—“ Milli held it up, “It was exactly what I said it would be!”

“We bought a horny beast!” Jason shouted, holding the teddy in the air as George loudly proclaimed, “I told you exactly what it would be.”

“You said it would be a teddy bear?” Milli asked.

“I said it would be a stuffed toy with a horn.”

“How did you know?!”

“Because I know how their fucking brains work.” George threw his hands up.

When dinner was announced, you and Milli stayed sat on the couch and George grabbed your hands to haul you up to your feet but you whined and just held onto his hands.

“Get the food for us?” You begged with puppy dog eyes.

He sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically, “Okey dokey. Rice and beans. Nom, nom, nom.”

You giggled as he shuffled out the room, shaking your head at his ridiculousness and Milli gave you a knowing look. You shook your head at her and shoved her away lightly, making you both laugh.

After you had all eaten, George challenged you to a game of table tennis, in which you shook your head, knowing he was just doing it so that he could laugh at you when you lost. Then, he grabbed you, throwing you over his shoulder and placed you on his opposing side of the tennis table.

“I think she can beat you in a tournament.” Milli said, hooking her arm over the back of the couch and watching you two bicker back and forth like an old married couple.

“Uh …” George flapped his lips, “I mean, the score line says different.

“Do a challenge.” Milli suggested and you gave her a deadpanned look, “Girl, are you trying to embarrass me?!”

“First to 11, reader. Take it or leave it.” George proposed.

“Is there a winning prize?” You tilted your head, willing to consider it.

“I think the losing person has to order the winner something they want from the shop.” Milli put forwards and you nodded before rethinking, “Wait, no, I’m going to lose!”

“Too late! You said yes.” George laughed.

“I nodded actually— Oh my God!” You screamed when George pinged the ball at you and it flew past your ear. “That doesn’t count I wasn't ready!”

“I know, I just wanted to scare you.” He scoffed playfully.

Sixteen rounds later and it wasn’t looking good for you. You whined as he shuffled his weight from one foot to the other.

“Oh, George!”

“10-6, bitch.” He teased.

You raised your eyebrows, glaring at him.

“Beautiful, young lady.” He corrected himself.

“Thank you, now let me win.” You ordered, serving.

The round didn’t last long, the ball bouncing between you about seven times before hitting the wall behind you and your jaw dropped. He jumped up and down in excitement, launching himself onto the couch.

“Oh, I just love table tennis!” He taunted as he followed you out and towards the shop, clicking his heels jokingly and laughing like a maniac.

“Go on, I’ll sugar mommy you.” You teased as you both looked at the menu.

"What, with the Sidemen's money?" George barked out laughter.

You had just shut the door when the shop door slid open, revealing three cups of some mysterious liquid. You both glanced from the cups to each other, like a skit from a really bad cartoon (or maybe just one of George’s old TikTok's).

“Who ordered that?” George asked as you walked towards it, peering into the cup curiously.

Instead of taking them for yourselves, you went to alert the group, “Some drinks have just popped out in the fucking shop!” "Someone's ordered drinks."

“Who?” Whitney questioned, coming out from the bathroom with Mandi.

“That’s such a bad lie!” George guffawed.

“Was it you?” You mouthed to Mandi and she shrugged, so you immediately knew who it was. You shook your head and covered your face with your hands.

“I can’t defend you anymore!” You cried out dramatically and sarcastically.

“Well, those drinks that seemed to pop out of thin air, probably one of the biggest mysteries of Inside. I’m sort of second-guessing if it was a sort of prize for our table tennis endeavours or if it was more just … some … someone doing a bit of tomfoolery.”

“Someone trying to make an funny.”

“Exactly, m’lady, exactly.”

At the end of the day, just before bed, the prize fund was displayed on the TV, the numbers rapidly declining from £964,450 to £913,867, giving a teasing pause and then continuing to fall.

“It’s gonna be bad.” You muttered into George’s chest, taking into consideration the snacks, breakfast, the new upgraded and the money lost in the challenge today.

The final number displayed was £762,700.

People were in uproar about it, exclaiming that it had to be wrong and it was rigged, but they were the ones spending like everything cost normal amounts.

Patrice started theorising that people were taking hot showers without saying anything, so everyone went around saying if they did or didn’t.

You were completely zoned out, so when he pointed at you, you blinked and looked up blankly, “What? Sorry?”

George and Milli laughed.

“No, she took a cold shower.” Dylan confirmed for you, “She was shivering when she got out.”

“Oh, yeah, no. Cold shower. It was torture.”

“I’m gonna fast the whole day, because I wanna show my level of commitment to the show.” PK declared, “What we’re forgetting is, yeah, this is actually real money, y’know? I think we’re forgetting that because we can’t see it and we’re just seeing a number. £662,000 is up for grabs here.”

“That’s a— That’s a 7.” George corrected him and you laughed.

When Tobi announced bedtime again, you were, once again, up and out ready to sleep. You thanked your brain for taking your makeup off earlier, so all you needed to do was brush your teeth, put your pjs on and get into bed.

Unfortunately, everyone still wanted to converse. You huffed and George opened his duvet for you to get under as yours was on the other side of his, leaning you would’ve been away from the conversation.

“The challenge today was easy.” DDG said, “We just fucked up. We fucked up by making noise.”

“I agree.” You tiredly hummed, "Not mine, but your guys'."

"See, I'm cool with spiders."

"Okay, so you can hold a split handstand while spiders crawl over you next time." You joked with him.

"Aight, bet, bet." DDG smirked.

"We'll meet after Inside, and I'll make you do it if you really think you can handle it."

You were leaning on your side, up on one elbow and George laid behind you, up on his hand so that he could see over you.

“Yeah, the challenge are easy, but it’s difficult not laughing.” Patrice added.

They were all still debating whether or not the challenges were worth losing money over and you sighed, turning over and lying down, getting comfortable despite it not being your bed.

“Excuse you, trouble.” George feigned offence, looking down at you.

“I’m tired, give me a break.”

“Are you okay after earlier?” Farah crouched beside you, whispering so you could be honest if you needed.

“Yeah, honestly it’s fine. It doesn’t matter, ‘coz I cant change it now, so I’ll just leave it. It’s not worth holding grudges and hard feelings over.”

She nodded in understanding and jokingly patted your head as if you were a dog.

“Reader, your challenge was good.” Milli spoke to you, bringing you into the conversation.

Your head whipped around to give her a ‘bitch are you serious?’ look.

“No! Not like that it was a good challenge, but that you did it. I wouldn’t have.”

“Yeah, I’d take my hat off to you but I’m not wearing one, so.” PK added, which made you snort in response.

“And I just want to say, I really am sorry.” Whitney held a hand over her heart, “I didn’t intend to make you upset or annoyed, I’m just, like, deathly afraid of spiders.”

You laughed nodded, “No, I get it. Don’t worry. No hard feelings.”

The lights began to fade out and you sighed dramatically like a fairy tale princess as you hauled yourself out of George’s bed and into your own.

“Goodnight, beautiful people!”

“You calling me beautiful, reader?”

“Everyone but PK.”

Laughter filled the room before it died down.

@clarkey4life @migilini @wherethezoes-at @kneelforloki @edgyficuselastica @oliviaohanessian1 @livvymd @theresglitteronthefloor

[enkays-den]

(hopefully) Final Update! Skizz supports trans rights!

I will let Skizz speak for himself, because he did it pretty dang well, with some highlights courtesy of me

"Hello all, just gonna drop this right here. I wish to clear up some churn over this stream that was just starting to spin a bit out of control, and quickly at that. Simply put, I was feeling really happy and good with the vibes of the stream (As I most often do), and failed to vet a dono msg prior to instantly reading it out loud. The message was centered on my support of the LGBTQ community and more over requesting I explicitly state aloud “Trans Rights”. My response was instant and not totally well thought out. While I do think that there is an unfortunate political dynamic to the LGBTQ community, the word I was actually trying to conjure up was “polarizing”. The reason I’d rather not delve into said polarizing topics is because of what inevitably comes from it. There were several comment threads of people going back and forth at each other over this. Much of which was cordial, some not so much, and all of it not fitting for the comment section of one of my stream VODs. I’ve removed them all because it’s just not the place for it. Obviously I believe in trans rights as we’re all people, every one of us. I just don’t fancy, and never will, being told what to say. It’s not lost on me how stubborn I can be. 😊 There was actually some talk that I’m open to harnessing hate in my community. Not sure where I slipped up to give that impression so let me be crystal clear; hate is not tolerated here and never has been. It literally means nothing to me what one’s take is on any matter. I could agree whole heartedly but if the position is delivered in a fashion designed to cause pain, discomfort or divisiveness on any level, then please take that somewhere else. This is indeed intended to be a safe space. So to that end, if you want to hang out where the vibes are real and the good times continue to roll, well then I’m looking forward to seeing you at the next stream. If you’d rather be a part of the seemingly endless game of disposition ping-pong, I completely respect that but politely request you all meet at another forum to do so. Now genuinely…..genuinely…..be good, be good to each other, and I’ll see you soon."

So all in all, about what I expected, with two notes:

There was some discussion in the youtube comments saying anon shouldn't have paid Skizz to say 'trans rights', and that is fair. SHOULDN'T is a strong word, as Skizz is notoriously bad at reading his chat and this person clearly wanted to be heard and validated. Either way, try not to use donations to coerce content creators to say things like a damn puppet! Not even Joe!

Don't take his attitude of "disposition ping-pong" to heart

Thank you for being kind in the comments. There were a few people that were getting a little spicy in the approach, but I'll choose to believe that those people did not come from my post. Skizz was not actively encouraging hate with his words, but he also didn't acknowledge the harm that inaction can do.

Keep your tone calm and your points reasonable, be resolute in your feelings, and know that you can only state your feelings, not force action. That is the way to keeping these sorts of discussions calm.

If this is all a devastating ordeal, please take this as hopefully the hardest lesson that the content creators themselves are not the safe space: it's the people in that safe space. If Skizz doesn't want to say "trans rights", find people that will scream it for you. Fandoms and cc's will rise and fall, but friendships and bonds can last FAR beyond that. THAT is your home. Your blorbo is simply the 30 posters you glue to the wall.

This is hopefully my final update as Skizz spoke concisely and without any places to hide. DO NOT BLOW THIS UP. I gave him explicit permission to delete my comment because I knew he would have to, and I hold no grudge against him for it. I am happy with his answer. I still love him as a content creator just as much as I did yesterday morning. I'll wish him the happiest of birthdays on Saturday. Rest easy knowing that you have your answer, one way or another

And for those of you that need it:

An anonymous trans donator asked skizz if he'd say a "trans rights" for pride month and he softly shut it down saying "this channel about good times good vibes, and not anything political. I've got nothing against anything, I've driven that home."

I know it's parasocial to be disappointed that a man in his mid 40s considers queer rights a political topic and it doesn't mean I won't watch him but,,,,, I couldn't help but feel my heart sink a little as that played out live. Skizz says he wants to bring happiness, and joy, and that's literally all this person wanted. A firm, no room for doubt affirmation that Skizz sees and cares for his trans fans. I don't think he's transphobic, but I do think he has a misconception about why saying "trans rights" matters, and why it SHOULDNT be political. Pride month exists for the same reason there's a women's month, and a black history month, and a Juneteenth, and a Veteran's Day. We are lucky to be alive, and we're still fighting for our rights to this day, so we need times to just celebrate our continued existence.

And like,,,, I'm sure that he's heard a lot online but the discussion on trans rights is only political because basic human rights are being denied to trans people for no reason other than bigotry. We want basic human rights for all, for trans people, gay people, disabled people, people of color. We want the standard of care the government and its services and the businesses of our country to be better, more accessible, and affordable for EVERYONE, regardless of gender, race, political belief, religion. The fact that THAT desire is a political matter is because politicians keep denying it.

There were also members of his chat that subtlety ragged on the anonymous donator, saying it was "weird" and "cringe". I have no words for them.

I know Hermitcraft is supposed to be a safe space, and a place to get away from the world's problems, but so you know what is counteractive to that? Bigotry. Transphobia. There are so many young queer fans of hermitcraft, and to say that their existence, this one little piece of affirmation isn't allowed, is insulting and disheartening. Good vibes isn't all free speech and being neutral, it's explicitly saying "you are safe here. I see that you are in danger and you are safe."

I will also leave this video here because I think it's important to be firm about keeping bigotry out of your community, regardless if it means you get less viewers or are seen as "political"

[beanarie]

@bucktommywhumpweek day 5: numb, depression. this follows from previous parts. check on #my writing to catch up.

~

The surgeon looks closer to Buck's age than Tommy's. When he raises his hand, she steps right up to him and takes a seat so they're on the same level. Buck appreciates that. "Thomas was in the early stages of hypovolemic shock, but we found the bleed and repaired it in time to avoid a crisis. We'll be keeping a close eye. As of now, there's no sign of organ failure, and we don't expect this to change his prognosis."

"Which was?" Eddie asks, shattering the invisible barrier between them and her.

"Cautiously optimistic."

He asks another couple of questions that Buck does not absorb at all, but Eddie looks open and approving, indicating he likes what she said.

Buck swallows. "Can I see him?"

"It should be some time before he's out of recovery and settled back in ICU. I'll have one of the nurses find you here?"

Buck nods, not trusting his voice. His eyes follow her progress out of the room and he gets stuck on the display of pamphlets, his vision blurring, his ribs lined with thorns. He can't control his limbs. He's shaking all over.

"He's gonna be okay," Eddie says. He slides one arm across Buck's back and begins to pull him in.

Buck lifts his shoulders to his ears and pushes out with his elbows. "D-Don't touch me."

~

Eddie hasn't left. It doesn't make any sense, but Buck refuses to ask him again. Every once in a while, Eddie says something that hits his ear and dissipates like smoke, as though Buck's physiology has decided Eddie's got nothing to say worth listening to.

Buck's phone keeps ringing and ringing, at least every five minutes, until he finally thinks to power it down.

Shortly after Eddie's phone rings, he puts it in Buck's hand.

"Hi," Maddie says, with a relieved exhale. "I'm so sorry I can't be there, Bobby's still a little warm."

Buck chokes on a sob.

"Buck? Are you okay? Talk to me."

"Could you please call him something else? Anything else?"

"You know Athena started that. It helped her start to heal."

"Yeah," he says in a small voice.

"And now it's just his name. That's who he is to all of us."

"R-Right."

She hums thoughtfully. "You know, you can give him a nickname all your own. We're not Mom and Dad. He doesn't have to go by just one thing."

"Great idea. I'll use his middle name." Buck snaps his fingers. "Oh. Wait."

"Buck. You were there for the middle name wars. You saw how much trouble we had deciding. This was the best compromise."

"Five minutes after they put him in the ground, you r-replaced him c-completely."

"Please stop. Why are you being like this?"

"You weren't even close to Bobby. N-Not like I was. But I didn't get a say."

"We're talking about my son."

"Bobby was basically my dad!" Buck says, not realizing how loud he's being until the elderly couple nearby move to the other side of the room. "The one who actually wanted the job, who wanted me. I lost him and n-no one gives a shit."

Eddie is saying something again.

"Hey, Buck. I know you're having a rough time, but what the hell. Why is my wife crying? She's been fielding calls about you this whole time, making sure you're okay even though she can't be there, and this is how you thank her, by making her feel guilty about our baby's name? You're doing this now?"

Buck wrinkles his nose and gazes up at the buzzing lighting fixture. "You know what, Interim Captain Han. Don't talk to me for another... two- two months or so. It might m-mess up your promotion if you punch one of your firefighters while- while they're injured."

He ends the call and gives the phone back to Eddie. "Give that to me again a-and I'll smash it."

~

Hen stands before him with an old-fashioned thermos in red and black plaid. "It's not a cupcake. But yours are better than the bakery I usually get them from anyway."

"What is it," Buck asks, more because he feels like he should rather than out of curiosity.

"Cheddar-tomato soup. Karen perfected it during Covid. Little Miss Nia never gave us a hard time when this was on the menu. She used to try to steal Denny's bowl, actually."

"Okay." She holds it out, but he shakes his head. He had a granola bar today. Josh slipped it in his hand at some point. Maybe Eddie did, he can't remember.

She sits next to him. "Any news on Tommy?"

"W-What are you asking for," Buck says. "You don't like Tommy."

"Hey, Tommy and I were teammates for years and I only fantasized about shoving him into an open flame, like, twice. I like him fine." She crosses her legs at the knees, unbothered. "I simply got to see him at his worst and I wasn't sure he'd be good for you."

"Bobby said he was. In e-exactly those words."

"Hm," she says. "You've been thinking about Bobby a lot."

"I can't stop, and- and no one cares," he says, feeling stupid and tiny and young, but also weirdly okay about that. There's something cleansing about giving up the filter.

"Of course we care, Buck. You just can't expect us to care more than we do about our own shit. It's not realistic. People don't work like that."

"Sure," Buck says, nodding. "Here I go again, making it all about me."

"It's okay for things to be about you sometimes. Necessary, even." She bumps her shoulder against his. "I'm sorry we let you fall through the cracks. Honestly. It was not out of malice or lack of care. Just-"

"Me not being a priority."

"And bad luck slash bad timing. Maddie's baby, Chim surviving in Bobby's 'place', Eddie's... Eddie-ness. Who ever knows what that dickhead's problem is."

"Hey," Eddie says, half-heartedly.

Buck lays his head back and throws an arm across his eyes.

Hen squeezes his wrist. "We love you. Stop hurting yourself and let us help, okay? I'm genuinely worried. You don't look good."

The thorns along his ribs twist, bringing tears to his eyes. "I don't wanna stay on Eddie's couch."

"No one will make you sleep on a couch. You can take Denny's room if you want. He spends half his nights on Mara's floor anyway."

Buck meets her gaze. "R-Really?"

"You'd do it for me, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, but- but you wouldn't need me to. You've got-"

She shrugs. "Why does that matter? You would. You did, in the beginning of lockdown."

~

"Oh, God," Maddie says, her face dipping into a sad, sympathetic frown as she rushes towards him.

Buck gives a start and hands the mostly empty cup of soup back to Hen. "Oh, I..."

"Shh." She occupies the seat Hen just vacated and takes his hands in her own. "Get over here." She pulls him in and he lets her, confused and ashamed under a thin layer of shock. "Has it really been hurting you all this time, every time we say his name?"

"No," he mumbles, letting his too long arms settle around her. "Not- Not every t-time."

"We didn't do it to replace Bobby," she says, low and urgent. "He died to keep our family going. He would've done that for any of you, but he did that for us. We honor him so we'll always remember and be grateful."

"I know. I- I know, Maddie."

She pulls away and kisses his forehead. "You feel warm, too," she says, with a watery sound of distress.

"Sleep deprivation sometimes does that," Hen says, motioning behind Buck. "Gimme your keys. We're gonna go pack you a bag. Then Eddie will bring you over mine after you see Tommy, okay? Eat some more soup or I'll get you."

Buck hands over his keys and waves them off.

Maddie turns his face to look at her. "Listen. If you're up at three am with bad dreams multiple nights in a row, you call me."

"I- I won't do that," he admits, resting his head on her shoulder. "I won't wake you up on purpose."

"Okay, we'll figure something else out, then." She curls her arm so she can stroke his hair. "Building your giant muscles until you sometimes, maybe pass out for a couple hours isn't cutting it."

Buck doesn't say anything. His eyes are stinging once more. He's missed her so much.

"You remember my glow worm doll?" she says and he makes a surprised noise.

"It lit up when you hugged it," Buck says softly. "You never let me hold it for more than f-five minutes."

"Because it was mine," she says, for the thousandth time. "He looked like that, a little bit, don't you think? When he was born?"

"Yeah, when he was swaddled up tight so it looked like he didn't have legs? He really did."

"We could call him Bug, you and me."

"Jee would want in on that action," Chim says.

[geeky-politics-46]

John Walker Headcanons

Random thoughts I have about John Walker. I separated them into SFW and NSFW. These may be elaborated on and expanded on later. If there is a specific headcanon you really want a story about, let me know in the comments or an ask. This may also become an entire NSFW Alphabet as I love writing those.

SFW:

Definitely a control freak. Don't touch or move his stuff without asking first unless you want either a lecture or a very pouty annoyed super soldier. Part of this is due to military training. Part of this is just him desperately needing to be in charge. His room is by far the cleanest, and he will randomly start cleaning if he's anxious.

Rigid in his routines almost to a fault. If he's not following a routine, he doesn't know what to do with himself. His entire life has been about military structure. Now, even if he's not a military officer anymore, he still can't bring himself to move out of his established routines.

Very awkward when you first start dating. The last time he successfully wooed anyone was high school. To say he's a little rusty is an understatement. Expect lots of dorky flirting and bad innuendo. May even some frat boy-esque come ons that almost make your skin crawl.

He tries to show off extra in front of you. You can't reach something? All you have to do is ask. Can't open a jar? He's right there with his hand held out. Need help carrying in groceries? He can take them all in one trip. If you come into the gym while he's in there, he will stop what he's doing to pick up even heavier weights in hopes that you notice.

Has a bit of a dumb blonde streak to him. May actually be really intelligent but will say the absolute dumbest things sometimes. Things that leave the rest of the team staring and speechless. Prime example being his “we're running out of space?” comment at the end of Thunderbolts.

100% gets jealous of your celebrity crushes. He knows it's stupid and that you having crushes is completely normal, but he can't help it. He wants to be your number 1 all the time. He needs to be your number 1, your first choice. Even if it's some married A lister you would never meet in a thousand years. He can't stand the thought of you being with someone else. Of you picking someone over him just like so many others in his life have.

The Georgja boy southern drawl comes out when he's turned on or feeling frisky. The whole team has learned this against their will, and all it takes is an “ain't” or a “darlin'” and they are shooing you behind closed doors before things progress. It's created a bit of a Pavlovian response in you whenever you hear it.

At first, he doesn't want to be left alone with his son when he gets visitation. Somehow, the team is surprisingly good with kids and helps get him comfortable. Bob watches SpongeBob or other cartoons with his son. Yelena brings out the guinea pigs to play with. Alexei is the king of storytime and also trying to help make up for some of his own fatherly shortcomings. Ava gravitates towards the arts and crafts, especially crayons and watercolor. Bucky teaches him games he used to play as a kid. He may also start reading the kid on The Hobbit. After a while, John can do it by himself and feels more confident as a dad, but by that point, everyone is a part of the family.

He really wants more kids once he's learned he's not totally shit at being a dad. He grew up with the idea of the white picket fence and 2.5 kids in the suburbs or even a farm in the country somewhere. That's still what he wants, even if it didn't come as easily as he was promised. He desperately wants a happy family. You renewed his hope that maybe someday he could have it. This correlates directly into NSFW headcanon #9 - breeding kink.

Even though he received a dishonorable discharge and was stripped of his rank and benefits, he still has his Army dress uniform hanging in his closet and his fatigues along with his tags, medals, and other mementos in a box under his bed. Even his West Point diploma is in there. They were a part of who he was, and he still isn't quite sure of who he is if he isn't a soldier. He looks through the box a lot, especially when he's feeling down.

The only thing he leaves out in the open all the time as a reminder of that life is the photo of him and Lemar that Mrs. Hoskins gave him. He also still talks to Lemar when he's feeling depressed or just wishes he was there. He doesn't know if Lemar can hear him, but he hopes he can. He was raised in the church, and even if he's not sure he believes it anymore, he likes to think Lemar is watching over him. Still by his side even from heaven.

He hates it when he cries. It makes him feel weak. He tries to stuff down all his feelings, and this has manifested in the man we see in Thunderbolts. He tends to stew in his own emotions, and you have to call him out and confront him on it. Otherwise, he will not address it. It helps to remind him that that behavior is what got him there in the first place and that if he wants to grow as a person, he has to change. You will constantly be reminding him that failing at something isn't necessarily the end of the world and that crying or admitting his feelings is not failing.

NSFW:

His body count is low. I'm talking low end of single digits. Yes, he was married and has a kid, but he also married his high school sweetheart. If they both weren't virgins when they got together, he had probably only been with one or two other women. If he's been with anyone since, and I firmly believe that's a very strong if, it was a one night stand or two.

I firmly believe he probably hasn't had sex with anyone since the divorce. He probably avoided it for a while in hopes that he could win Olivia back, and he really only wanted her. After he realized it was really over, the depression took most of the desire he had left for sex. People also tended to avoid him like the plague after the flag smashers thing. So it's not like he had women lining up for the newly single dime store Captain America.

Because of his relative inexperience, you may end up having to teach him stuff in the bedroom. Especially if you are into anything kinky. I feel like him and Olivia were probably pretty vanilla when it came to sex. He will also get really flustered when you try to talk about sex with him. He's pretty game to try whatever you want. Just don't make him talk about it.

We've all collectively decided that he has a massive praise kink. Not just in the bedroom but in all areas of his life. This is not a new thing by any means, but he never really thought of it as a kink until you called it that. Tell him how good he fucks you and he'll start purring. Tell him he's such a good boy and worthy of it and his brain will completely melt.

Once you uncork the bottle, he will be pretty insatiable. He's been backed up for a while and has a lot of energy to expend on amorous activities. Thanks to the super soldier serum, he's also going multiple rounds every time. You will be sore after sex the first handful of times simply because he's so energetic.

I think there is a distinct possibility he's accidentally bruised your cervix when he forgot about his enhanced strength and speed in the heat of the moment. He didn't exactly have a ton of sexual experience after the serum. Especially not with someone new. He was horrified and a little proud of himself all the same time.

He loves you talking dirty to him and will encourage you to keep talking. Talking about sex can get him a little flustered in normal circumstances, but if you start talking dirty, he's immediately ready to blow. He still can't really believe all the filthy things that come out of your mouth, but he hangs on every fucking word. After a while he'll even start talking dirty in return.

Sucker for fancy lingerie, but he prefers you in just one of his shirts. He loves seeing you all wrapped up like a present in satin and lace, anything sheer he has a particular soft spot for, but seeing you fresh out of the shower bare legs in one of his old t-shirts makes him practically feral. He discovered this even before you got together when your mission bag went AWOL and you had to borrow his shirt. He swore he was so hard he nearly passed out from lack of blood to his brain that whole mission.

Once the thought is in his head, his breeding kink will go from 0-100 at light speed. Olivia was pregnant while he was in the midst of a depression, so he kicks himself for not letting himself enjoy it. Especially once you start showing his hand is constantly on your belly. Talking to you the entire time you're in bed about how sexy you are all swollen with him and how he's gonna be such a good daddy for you. Before you have the baby he's already talking about looking forward to knocking you up again. Although he may worry too much about hurting you during penetrative sex in your last trimester, he's happy to help satiate you with his fingers or tongue.

He is a bit of a pillow princess when he's feeling depressed. Normally, he likes being the one in charge and doesn't mind doing most of the work. When he's down, he just wants you to ride him and talk sweet filthy nothings to him. His praise kink is turned up a notch even higher than normal, too. Tell him how good he feels. Tell him how big his cock is. Tell him that you couldn't want anyone else the way you want him. Just let him lie there and enjoy it.

He's not a big fan of PDAs, but practically suction cups himself to you behind closed doors or no one else is around. When he discovers cockwarming, he wants it every time you are alone. Practically begging you to just let him put in. Promising he'll behave and let you finish your book when you know in reality he'll start humping you after maybe 5 minutes.

--------------------------------

You caught him watching porn and jerking off once, and he found it incredibly hot. He was a little humiliated but loved the way you teased him about how desperate he was and that he was a naughty boy for not asking first. How you would have helped him and maybe you should touch yourself too. He came in less than 2 minutes after you started teasing. He wants it to happen again but isn't sure how to bring it up. He is genuinely unsure if it was the humiliation or the thought of mutual masturbation that got him off so quickly.

There will probably be a part 2 to this once I think about it more.

John Walker taglist: @sareim123122

Back to main masterlist

[buckysouvenir]

guided by her You can’t form words anymore. Just his name — “Bucky, Bucky, Bucky” part 2 of breaking the ice warning: 18+ content a.n.: guys this is 3k words holy shit lmao i got too into it.

The end credits roll, and the only sounds left are the low hum of the TV and the half-finished bowl of popcorn sitting between you.

Bucky’s been quiet for the last twenty minutes.

Not the brooding, lost-in-his-head quiet. This is the awkward kind. The I-have-a-question-and-I-hate-that-I-have-it kind. He keeps fidgeting — thumb tapping his beer bottle, leg bouncing, eyes darting to you, then away.

Of course, you notice.

“Alright,” you say, tossing a piece of popcorn at his chest. “Spill it.”

He catches it without even thinking. “Spill what?”

You give him a pointed look. “Don’t play innocent. You’ve been vibrating since the second act of that movie.”

He hesitates. Looks down at the bottle in his hands like it might save him.

“I’ve been thinking,” he mutters.

“Uh-oh.”

He shoots you a half-hearted glare. “I’m serious.”

“So am I. What’s going on?”

He takes a breath. Then — carefully, like it physically pains him — says, “I don’t know if I know how to do it right.”

You blink. “Do… what?”

He gestures vaguely. “You know. It.”

You stare at him for a beat. Then: “You’re gonna have to be more specific, Buck. There’s a lot of its out there. And we’ve done it. I know you can do that.”

He clears his throat. “With my mouth. On a woman.”

Oh.

You pause. “You’ve never done it?”

“I have,” he says quickly. “Back in the ’40s. Once or twice. But it was… different back then. It wasn’t something people really talked about. I didn’t get feedback, y’know?”

That makes you snort. “Feedback?”

He shrugs, looking a little helpless. “Wasn’t exactly something a girl could shout about in the 1940s. It was more of a… whispered thank-you and don’t-tell-the-neighbors kind of thing.”

You laugh. “I mean, some things evolve, sure. But that? Pretty timeless.”

He gives you a skeptical look.

Your expression softens. “You want to learn how to do it… now? Properly?”

He nods. “I want to be good at it. I want to know what feels good. How to do it right. Not guess.”

You’re quiet for a moment, then nod too. “Alright.”

He blinks. “Yeah?”

You set your drink down and shift to face him on the couch. “You trust me?”

“Completely.”

“Then let me teach you.”

Your bedroom is warm, softly lit. The bed’s a little messy — naps, laundry, life. It feels real. Lived-in. Comfortable.

Bucky stands by the door like he’s waiting on instructions.

“Come here,” you say, gently.

He crosses the room, and when you sit back against the pillows and pull your dress up, you catch the flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

You see it.

“Start with your fingers,” you tell him, sliding your underwear down in one slow movement. “You’ve got control. Use it.”

He settles between your knees on the mattress, one hand braced near your hip, the other hovering.

“Show me where,” he murmurs.

You reach down, wrap your hand around his wrist, and guide him. You press his fingers against your pussy slowly, showing him the right pressure, the right pace.

“Here,” you breathe. “Start soft. Just feel me first.”

His fingers move — slow, tentative. Exploring.

“Like that?”

You nod. “Yeah. Good. Now try… here. A little higher.”

He follows your guidance, adjusting. He watches you closely, expression focused — not just aroused, but focused. Like he’s studying every reaction. Then one finger becomes two. When he slides them down and pushes in, you sigh and your hips lift slightly.

“That’s it, right?” he asks, voice low.

“Mm-hmm. Try curling them. Just a little.”

He does. Your back arches, a moan slipping from your lips.

His eyes widen. “Okay. That’s definitely something.”

“Keep that rhythm,” you pant. “Not too fast.”

He obeys — confidence building with each movement. And when your breath catches, he pauses.

“You okay?”

“Better than okay.”

He grins. “So now the next part?”

You nod, pulling your dress over your head. “Yeah. Mouth.”

He hesitates for just a second, distracted by your breasts. “Talk me through it?”

You lean back, spreading your knees wider. “Start the same way. Slow. Use your tongue like your fingers. Don’t rush.”

He lowers himself, one hand steadying your thigh. He kisses the inside of your thighs like he’s memorizing you. He doesn’t rush. His hands are firm but patient, guiding you open, keeping you steady. When his mouth reaches you, the first touch of his tongue is light — testing. Then firmer, dragging slowly through your folds, matching the rhythm you showed him.

His right hand travels up your body, exploring every inch until it finds your breast. He circles your nipple with his thumb before giving it a gentle squeeze.

You moan, quiet but deep.

“That okay?”

You wrap your hand around the back of his head. “More than.”

He adds his fingers again, moving in sync — tongue circling, fingers curling. He watches your reactions, learning where to press, where to linger. When he finds the spot that makes your hips buck, you let out a breathless “yes, yes, there—” and a low groan of his name.

His eyes flutter closed. He can feel it now — the way your body reacts to each deliberate movement. When he adds just a hint of suction, you gasp and clutch the sheets.

“Good?” he asks, muffled.

“So good,” you choke out. “Keep doing that.”

He does. Keeps going until your thighs are trembling, breath coming in short, erratic gasps, your whole body tensing. The orgasm hits hard — your moans caught in your throat as you come against his mouth.

He doesn’t stop until you sag back, chest rising and falling.

When he finally looks up, lips swollen, chin wet, eyes heavy-lidded, he sucks his fingers clean.

“Well?” he asks.

You smile, dazed. “I’d say you’ve definitely caught up with the times.”

You’re still stroking your fingers through his hair when you feel the tension in his shoulders — the uneven rhythm of his breath. He shifts slightly, and it becomes obvious. Very obvious.

Your gaze dips, then returns to his with a smirk. “You’re… uh, clearly enjoying this learning curve.”

He laughs quietly, resting his forehead against your thigh. “Wasn’t exactly subtle, huh?”

“Not even a little,” you say, giving his hair a playful tug. “C’mere.”

He rises, hands gliding up your legs, your waist, until you’re eye to eye. You pull him into a kiss — deep, warm, tasting yourself on his lips. And while you kiss, your fingers slip down to the waistband of his jeans.

He breaks the kiss just enough to whisper, “You don’t have to…”

“I know,” you murmur, already tugging at the zipper. “But I want to.”

His breath stutters as you free him. He’s already hard, throbbing in your hand.

His hands settle on your hips, tentative at first. You guide him to your entrance, tilting your hips to meet him just enough for his tip to find your entrance.

He kisses you again — slower this time, deeper, like he’s learning the shape of your mouth. You wrap your arms around his neck, slipping your fingers beneath his shirt to feel his skin.

He shivers — barely a sound — and it makes you smile.

There’s no rush. He moves inside you carefully, adjusting, tuned to every subtle reaction. When you feel every inch of him inside of you, you part your lips and whisper his name, something in him gives way.

The pace is slow but sure. His forehead presses to yours, breath shaky. You cup his face in both hands.

“You’re doing good,” you whisper.

He smiles, a little shy. Then he starts to move faster. He knows what to do. You’ve done this before.

He’s harder now, closer to losing control.

Your nails rake gently down his back, and your heels hook behind him, pulling him deeper.

His thrusts grow smaller but harder — limited by your grip, but precise. His skin slaps against your clit, his cock hitting that spot deep inside you that makes your vision blur. You can’t form words anymore. Just his name — “Bucky, Bucky, Bucky” — over and over, and it’s more than enough for him to know he’s doing everything right.

As your back arches, he seizes the moment — sucks your nipple into his mouth. You moan louder now. His tongue swirls, his teeth graze, then he closes his mouth around it and sucks hard.

He lets go only to lick between your breasts, up your throat, kissing as he goes. When you tilt your head to give him more space, he kisses your neck. Then bites it. Lightly, then deeper.

You feel it — that tension coiling tight inside you. And he hears it — your racing heart. Super soldier hearing.

He touches his forehead to yours, eyes locking. And when you try to speak — “Bucky, I’m gonna-” — he moves.

He braces on his knees, grabs your legs, and starts thrusting harder than ever.

The sound you make is something you didn’t even know you had in you.

And then it hits. You come. Loud. Wet. Shaking.

But you hold on — because he hasn’t come yet.

“C’mon, Bucky. Please. Cum. Cum for me. Cum inside me. Let it go.”

And he does. Just like you asked.

With a growl. With a flood of heat. With everything he’s got. And you swear you could feel him fill you up.

He stays there on his knees, catching his breath, eyes locked on you as you try to steady yours.

Once you finally calm down, he knows it’s the right moment to slide his hard cock back inside you. Slowly.

You moan at the sensation of him filling you again, your body already craving him. “You know, it really shouldn’t shock me how fast you can get it up again.”

He lets out a hiss as your walls clench around him. “To be honest, I don’t think it softens unless I want it to.”

You laugh breathlessly, “God, Barnes, you’re every girl’s dream.”

He thinks the exact same thing about you—but he won’t dare say it aloud. So he just chuckles softly.

Then he crawls up the bed until he’s eye to eye with you again. His fingers gently brush your hair out of your face, his touch softer now. “You okay?”

You close your eyes and smile, peaceful and full. “Yeah.”

[omegapausestuck]

I've been thinking, since the act has ended, I've got a prime chance to gather my thoughts; and open a dialogue about the merits and perhaps the pitfalls of the current writing direction of the new comic. Besides, this post was getting WAY too long, so I hope to start a fresh one at the beginning of every act so as not to destroy people's dashes QUITE as much. I've never done a liveblog before, and honestly I wasn't planning to, but it just kind of happened this way, so I'm still figuring everything out. Let me know if you think I'm doing the shittiest job in the world, and you know SO MANY ways to improve it!

Anyway, I think we all know the state of the fandom, when hsbc started updating. We had just come off of the tragic release that was the epilogues, and then the subsequent insult to injury that the previous team had left behind with Homestuck². Nobody was left to believe in this thing, and I was certainly one of them.

I had kind of this general attitude of "Let's all point and laugh at how hard they bungle it THIS time!" but then something strange started happening. The writers were actually listening to the fan feedback, for once, and making marked improvements—in characterization, in tension, in dialogue, in art style, and in scope—it slowly dawned on me that I was genuinely excited to read the next page, not ironically.

I think a part of me wanted this to work, all along. Like sonic fans who had to sit through the most painful, doggiest shit of a game, like clockwork, every year, just in hopes that Sonic Team would get their act together and make something great that they wouldn't have to feel ashamed for their clear, undying love and devotion for the series.

So, when they showed themselves capable of admitting their faults, and refocusing themselves on making something that was completely new, and refreshing—I still cracked jokes, but—I started to root for them, too... and I'll tell you right now, that this era of the comic feels at times more homestuck than Homestuck proper.

These characters are no longer pastiches, or flanderized amalgamations of their various assorted stereotypes, but have a renewed sense of depth, and mature emotional resilience that I found criminally lacking as Homestuck drew to a close.

I've been very vocal about my opinions on Homestuck's "ending," if you can even call it that. It was made by fans, for fans; and it ultimately had nothing important to say about anything actually impactful. All of the themes of adolescence, and child soldiers, and societal indoctrination, and the cold calculus of war were thrown out in favor of the black and white brutality of "Big green man video game boss needs beating," and it's nice to see that depth woven back into the world again.

I'm not going to go into any spoilers, but a few standout moments to me were Jake's speech about believing in all the other Janes enough to give up on the monster this one had become, and Rose opening up about her insecurities with her sociopath of a father; where we realized along with him that he genuinely loves her, and didn't enjoy the burden of being in control. Also, Vriska's whole dream sequence was a very close second that I'd feel guilty to not lend its flowers. (They managed to make me give a shit about her again, and that's an ASK! I was so sick of her raggedy, tired ass schtick! Grow up, bitch!) I'm not sure that the former team would have bothered with those scenes, and they're the most gripping parts of the story, for me.

We're still here because of these characters, and the fact that the authors finally understand that—and are developing them in ways that seem both natural, and respectful—has done more to heal the reputation of this franchise for me than any big multimedia push from the likes of Viz Media, or even Andrew Hussie himself would have, ever, achieved.

Now, we have a chance to see something new, and ambitious. I was cautiously optimistic before, and now I'm essentially just overcome with hope. If this is what we should come to expect from Homestuck in the near future, then we've actually got quite the incredible life ahead of us.

I can't help but look forward to it. How about you?

my reaction to that information.....

I guess this is a thing that's happening.

[vamptizm]

SNOOZE — p. bueckers vii.

pairing: paige bueckers x soraya mensima (oc)

synopsis: rookie paige bueckers enters the league with confidence, charm, and a bad habit of gravitating toward things she shouldn’t want— like soraya mensima, the wings’ respected star and reluctant heartbreaker. soraya’s been here longer, knows better, and refuses to let lines blur... even as paige keeps rewriting them with every smile.

warnings: some angst. manipulation. talks of mental health. flashbacks + uncomfortable age gap (freshly 18 and almost 21).

word count: 5500

masterlist

♯┆taglist (open) .ᐟ ★ @brenwritesss @bueckersbitch @ekisokay @sierrale8ne @ohmybueckers @pboogerswbb @yailtsv @lilpaigeyherbo @prettygirl-gabi @mariahthealchemist @avvwritesstufff @vintagebueckers @naeswrrldd @thaatdigitaldiary

The game hadn’t gone well for Dallas.

Not in the slightest.

A fifteen point loss hung in the air like thick humidity—suffocating, sticky, inescapable. But it wasn’t the score that weighed heaviest on Soraya. It was Leah’s gaze. The way it lingered far too long. The way it burned, intentional, familiar, unwelcome.

It was also the memory of Paige’s voice, sharp and scathing, still echoing in her skull.

Those words had cracked something open in her, something ugly and vulnerable and angry. Soraya hadn’t said a word since. She hadn’t needed to. Her silence spoke louder than anything else.

Unfortunately, the universe had one more cruel twist lined up. The post game press conference.

Coach. Paige. Soraya.

Paige could practically hear the PR team’s logic—put the golden rookie and the cold ver together with the coach, make it look like unity. But it didn’t feel like unity.

It felt like being dragged onto a stage and made to perform a lie.

The room buzzed with fluorescent lighting and the dull rhythm of shuffling notepads, mic checks, and tired journalists filing in. Soraya took her seat on the far end of the table, away from Paige, next to Coach. Her shoulders were tense, her jaw set. She picked at the edge of her nail for a moment, then stopped, folded her hands in her lap. Unfolded them again. Cracked her knuckles once under the table. Rubbed the back of her neck.

Paige sat stiffly in her seat, barely breathing, eyes occasionally darting toward her teammate. She still hadn’t figured out how to say sorry.

The press conference began with the usual. The coach opening remarks, some softballs tossed at Paige about the ‘rookie experience,’ her first official WNBA game, what she learned, how the adjustment was going.

Paige answered smoothly, albeit more curtly than usual. Her mind wasn’t in it.

Then the questions shifted. Turned.

“Soraya, tonight wasn’t quite what we’ve come to expect from you. A bit of an off game. Can you talk us through what might’ve been going on out there?”

There was a pause. A long one.

Soraya’s eyes flicked up from the table where her eyes burned through the box score sheet. She gave the reporter a neutral look before exhaling lightly through her nose. She scratched lightly at her cheekbone, then dragged her fingers to the space between her brows as she leaned into the mic.

“It’s not a game I’m proud of,” she said flatly. “That much I can admit. I wasn’t in my best mind, unfortunately, and I cost us the game.”

Her hand dropped from her face, and she straightened her posture ever so slightly.

“But it’s everyone’s first game. I’m still trying to perfectly click with this team. That takes time. I’m sorry to all the fans that felt disappointed by our loss tonight.”

It wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t emotional.

It was quietly resigned, measured and controlled. The kind of answer you give when you’ve spent the entire night trying to keep yourself from unraveling. Beating yourself up.

Paige stared in silence.

It was the most she’d heard Soraya speak at once while sober, and it felt completely wrong. Not because of the words themselves, but the way they sounded. Flat, hollow, like someone speaking from inside a locked room.

Paige’s chest ached. She rubbed the inside of her thumb anxiously under the table. Her foot bounced. The apology burned on the tip of her tongue.

Soraya didn’t look her way once.

The press conference dragged for a few more minutes—another question about coaching decisions, something about the rotation, a stat pulled out and dissected. But Soraya had checked out. She responded when prompted, politely but distantly, her gaze often slipping toward the floor or the wall clock behind the media scrum.

When it finally ended, she stood a second too slowly. Her movements were delayed, sluggish, like she was underwater.

Paige rose too, but didn’t follow right away. She watched Soraya disappear behind the curtain with a hollow ache in her gut.

She’d made it worse.

And she didn’t know how to fix it.

In the locker room, she moved through the motions like a ghost. Peeling off her jersey, slipping into her change of clothes, carefully avoiding both eye contact and confrontation. The rest of the team gave her space. Even Dijonai, who had every reason to pry, didn’t push. Just sent her a soft look, one of understanding and maybe, quiet worry.

But Paige…

Paige couldn’t stop glancing over. Not reaching out, not apologizing—because what would she even say? But she wanted to. She hated how her own guilt settled in her chest, heavy and acidic. She hadn’t meant it. Not like that. But she’d said it anyway, and now Soraya wouldn’t even look in her direction.

Not that she had done so before.

The private parking lot behind the College Park Center was near empty by the time Soraya stepped into it, the fading buzz of post game clean up echoing faintly in the distance. Most players had already cleared out, but Soraya had taken her time—showered last, dressed slow. She hadn’t been in a rush to get back out into the world.

A plain black tank top clung to her torso, and a pair of grey sports shorts hung low on her hips. Comfortable and breathable. Something she could drive in without feeling like she was suffocating.

She pressed the unlock button on her keys, the soft beep of her car echoing in the stillness. But before she could reach for the door handle, a voice curled around her like smoke.

“Well, shit. Still lookin’ good, Mensima.”

Her stomach twisted.

She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. That voice—smooth, smug, too casual to be anything but calculated—was one she knew far too well. It hadn’t changed a bit.

Soraya turned slowly, every movement sharp edged and reluctant. And there she was.

Leah Katz.

Blonde hair slicked into a ponytail, her Lynx shorts still on, water bottle swinging lazily from her fingers. She looked fresh faced, post game glow intact, as if she hadn’t just handed Soraya a humiliating on-court loss.

That damn smirk tugged at her lips. The same one she used to wear when she won arguments she started on purpose. When she knew she was getting under Soraya’s skin.

Leah’s blue eyes dropped in a slow, deliberate drag, scanning Soraya head to toe. “Didn’t think I’d get this lucky,” she added, spreading her arms wide, like it was some kind of performance. “Come here. Don’t tell me you’re gonna act brand new on me.”

Soraya didn’t move.

Didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. Just looked at her. Blank. Cold. And yet, she could feel the heat rising beneath her skin—the phantom sensation of a hand gripping her wrist too tight, a voice whispering too close. Her spine straightened instinctively.

“Nah” she said flatly. “Back the fuck up.”

Leah tsked under her breath, dropping her arms in mock disappointment. “Oof. That cold shoulder’s still sharp, huh?” Her head tilted, feigning concern. “Come on, you don’t miss me just a little?”

Soraya exhaled slowly through her nose. “I don’t have the energy to play with you right now, Leah.”

“But you used to love playing with me.” That smirk curled again, sharper this time. Meaner. “Can’t say I didn’t teach you a lot of things, right?”

There it was.

The dig. The real reason Leah had walked over. Not curiosity, not concern, but control.

Soraya’s fingers flexed at her sides. She didn’t want to give Leah a reaction, but her jaw clenched on instinct. “You’re not gonna get whatever high you’re looking for out of me. So turn the fuck around and walk to your car, Yeah?”

For a second, Leah’s smirk faltered—just a flicker. Like she didn’t expect Soraya to push back without the old waver in her voice.

But she recovered quickly, stepping back with a half laugh. “Damn. When did you get so spicy? Guess I’ll let you cool down, love.”

And with that, Leah turned and strolled off like she hadn’t just picked open a half healed wound. Like her words didn’t still linger in the space between them like smoke from a fire Soraya had spent years trying to smother.

She stood there for a moment after Leah was gone, chest tight, eyes fixed on the ground. Her reflection blinked faintly in the dark window of her car. She didn’t recognize the expression on her own face. Anger? Shame? Something in between.

She opened the door and sat down in the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel like it was the only thing anchoring her. A sharp breath filled her lungs, then shuddered out. Her fingers trembled, and she pressed her thumb into the heel of her palm to stop it.

From across the lot, Paige had seen the whole thing.

She hadn’t meant to stare this long—she’d been walking towards her own car, phone in hand, half drafting a text to Soraya she knew she wouldn’t send.

But the second she’d seen Leah approach, her feet had stopped moving.

She couldn’t hear a word they were saying, but she could see enough. The way Leah leaned in with that cocky, self satisfied energy and open arms. The way Soraya didn’t move an inch. The way she held herself like a storm cloud trying not to break open.

Paige didn’t realize her jaw was clenched until it started to hurt. Her grip on her phone tightened. Her stomach twisted with the same slow realization that had haunted her since tip-off.

Something was wrong.

And appreciate, she’d missed the start of it. She didn’t know what Leah Katz was to Soraya—or had been—but whatever it was, it was enough to rattle her.

The apartment was dim, lit only by the soft blue glow of the TV, muted reruns of a sitcom she wasn’t watching. Paige sat on the couch, slouched low, one ankle propped on her knee, still in her team hoodie and shorts. She hadn’t even bothered to shower yet.

Her game shoes sat in the middle of the living room floor, untied and forgotten. A bottle of Gatorade sweated on the coffee table. Her phone lay face down beside it, buzzing occasionally, mostly from texts she didn’t care to answer.

Her mind was elsewhere. With her.

Soraya.

Paige dragged her hands down her face, leaned forward, elbows on her knees. She’d watched the game film already—twice. Thought maybe there was something she missed, some technical answer to explain it all. But the problem wasn’t on the tape. Not really.

It was in the look on Soraya’s face and in her eyes.

The way she played like her body was present, but her mind had already left the arena. The way she’d barely reacted to mistakes, didn’t argue with refs, didn’t call the team over for huddles.

The way she hadn’t even looked at anyone once in the locker room. Not even accidentally.

It was more than just a bad night.

And then there was the parking lot.

Leah Katz. Paige didn’t need to know her to know her. The type was familiar. Girls who walked like the world owed them something. Girls who smiled like they were doing you a favor. Girls who got off on power and proximity.

She’d never seen Soraya look like that before in the last month she knew her. Not even when Paige was giving her the cold shoulder. Not even during that halftime fight.

Her heart thumped uncomfortably in her chest, dragging her thoughts back to the tunnel. Back to the words she’d spit without thinking.

Paige buried her face in her hands.

She hadn’t meant it. Not really. It had just come out, born from a mess of jealousy, confusion, and the ugly twist of watching Soraya give someone else her attention—even if that attention had been full of dread.

And now?

Now Soraya was surely shutting her out completely.

Paige leaned back against the couch, head resting on the cushion, eyes staring up at the ceiling like maybe the answers were hiding up there.

Who was Leah to her? What happened between them? Why was it still haunting her now? And why did it bother Paige so much?

Was it just concern for a teammate? Guilt for snapping? Or was it something deeper—something she wasn’t ready to name yet?

She sighed sharply and grabbed her phone, finally flipping it over. One unread message from her mom, two from azzi, DMs she ignored. Nothing from Soraya.

Not that she was expecting anything.

She opened a blank text anyway. Her thumbs hovered.

’you okay? i miss you’

She stared at it for a full minute. Then deleted it.

Rewrote.

’i didn’t mean what i said earlier’

Deleted again.

She locked the phone and tossed it back onto the table, rubbing the heel of her palm into her eye.

She hated this. The silence. The not knowing. The feeling that she’d lost something before she ever fully had it.

The city had long gone quiet, but Soraya remained awake, anchored in the sleepless hours that made the world feel hollow and suspended. She sat alone on her apartment’s small balcony, one knee pulled up toward her chest, the other leg stretched out and bare in a pair of old cotton shorts. A thin tank top clung to her skin, sticky from the humid Dallas air. The tip of her cigarette glowed orange every few seconds, breaking the darkness.

She hated smoking. Hated the way it clung to her fingertips, the way it filled her lungs with heat instead of peace—but sometimes it was the only thing that could make the noise inside her head dull to a low murmur.

Her eyes traced the sky, stars barely visible beyond the city haze. Everything felt far away. Unreachable.

Behind her, the faint sound of Jiggy’s toy as the cat swatted it from one corner of the apartment to another, disinterested in the swirling nicotine clouds that curled from Soraya’s lips and disappeared into the air like ghosts.

She exhaled again, slowly. Her shoulders finally relaxed, just slightly, her body slouching deeper into the chair. The night buzzed faintly with crickets, distant cars, the occasional gust of wind. But her mind—her mind didn’t rest.

Not when the memory came creeping in again, like it always did when the world slowed down.

Stanford—august 2nd, 2018

She was 18. Nervous. Eager. Dressed in too new team gear, her lanyard with her dorm key hanging around her neck like a badge of both honor and displacement.

Stanford’s gym was colder than she expected, full of fluorescent lights and echoing sneakers. The sound of bouncing basketballs and laughter had made her pause when she first stepped in.

Then there was her.

Leah stood at the top of the key, all confidence and sweat slick blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail so tight it seemed to hold her whole face together. She didn’t smile when she passed, she smirked. Effortless. Charming.

“Oi, fresh meat,” Leah had called, cocking her head, accent thick. “You gonna stand there looking scared all year or you gonna lace up and show me what you’ve got?”

A few girls laughed. Soraya’s face flushed hot. But Leah’s eyes, sharp and glinting like a dare, held no cruelty. Just a challenge.

She stepped onto the court that day with her heart in her throat and her pride clenched in her teeth. She played hard. Maybe too hard. Slipped up once. Then again. But she got back up every time.

And Leah noticed.

“Not bad, Mensima,” she’d said after practice, nudging Soraya’s arm with her elbow. “You’ve got hustle. I like that.”

That night, Soraya returned to her dorm sore and sorely lit up. That she had noticed. That Leah Katz, the team's captain, the one the coaches trusted like gospel, had praised her and singled her out.

The next few weeks blurred.

Leah started sitting beside her in team meetings. Practicing with her after hours. ‘Helping,’ as she called it. Correcting her footwork. Holding her waist a second too long while guiding her pivot. Encouraging her in front of everyone—“That’s my girl, she’s getting it now”—until Soraya could feel the blush creep all the way down her neck.

Off the court, it was lunches, occasional late night texts—‘Can’t sleep. You up?’—coffees snuck in between workouts.

Leah was charming in the way fire is warm before it burns.

And Soraya, young, alone and eager to belong, drank it all in. Every compliment. Every brush of fingertips across her wrist. Every time Leah called her ‘my new star player’ with a wink and a smirk that made her knees a little weak.

No one had ever seen her the way Leah did. Or maybe no one had ever pretended to.

Stanford—august 28th, 2018

It was late.

The gym had cleared out an hour ago, the court lights dimmed to a softer glow that flickered slightly overhead. Soraya sat on the hardwood floor, legs stretched out in front of her, sweat cooling sticky against her spine. Her muscles ached from extra reps. Leah had insisted they stay behind after team drills to ‘tighten up Soraya’s shooting form.’

Leah sat beside her, legs crossed, sipping from her water bottle. Even in exhaustion, she looked poised, like she belonged here in a way Soraya still wasn’t sure she ever would.

“You’ve been pushing yourself hard,” Leah said after a moment, glancing at her. “You always do.”

Soraya looked over, trying not to seem too eager for the praise. “I just don’t wanna fuck it up. First year, you know? Can’t afford to be sloppy.”

“You’re not,” Leah said, and her tone softened, not patronizing, not cold. Almost intimate. “You’re hungry. That’s what makes you different.”

The words warmed Soraya’s chest, like a sip of something strong. Leah had a way of speaking that made you believe it.

“Still,” Leah continued, turning her body slightly to face her, “you’re too quiet. You play like you’re waiting for permission. You don’t need it. You just need to take up space.”

Soraya blinked, caught off guard by the sudden intensity in Leah’s gaze.

“What do you mean?”

Leah reached out. Her hand brushed Soraya’s knee, light, but purposeful. Not casual. Not meaningless.

“I mean you don’t have to play small to be respected. You’ve got the game. Now own it. Own them.”

Soraya didn’t speak for a moment. Her throat felt tight, unsure. She’d grown up working for everything, and being invisible was a defense mechanism. But Leah… Leah made it seem like there was power in stepping forward instead of hiding.

“I’m trying,” she said quietly.

Leah’s hand stayed. Her thumb moved slightly, brushing over the inside of Soraya’s leg. Her voice dropped.

“You’re more than good, Soraya. I see it. You just don’t see it yet.”

It should’ve been uplifting. Maybe it was. But something in the moment—the quiet, the way Leah’s eyes lingered a little too long, the way her fingers didn’t quite move away—made Soraya shift slightly, uncomfortable but unsure why. She didn’t pull her leg away. Not yet.

Leah leaned in a little closer. “You trust me, yeah?”

The words were low. Loaded.

Soraya nodded.

“Good,” Leah said, smiling. That infuriating, self assured smile. “Because I can make you the best player on this team. You just have to listen to me. Follow me.”

And Soraya, too young and too flattered, whispered, “Okay.”

Leah stood first, offering her hand. Pulled Soraya to her feet like she always did. Strong, steady, sure. Her grip lingered longer than it needed to, her fingers brushing Soraya’s palm.

“You’re gonna thank me for this one day,” she said. “I promise.”

Stanford— september 21st, 2018

The night was cold enough to warrant jackets, but not cold enough to keep them indoors. The air smelled like eucalyptus and freshly cut grass—campus maintenance had trimmed the lawns late again, the scent still lingering in the quiet.

Soraya pulled her hoodie tighter as she walked alongside Leah, hands buried in her sleeves. They had just finished a film study session at Leah’s campus apartment—though very little film had actually been studied. Leah had made dinner instead. Pasta, wine neither of them were really allowed to have, a playlist humming low in the background.

Now they were here, taking a long way back to the freshman dorms.

“I don’t usually do that,” Leah said, breaking the silence as her boot crushed a fallen leaf. “Cook for people. Stay up for hours watching shitty old basketball clips.”

Soraya smiled, eyes on the pavement. “You made my favorite food and played Diana Taurasi highlights. It could be worse.”

Leah chuckled. “You didn’t complain once.”

“I’m just polite.”

“No,” Leah said, stopping abruptly. Soraya stopped too, startled by the sudden stillness. “You’re sweet. There’s a difference.”

Their eyes met in the low amber of a campus lamp. Leah’s gaze didn’t waver.

“You’ve got something the rest of them don’t. That… spark. You’re smart. Quick. Too fucking humble for your own good.”

Soraya flushed. “You always say shit like that,” she chuckled lightly.

“Because it’s true.”

A quiet moment passed. One of those dangerously still ones. Then Leah reached up, tucked a curl behind Soraya’s ear. Her knuckles grazed her cheek.

“You ever had someone tell you that you’re too special to let waste?” she asked.

Soraya blinked. Her mouth opened, then closed.

“Not really.”

“Well, I’m telling you now.” Leah’s voice dipped lower. “You could be great. Not just good. Great. And if no one else has the nerve to tell you that… I will.”

The warmth in Soraya’s chest expanded. It filled her ribs, curled up in her throat. She felt dizzy with it.

Leah stepped in, close enough that their shoulders brushed.

“I like seeing you like this,” she said. “Outside the court. Softer. You’re cute when you’re shy.”

Soraya let out a nervous breath, looking away. “Do all british people flirt so much?.”

“I’m not flirting.” Leah’s hand found her wrist, thumb grazing skin. “I’m stating facts.”

The tension was thick enough to taste, crackling under the surface like electricity. Leah leaned in a little, but not enough. Always toeing the line. Always letting Soraya be the one to close the gap if she wanted to.

“You ever kissed someone on campus before?” Leah asked, a smirk playing on her lips.

Soraya’s heart thudded. “No.”

“You want to?”

It was a question, but not really. It was permission wrapped in suggestion.

And Soraya, too eager, too smitten, nodded before she could stop herself.

Leah’s hand rose slowly, curling gently around Soraya’s jaw, thumb brushing over her bottom lip like she was memorizing it. The kiss, when it came, was light at first. Careful. But beneath it was something deeper—coiled, possessive. The kind of kiss that left no room for doubt about who made the first move.

When they pulled apart, Soraya could barely look at her.

“You okay?” Leah murmured, tucking more hair behind her ear.

“Yeah. Just a little surprised.”

Leah smiled again—slow, satisfied. “Don’t be. You’re mine now, rookie.”

And just like that, Soraya felt the world tilt beneath her feet.

Dallas, may 17th, 2025, 2:34AM

Soraya blinked, her cigarette now nothing but ash between her fingers. She flicked it over the balcony edge and watched the embers fall like a dying star. The ghost of that first smirk still haunted her mind.

Back then, she had been full of promise. She had arrived in California with her chest full of dreams and nothing to anchor her except the hope that she could make something of herself. That basketball would be her way out of the mess she'd grown up in.

And Leah Katz had seen all of that. Had leaned in, whispered praise and held her steady just long enough to make her trust her.

And then slowly… pulled the rug.

Soraya rubbed her hands down her face, exhaling harshly. Her skin was clammy, her thoughts sticky and raw. No matter how far she went, Leah was never far behind. In memory. In nightmares. In fucking parking lots.

The warmth of Dallas couldn’t reach the cold in her gut.

Inside, Jiggy meowed softly, nudging the door with her head as if to say, ’Come back. You’re safe.’

But Soraya didn’t move yet. Her eyes were still on the stars, still trying to figure out when exactly they’d lost their shine.

The apartment was still. Still in that early morning kind of way that made time feel suspended—just after 9AM, sunlight leaking through the slats of the blinds and painting faint lines across the countertop. The hum of the fridge was the only real noise, save for the occasional soft tap of Jiggy’s paws as she roamed in and out of view.

Soraya sat on the kitchen counter, bare legs pulled up, knees tucked close to her chest. A half melted homemade iced coffee sat beside her—its contents diluted, sweating against the glass from having been poured long before she actually started drinking it.

Her laptop was open, screen brightness dimmed, the soft glow illuminating her tired features.

The search bar was cluttered with different variations of the same need.

> ‘therapists in my area’

> ‘queer friendly therapists dallas’

> ‘trauma psychologists near me’

> ‘female therapists in texas’

There was a tab open to a therapist’s website—simple, clean, promising. A photo of a smiling woman, arms crossed, her bio littered with keywords like ‘inclusive,’ ‘survivor-centered,’ and ‘culturally competent.’

And still, Soraya didn’t click anything.

She just sat there. Staring. Clicking back. Clicking forward. Reading reviews, bios, fees, office hours. Clicking out again.

Her jaw was tight. The fingers on her right hand were slowly scratching at the inside of her left wrist, a nervous habit she hadn’t even realized had come back. Her eyes were blinking aggressively—a tick that only came when stressed out.

She wasn’t even sure what she wanted.

No, that wasn’t true. She wanted help.

She just wasn’t sure she could stomach needing it.

Admitting that something inside her still wasn’t healed—even after all this time, all this effort—felt like betrayal. Like defeat. Especially for someone who had spent years mastering the art of pretending she was fine. Even her silence had always been curated. Sharp, sarcastic, composed.

But that mask had started to crack, and she could feel it, especially now.

The run-in still hadn’t left her chest. Her skin still crawled thinking about that cocky little smirk, the way Leah’s eyes roamed her body like nothing had ever happened. Like she could still undress her with them.

Soraya’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. The lump hadn’t moved.

That night had followed her home. Had trailed her into her dreams, into the moments she couldn’t sleep, into the memories she tried not to let breathe.

A flash of Dr. Friedrich came to her then—neutral toned scarves, rectangular glasses, a calm voice that never demanded too much, never looked at her like she was broken or too complicated to fix.

Geneva felt like a lifetime ago. She’d been sixteen, maybe seventeen, when she started. The sessions had been consistent, supported by Switzerland’s universal healthcare system, and gentle. Dr. Friedrich had been the first adult to teach her that shame didn’t have to be carried a lifetime. That the things she had survived didn’t define her, but they did deserve space. Acknowledgement.

That lasted a year. One solid, healing year before she had to leave. Scholarship secured, future mapped, Stanford waiting.

And then she stopped.

No time. No money. No system that made it easy. And maybe, in the back of her mind, no courage left to open all those doors again.

Soraya’s fingers hovered over the trackpad. The cursor blinked in the ‘Contact Me’ section of a therapist's page. There was an intake form waiting to be filled. Nothing demanding—just name, pronouns, insurance, what brought her here.

What brought her here?

She breathed out through her nose, then shut the laptop.

Not now.

Maybe later.

Soraya had slipped her phone into her tote and was rounding the corner of the produce section, one hand on her cart, the other pulling unconsciously at her earlobe.

The day off had been spent ticking off errands like a list she was trying to rush through before her thoughts caught up with her. Grocery shopping was her last stop. A ritual, something steady. Something quiet.

Her cart rolled easily across the polished floors. High quality coffee beans, Greek yogurt, lemon scented soap, a bundle of mint, a fresh loaf of sourdough bread—and then with a soft clink, the metal jolted against another.

She blinked. Looked up. And immediately wished she hadn’t.

Of course it would be her.

There was a beat of stunned silence. Just the sound of the humming refrigerators behind them, a faint song playing overhead, and their carts now awkwardly pressed together.

Paige looked like she’d just rolled out of bed. Hair in a low bun, hoodie unzipped over a tank top, shorts and slides. There was a pack of eggs and a bunch of slim jims in her cart. Her gaze flickered to Soraya’s, then held it, steady and unreadable.

“Sorry,” Paige said finally, her voice low and raspy. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

Soraya didn’t answer right away. Her hand curled tighter around the cart handle, knuckles briefly whitening.

“It’s fine,” she said, flatly. She didn’t move.

Neither did Paige.

The tension between them was thick and taut, like a wire pulled too tight. This was the closest they’d been with no other teammates, no noise to distract and no press to fake smiles for, since their last proper conversation. Just them. A shared silence laced with everything unspoken and unresolved.

Paige looked like she might say something else. But before either of them could retreat, footsteps approached from behind.

“Oh my god, wait—are you two…?”

Two girls, maybe college aged, stood there wide eyed, excitement radiating off them. One of them already had her phone half out.

Soraya felt herself growing a little uncomfortable. Paige’s posture shifted just slightly—shoulders squared, chin lifted, that PR smile sliding into place like muscle memory.

“Oh my god, can we get a picture? You guys are so insane on the court. Like, we were literally at the game yesterday.”

Soraya forced a polite smile. “Thank you so much.”

The pictures were taken. Paige angled herself just a little closer to Soraya—too close—and Soraya held still, her body still as stone, barely mustering a smile for the second shot. The girls squealed a ‘thank you’ and hurried off, leaving the air heavier than before.

Soraya stepped back, instinctively pulling her cart with her.

“Look,” Paige said, quietly now, less practiced, “I wasn’t expecting to—”

“I know.”

That shut her up. Soraya wasn’t looking at her anymore, but she could feel Paige watching her.

Another silence that stretched out like a bruise.

“…Do you at least know what you’re here to get?” Soraya asked, not bothering to hide the fatigue in her voice.

Paige blinked. “I mean, I was just gonna… figure it out.”

Of course she was.

Soraya’s eyes skimmed her half empty cart, unimpressed.

“You’re missing the basics,” she muttered. “No oil. No greens. No protein unless you’re planning on living off eggs and dried beef.”

Paige breathed a halfhearted laugh, “Yeah, well. I haven’t done this in a while.”

Soraya hesitated. Then, with a quiet exhale that sounded a lot like resignation, she turned her cart, muttering under her breath. “Follow me.”

They moved slowly, aisle by aisle, a strange echo of what could’ve been normal. Soraya didn’t make small talk. She didn’t tease or soften or pretend. She just pointed. To veggies, to bread, to berries, to pasta—and Paige followed, putting the items into her cart without saying much at all.

Still, there was something in the way Paige watched her when she thought Soraya wasn’t looking. Something almost reverent. Regretful.

In the granola aisle, Paige spoke again. “You always this bossy?”

Soraya stopped, eyes dragging toward her.

She tilted her head slightly, suppressing a small grin. “You always this helpless?”

That shut them both up again.

It wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t easy. But somehow, they finished the trip.

At the self checkout, their carts separated. Different lines. No words. But right before they walked out, a low voice broke the stillness again.

“Thanks,” Paige said, not looking at her now. Her voice was tight. A little raw.

Soraya didn’t respond. She simply nodded, barely. Then turned, walking out of the store, leaving the scent of citrus and cool air behind her.

And Paige?

Paige watched her go, a strange ache blooming somewhere in her chest. Unspoken. Unnamed.

But not unnoticed.

extended taglist 🐆 — @thelightknight21 @private-but-not-a-secret @angryflowerwitch @jieysiee @angelliicc @paigebaby5 @ttytttt-gndgnvbm @syraxbigfanfr @forward1212 @niya500 @wosolipa @enchantingesme @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @ksimsplayer @hggbiijj @pupbistro

[permanentmess]

bob reynolds headcanons (including romantic x reader !)

GIF NOT MINE

a/n: i have completely let this hyperfixation consume me to the point where i quite literally think of bob or the thunderbolts most of the day. it's debilitating, but that means you will get some very passionate fics from me (literally have been in the middle of writing one thats why this took so long)

this is written with a female reader in mind, although could be easily read as otherwise :)

also let me address a common worry: absolutely NONE of this is meant to infantilize or baby this character in any way. anything i wrote was with a lot of consideration and i was using my logical thought processes to develop these. i recognize that this is a major issue already and i am not attempting to contribute to it

warnings: mentions of sex/sex life and activities so MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY, mental illness (obviously), food/lack of eating, SPOILERS FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* FILM INCLUDING POST CREDIT SCENE

like i said in the thunderbolts one, its practically canon/accepted fanon that bob loves to read

i also feel like he might just...forget to eat (this basically comes from the bag of food and full shake he had in the post credit scene too lmao)

is trying to learn to cook but can really only cook like mac and cheese or scrambled eggs

but since he has a lot more free time, i can imagine after a bit he'd get pretty good at it (can you imagine ben grimm teaching him how to cook oml)

relationship wise, i think he's not exactly inexperienced, but he doesn't really remember anything

it says in his file his drug addiction and juvenile record started in middle school

so any romantic relationship or anything in that realm is just like...not familiar to him at all. or he just simply doesn't remember, like i said

i feel like he really likes physical touch but due to his past + the void, he's just a bit scared to touch anyone at first

but once he trusts himself and others more its easier (like towards the end of the movie/with yelena)

i think he likes the comfort of the baggy clothes that cover most of him, and thats why he wears them even though he "runs hot" (totally not projecting here) ((also its like teenagers w their hoodies -- weighted blanket style))

something tells me he likes arcades, specifically claw machines. idk why

also stuffed animals. yelena and ava definitely bought him one of those weighted ones

he seems like he would want to sleep with a nightlight at least, if not one of those aurora borealis light thingys (i have one 10/10 very calming)

i know everyone writes him as stuttering a lot, but i think he really only does it when he's anxious (i think im an expert, ive seen this movie 5 times don't come for me 🤚🏼)

like he can get really confident, especially on his better days

other than reading, i feel like he'd get into drawing or photography. something creative that can distract him but provide an outlet

(also this is actually canon but) he does the chores and dishes because he wants to feel like he's contributing to the team since he can't control his powers :(

this is maybe me projecting a little, but i feel like he ends up finding a lot of solace in nature. he went to malaysia to try and figure stuff out, so i have no doubts that he likes to get out of the city

more x reader based [romantic, some could be platonic]:

he loves his hair being played with. like you want him to pass out easy? let him stick his head in your lap, run your hands through it, massage his scalp. he'll be OUT in like 5 minutes

washing his hair? oh my god he is literally in heaven

your relationship is very slow but honestly both of you are okay with that

you two are also that couple that doesn't argue. you may disagree or want to talk to each other about stuff, but you never raise your voices [think: holt and kevin in B99 "arguing"]

he kinda does seem like the jealous type to me, but not in the toxic way. he'll just squeeze your hand extra tight or do that behind hug where he puts his head on yours or your shoulder and you immediately know

(its very hot when he gets possessive)

other than physical touch, i think he's an acts of service man. anything he can do to share his love, he wants to. and he likes little things you do for him

when i think of being with bob i just think of that quiet relationship where you're really in sync, soft mornings with the sun streaming in through the window, cute candid photos on each others phones

but i could also see one with like a slightly more talkative/expressive reader who really brings out bob's confidence. i don't doubt that he loves to yap too (some/most days at least)

he will try to cook for you but it might not turn out well (he's banned from the kitchen one week for burning water. he got distracted cause you were so pretty)

on a bit more of the sexual side, i feel like he has a praise kink. like he likes being told how he's doing, if he's treating you well, etc.

i feel like your guys' sex life starts really slow. just kissing, then moving up, until one day something in you both just kinda snaps and you can't keep your hands off each other

and maybe when its like very passionate or maybe he's a bit jealous that day, sentry comes out a little 🤭

despite being a god, sentry will straight worship you, idc, its canon

not that bob wouldn't

but sentry does on another level

at the end of the day, bob wants what you want, and you want what he wants, so it all works out well

bob is the type to have a note on his notes app of just your favorite things (all your typical orders, favorite books/movies/music, etc.). like its not that he doesn't remember (he has it memorized) but you know just in case Void takes a lot more of his memory

he'll bring a jacket with just in case you forget, he'll open doors for you, pull out your chair, he just gives off pure sweetheart and gentleman energy (not in the infantilization way)

just imagine a really peaceful relationship all around with such a genuine, sweet guy (i need him so bad)

as with the thunderbolts one, let me know about your own! kinda short but i hope they are enjoyable

[bangtanbeom]

⋆˚࿔ perfect match 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 5

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

pairing: rentalbf!soobin x fem!reader genre: fluff, comedy? (debatable), fake dating au summary: desperate to escape your friends matchmaking, a small lie spirals out of control. soobin—your charming, professional, rental boyfriend—the perfect answer. but what if the hardest part won't be fooling your friends? what if it’s reminding your own heart it's all fake? w/c: ~3k warning: not entirely proofread, fluff (might be cringe), an attempt at humor. a/n: last chap guys! i'm sososo happy. i literally have every single comment and every reblog tag screenshotted on my phone. i literally can't thank you enough for all the kind responses (ง ื▿ ื)ว see you next time!<3 taglist: @saccharinezennie | @soobinz-wife | @mental-hollows | @bunniwords | @lonendly | @soobinieswife | @slipawaylrh | @taysfairies

the neon lights of the restaurant blurred as you stumbled back to the table, the taste of soobin still lingered on your lips—mint and something faintly sweet, like the caramel syrup he'd stolen from your dessert earlier. your fingers twitched at your sides, still aching from where they'd fisted in his shirt, still trembling from the way his hands had cradled your face.

soobin walked beside you, his usual effortless grace replaced by something tenser, his shoulders rigid under his stupidly perfect white button-down. his hand settled at the lower part of your back, fingers pressed just a little too hard into your spine—steadying you, or maybe steadying himself. the warmth of his touch burned through the fabric of your shirt, branding you with the memory of his lips onto yours.

that wasn't part of the act—it couldn't be.

the thought clawed at you, sharp and insistent. his fingers hadn't been clinical when they tangled in your hair. his breath hadn't been measured when it hitched against your lips. and the way he looked at you afterward—like he'd just woken up from a dream he never wanted to end—

no.

you swallowed hard, your throat suddenly too tight.

were you being delusional?

across the table, your ex's jaw was clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitch under the golden glow of the overhead lights. his girlfriend—poor, oblivious thing—was still chattering away, but his eyes were locked onto soobin with a venom that made your stomach twist.

and soobin—

soobin was perfect.

he laughed at the right moments, low and easy, his thumb tracing circles over your knuckles where your hands were laced together on the table. he refilled your water before you could ask.

was he that good at his job?

mina, meanwhile, looked like she was about to combust from excitement.

"okay, what was that?" she hissed softly the moment you sat down, her nails digging into your forearm, physically restraining herself from screaming.

you forced a laugh, reaching for your glass with a hand that almost didn't shake. "what was what?"

"don't play dumb!" she whisper-yelled, smacking your shoulder. "you two were making out in the hallway like—"

"we got carried away," soobin interjected smoothly, his fingers lacing through yours on the table. his thumb traced slow circles over your knuckles.

play along.

but when you dared to glance at him, his eyes weren't on your friends, or your ex, or the table.

they were on you.

and for the first time all night, he looked just as wrecked as you felt.

the bill came.

mina lunged before anyone could react, snatching the bill with a victorious grin. "our treat!" she declared, waving her card like a victory flag. "consider it a celebration of love." she wiggled her eyebrows at you and soobin, completely unaware of the storm raging inside your chest.

you forced a smile. "thanks."

soobin's hand squeezed yours once before letting go—slowly, reluctantly—as he reached for his wallet out of habit. but mina was already handing her card to the waiter, and the moment passed.

across the table, your ex stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "we're heading out." his girlfriend blinked up at him, her spoon hovering midair over her half-finished sundae. "already?"

"yeah." his smile was tight, his eyes locked onto soobin. "wouldn't want to overstay our welcome."

soobin didn't react. not outwardly. his posture remained relaxed, one arm draped over the back of your chair, but you saw the way his fingers curled into a loose fist on the table, the way his shoulders tensed just slightly.

the second the door swung shut behind them, the air in the room shifted. mina sighed dramatically, slumping back in her chair. "finally. i thought he'd never leave."

jia snorted into her drink, rolling her eyes. "god, he was insufferable tonight." the ice cubes clinked as she set her glass down, her smirk sharp. "watching him getting mad over you two was the best part."

you swallowed hard, your fingers gripping the edge of the table.

what now?

the dinner was over. job was done.

soobin had played his part perfectly—better than perfectly, smirking at the right moments, his touches calculated but tender, his words weaving a story so convincing even you had almost believed it. he'd made your ex seethe, made your friends believe, made you—

no.

you swallowed hard, the taste of caramel and something bitter clinging to your tongue. you couldn't think about that.

because the contract ended tonight.

the walk to the car was silent.

soobin's hand found the lower part of your back again, guiding you through the crowded sidewalk, his touch warm and steady. it was the same touch he'd used all night—protective, possessive, perfectly boyfriend-coded. but now, with no audience left to convice, it didn't feel like part of the act.

it felt like a habit.

your mind raced.

what happens now?

the contract ended tonight. the performance was over. would he just—

—disappear? would he text you tomorrow like nothing happened? would he send an invoice and a polite thank you for your business and never speak to you again?

the thought made your chest ache.

you stole a glance at him.

his profile was sharp under the flickering streetlights, his lips pressed into a thin line, his brows slightly furrowed. he looked... troubled.

not like the soobin who had smirked his way through every rehearsal.

just... soobin.

so this is what the reviews meant—felt like a real relationship, yet bittersweet.

the moment you stepped away from the noise, from the prying eyes of your friends, the act faltered. the silence between the two of you was thick, suffocating.

soobin's fingers flexed at his sides, his usual confidence replaced by something tense, uncertain. he could still hear beomgyu's voice echoing in his head, that infuriatingly knowing tone.

"you use this job to avoid getting hurt, but what if the real thing is worth the risk?"

his jaw clenched.

"what's the point of protecting your heart if you never let anyone in?"

a muscle feathered in his temple.

"just don't regret letting her go because you were too scared to try."

damn beomgyu and his stupid, inconvenient wisdom.

he exhaled sharply, his breath curling in the cold air between them. the streetlight above flickered, casting shadows across your face—your lips slightly swollen from the kiss, your fingers twisting the hem of your sleeve.

"hey." his voice was quiet, rough around the edges.

you looked up at him—eyes wide.

he hesitated, then exhaled, his breath curling in the cool air between you. "you okay?"

no.

"yeah," you lied. "just... tired."

he nodded, but his eyes searched yours, like he was trying to find something—anything—to hold onto.

then he opened the car door for you, his fingers brushing yours as you slid into the seat.

a spark.

a question.

a goodbye?

the drive home was suffocating.

the silence between you was thick, heavy with everything unsaid. the only sound was the low hum of the engine, the occasional blare of a horn from the streets outside. the city passed by in a blur of light and shadow, the reflections dancing across soobin's face in fleeting patterns.

your phone buzzed in your pocket—once, twice. mina, probably. or jia, gushing about how perfect soobin was, how happy they were for you, how they couldn't wait to see the two of you again.

you didn't check it.

because what were you supposed to say? oh, actually, we broke up. right after that hallway kiss that looked like something out of a drama. right after he held me like that. right after i—

your stomach churned.

soobin's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles whitening for just a second before he forced them to relax.

"you're quiet," he murmured. his voice above the hum of the car.

you laughed, but it came out hollow. "just thinking."

"about?"

you. the kiss. the way your hands felt in my hair. everything.

"about how to explain this to my friends when you're gone," you admitted softly, staring out the window so you wouldn't have to see his face.

the words hung in the air between you, sharp and final.

soobin's jaw clenched. the car rolled to a stop, the engine idling outside your apartment. his fingers drummed once—a nervous, restless gesture—against the steering wheel before stilling.

then quietly, "we'll figure it out.

we.

the word hit you like a punch to the chest.

what did that even mean?

your breath hitched. you swallowed, your throat tight. the contract was clear. the job was over. there was no we after tonight.

your fingers curled into the fabric of your jeans, nails biting into your palms. the silence stretched, suffocating.

"so," you forced out, voice too light, "invoice me whenever. i'll settle the rest of the payment."

soobin's grip on the wheel tightened. a muscle in his jaw feathered.

"right," he said, clipped. "the payment."

the words hung between you like an accusation.

you hated this. hated the way your chest ached like someone had reached in and carved out a piece of you. hated that you couldn't tell if the kiss had been part of the act—if he'd done it to sell the lie to twist the knife in your ex's ribs, to win.

or if, for one reckless moment, he'd forgotten it was pretend too.

"i should go," you muttered, reaching for the door handle.

soobin moved faster.

his hand caught your wrist, warm and firm. "wait."

your pulse stuttered beaneath his touch.

he didn't let go. his thumb brushed over your racing pulse point, slow deliberate. his gaze dropped to your mouth—just for a second—before flicking back up.

"the contract," he started, voice rough.

your stomach dropped. here it comes. the professional distance. the polite thank you for your business.

but then—

"it says no falling in love with the client."

your breath caught.

soobin exhaled, his grip tightening. "i think i broke that rule."

the world tilted.

the hum of the car's engine faded into white noise, the dim glow of the dashboard lights casting shadows across soobin's face—sharp angles softened by the quiet confession hanging between you. your pulse roared in your ears, a frantic drumbeat against your ribs.

what?

you stared at him, lips parted, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. his eyes were dark, earnest—no smirk, no practiced charm. just raw, unfiltered soobin, the one who'd kissed you like he was starving for it.

his fingers, still loosely wrapped around your wrist, tightened just slightly—an anchor, a plea.

"you—what?" your voice cracked.

this time he didn't hesitate. leaning in, his free hand cupping your cheek, fingers trembling—just faintly. his palm was warm against your skin, his thumb brushing the curve of your cheekbone in a slow, deliberate stroke.

"i'm saying i don't want this to end."

your mind froze. this wasn't part of the script. this wasn't supposed to happen. the contract had rules—no blurred lines, no real feelings, no messy complications.

"but the contract—"

"i don't care." his voice was rough, edged with something desperate. his thumb traced your cheekbone again, lingering this time, as if memorizing the shape of you.

you searched his face for any hint of a lie, any trace of the polished professional facade he wore so well. but all you found was the same person who held your hand under the table when your ex tried to cut you down.

the one who'd kissed you like he meant it.

"soobin," you whispered.

he swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing. his grip on your wrist tightened.

"tell me i'm not the only one."

you didn't answer with words.

you kissed him.

not like before—not for an audience. this was slow, aching, real. his breath hitched, a quiet, broken sound, before his hands slid fully into your hair, pulling you closer like he couldn't bear an inch between you. his lips moved against yours, warm and insistent.

when you finally pulled back—just enough to breathe— his forehead rested against yours, his breathing ragged.

then, a soft chuckle escaped him, breathless and dazed

"okay," he murmured, lips brushing yours with the ghost of a smile. "that's a good answer."

and just like that—the contract was broken.

the cafeteria buzzed around you—clattering trays, the sharp scent of burnt coffee. sunlight streamed through the windows, but you barely noticed.

yeonjun sat across from you, his usual air of effortless chaos. his dyed red hair was mussed from where he'd run his hands through it one too many times, his leather jacket slung over the back of his chair.

yeonjun's coffee cup hovered halfway to his lips, frozen mid-sip. the condensation dripping onto his fingers, but he didn't seem to notice. his eyes wide, disbelieving—locked onto yours like he'd just witnessed a crime.

"wait. wait."

he slammed the cup down, liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. a few heads turned at the noise, but yeonjun didn't even glance their way.

"you're telling me," he said slowly, voice dripping with disbelief and enthusiasm. "you actually fell for your fake boyfriend?"

you groaned, slumping into the cafeteria's chair. the plastic squeked under your weight, and you dragged your hands down your face, your cheeks burning.

"it's not that simple—"

"it's exactly that simple!"

yeonjun jabbed a finger at you, his grin stretching ear to ear. "i set you up with a rental, and you somehow turned it into a rom-com." he leaned in, lowering his voice to a theatrical whisper. "did you at least get a discount."

you kicked him under the table.

he yelped, jerking back but his laughter burst out anyway, loud and uncontained. he threw his head back, his shoulders shaking. "oh this is gold. i'm framing this story on my desk."

"you're insufferable."

The living room of soobin's apartment was bathed in the golden glow of the afternoon sun. the faint scent of vanilla from a half-burned candle mixed with the lingering aroma of takeout containers still scattered across the coffee table. you sat curled into soobin's side, his arm draped lazily over your shoulders.

and then—

chaos.

beomgyu, who had been sprawled across the armchair, suddenly launched himself upright, his socked feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. his eyes—wide and gleaming with unholy delight—darted between you and soobin, his mouth already curling into a grin.

"i knew it!"

the declaration was loud enough to startle you, your shoulders jerking slightly as soobin's fingers tightened instinctively around yours. beomgyu slammed his hands onto the coffee table, rattling the empty soda cans, before pointing an accusatory finger at soobin.

"i told you! i called it!" his voice cracked halfway through, but he didn't care, already bouncing on the ball of his feet like a kid who'd just been handed free candy. "you owe me so much food—"

soobin groaned, his head tipping back against the couch. "you didn't call anything," he muttered, but his cheeks were already turning pink.

beomgyu gasped, clutching his chest like he'd been personally wounded. "i literally said, 'you like her', and you said—" he dropped his voice into a terrible imitation of soobin's voice, "'i like getting paid.'"

he gestured wildly at the two of you—at the way you were tucked so comfortably against his side. "and now look at you!"

soobin rolled his eyes, but his thumb brushed your knuckles. "shut up."

"nope. never." beomgyu plopped back down, grinning. "this is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

you raised an eyebrow, fighting back your own smile. "you're not the one dating him."

"no," beomgyu agreed. "but i am the one who gets to tease him about it forever." beomgyu's grin turned wicked. "so. who made the first move? was it the kiss in the hallway? because damn—"

soobin lunged.

one second, he was beside you, warm and solid. the next, he was launching himself at beomgyu, sending the coffee table screeching across the floor as they collapsed.

you burst out laughing, watching them wrestle like kids fighting for candy, and realized—this was the real soobin. the one who bickered with his best friend, who got shy whenever you complimented him, soobin who got excited after convincing you to play video games together.

the cafe smelled like roasted beans and burnt sugar, the hum of chatter and clinking cups filling the air. you'd been here a dozen times before, but today was different.

because today, soobin quit his job—he wasn't your fake boyfriend, or anyone's fake boyfriend.

he was just... soobin.

—and just soobin, as it turned out, was a mess.

you spotted him behind the counter—soobin, his dark hair slightly tousled under the cafe's ridiculous little paper hat, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the lean muscles of his forearms as he wrestled with the espresso machine. his brows were furrowed in concentration, tongue poking out slightly between his teeth—the same expression he'd made when trying to remember the fake backstory you'd rehearsed for your disastrous dinner.

except this time, there was no script. no act.

just him.

and he was losing.

"hey," he hissed, leaning over the counter toward his coworker—a bored looking guy with a nose ring. "how do i—wait, no, that's steam—oh god, that's steam—"

a sharp hiss erupted from the machine, and soobin yanked his hand back like he'd been burned. his coworker didn't even blink, he just reached over to flip a switch with the ease of someone who'd given up on a life years ago.

"you're hopeless," he muttered.

soobin pouted. "i'm learning."

you bit back a laugh, sliding into a seat at the counter.

soobin's head snapped up, his eyes widening when he saw you. a slow, charming grin spread across his face—the kind that made his dimples pop. the kind he never used during rental dates.

"hey," he said, voice warm, wiping his hands on his apron. "you're early."

you propped your chin in your hand, grinning. "wanted to see the professional at work"

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "i've been here three days and i've already set a towel on fire."

"what?"

"it's fine," he insisted, waving a hand dismissively, though the flush on his cheeks said otherwise. "it was a small fire. very contained."

you burst out laughing., the sound bright and unfiltered, and soobin's expression softened.

this wasn't soobin from perfect match rentals—the polished, effortless boyfriend who knew exactly how to charm parents, impress friends, and make exes jealous.

this soobin—spilled oat milk on his shoes and cursed under his breath in a way that was definitely not cutomer-service appropriate.

this soobin forgot which syrup was vanilla and which was chocolate, squinting at the bottles like they'd personally offended him.

this soobin knocked over a stack of cups and then tried to play it off by saying, "i meant to do that."

and yet—

when he finally slid your latte across the counter, he drew a lopsided heart in the foam.

your chest did something stupid.

then—

he sneezed halfway through the heart

the heart smeared.

"no—" he stared at the cup in horror. his entire face draining of color. "this is a disaster."

you took a sip—it was too sweet, the foam was uneven, and the caramel had sunk to the bottom in the sad little clumps.

you grinned.

"it's perfect."

୨♡୧ part one / part two / part three / part four / part five ୨♡୧

© bangtanbeom 2025

[yeayiec4life]

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